Listening Post: Happy Birthday Edition

Five-years-old today, and with me for the very first time for her birthday.

Happy Birthday, Inara.

Here's Ash -- Shining Light.

Up in the Air

I should've warned everyone about this earlier but I'm out of the loop all day today. I'm in Dallas right now, making my routine pilgrimage to a place I normally wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near to bring Inara to her mother. This time around, my child spent an entire month with me in Los Angeles, just the two of us, and I have to admit that more so than any other time I've had to part with her, I'm particularly devastated.

Anyway, I'll have a piece for Banter tomorrow, but aside from that I've got more work on my desk than I know what to do with right now and I'm going to be going through a bit of a grieving process so I can't vouch for how strong the output around here will be over the next 48-hours or so.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Happy Birthday, Inara

Four years old today.

I love her and miss her, but I'll see her soon.

California Love

If you're friends with me on Facebook, chances are you've already seen most of these. But since I'm indisposed I figured I'd put up a few more pictures of Inara's time in Los Angeles, working around her being sick -- and her having made me pretty sick.


Relaxation


Making the pilgrimage to the Nickelodeon Animation studios in Burbank


Inara and Spongebob


At a voice recording session for Monsters vs. Aliens (Thanks to Bob Schooley and Mark McCorkle)


Dora the Explorer animator and Supervising Producer Jeff DeGrandis draws a picture of Dora and Boots just for Inara


With Lego Spongebob


With Diedrich Bader ("Rex Kwon Do!")


Her Finished Drawing


Welcome to L.A., kid


Ennui


Flowers


Stopping to Smell...


The Girls


Corn!

But If You Try Sometimes, Well You Just Might Find...

Santa Monica


"We are Sex Bob-Omb! One, Two, Three, Four!"


Inara and Taryn


Pickles are always funny.


It's all about the shoes.


Nirvana

Morning Glory

California Girl

In case you were wondering why I was completely absent today -- take a look. Flew to Dallas, picked up Inara and flew back in a mere 15 hours. (Mere. Right.)

This is what happened when she saw the big donut atop Randy's Donuts near LAX just a couple of hours ago.

I'm gonna be a little indisposed for the next couple of weeks, but I'll keep as much content coming as I can.

Listening Post

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Here's Toad the Wet Sprocket's I Will Not Take These Things for Granted.

Walt of Voodoo

I'll be out of the loop all day.

I'm taking Inara to Disney World.

Thus the cycle of subservience to the Almighty Mouse continues.

Ballad of Big Nothing

I didn't think of it as stalking; it was just, I don't know, fascination.

When I was a junior in high school I had an unrelenting crush on a freshman. I remember her name, although I won't divulge it. I remember what she looked like: almost supernaturally petite, like some kind of pixie, with hair so blonde it always seemed as if it were being lit from within, skin the color of immaculate alabaster and ice-blue eyes that I was truly convinced had the power to stop time if she willed it. I had a couple of overarching infatuations throughout my high school career -- unrequited interests that threatened to boil over one day then were reduced to a simmer the next -- but this particular girl kept me tightly wound and perfectly transfixed for most of the 11th grade and even into the summer before my senior year. I never spoke to her. Not once. I did, however, drive past her house a couple of times when I happened to be in the area. What I was looking for, what I expected or at the very least hoped to see, I still don't really know. Maybe I imagined that one day I'd find her out in her driveway washing her family's car in a bikini or something -- or maybe I just longed to see her in her natural habitat, as if she were some kind of animal I had decided to study in the interest of science. Maybe it was simply the thrill of knowing that I was in her general presence even if she didn't know it. No, I didn't ever stop the car. No, I didn't sit outside her house. Yes, I did once drive by mildly intoxicated at around midnight, although in my defense I was returning home from a party and her place happened to be on the way.

Yes, it was a creepy little obsession, I guess, and if it had been 2011 rather than 1986 I probably would've gotten myself arrested or at least talked to by a professional should anyone have found out.

I bring this up to make a point: I was always desperate and passionate. I always craved mutual devotion and yearned for storybook romance. I always believed in love and believed that it could last. I don't think I am, I want, I believe any of these things anymore.

I realize that I've made a statement like this before, not long after my initial break-up with Jayne, but what's startling to me now are the ways in which the removal of such a profound and powerful force from my life have affected that life. The ferocious will to be with another human being is the drive that keeps millions of us moving forward, giving our lives weight and our course direction; it's often why we dress the way we do, get the job we have, live where and how we live, surround ourselves with the people and possessions we choose. So many of us are who we are not simply because we want to be the best we can be, but because we pray and expect that the best version of ourselves will translate into a desire by others to be with us. We want to be attractive. We want to be impressive. We want to be loved. But what happens when you take away that compass, do you then drift aimlessly? I can't help but feel as if I've been doing just that.

I'm basically homeless right now and have been since those early days following the split with my wife and my flight from New York City with my daughter two-and-a-half years ago. Because of the present arrangement I have with Jayne regarding Inara, one which remains in place until September of next year, my child is in my custody for weeks and sometimes months at a time, which means that I toggle between being on my own and being with a little girl at regular intervals. When my child is with me, I spend quite a bit of time in Central Florida where my parents live since Inara's grandmother has offered excellent -- and relatively free -- daycare while I've worked both full-time and freelance. When my child isn't with me, I've lived either in a very nice two-bedroom condo in Fort Lauderdale, one owned by an uncle of mine which I pay rent and utilities to stay in part-time, never making fully "mine," or in the guest bedroom of one of my best friends in Miami. The latter situation is amusing for a whole host of reasons, the primary one being that the two of us live like bachelor goof-offs despite having long since passed the stage in our lives where such frivolity was deemed acceptable by just about anybody. Still, in Miami it's common knowledge that you never really have to grow up; the whole place is like Neverland.

The bottom line is that I live out of a suitcase a good portion of the time, going from place to place to place, never truly putting down roots or settling into one specific pattern. I tell myself that the reason for this is that I simply can't at the moment, given the instability inherent in the current situation with Inara and the fact that I'm not working full-time, instead keeping busy with client work from anywhere my laptop happens to be. At least that's what I used to tell myself. More and more I'm willing to admit that I'm in fact lying to myself. I haven't put down roots because I have no desire to. I live out of a suitcase because that's how I choose to live. I don't have a "home" because I don't want one.

This flies in the face of everything I ever wished for or demanded of myself throughout most of my life. It does so because I always wanted to be in a relationship, to be appealing to someone looking not simply for a night or two but for a steady partner. And I don't want any of that anymore. The compass that kept me on one very specific course is gone and the question now becomes how to find your own way without its guidance. For decades my desire to love and be loved was like some elegant Fata Morgana, perpetually seducing me from the horizon but ultimately turning out to be elusive. So maybe I've finally just given up the quest altogether. I have love to give and I give it to my child in abundance, and I've certainly cared about people since my break-up with Jayne, one person in particular who remains very dear to me, but I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that not only have I not fully "healed" in the wake of everything that happened during my marriage to and divorce from Jayne, I'll very likely never again be the person I was before that experience. And I think I'm alright with that.

But those questions remain: Can your own desire for self-betterment be as powerful and have the longevity that an outside, some would say artificial source of improvement did for so long? How do you stop yourself from just dropping out altogether -- from no longer being the least bit concerned with the important things you once did in the hope of appealing to another? How will you know the person you see in the mirror is the real you without someone else there to provide confirmation and affirmation? Who are you if not one-half of a whole?

A couple of years ago I wrote a piece for this site detailing some of the physical changes that happened to me following the surgery I underwent to remove a tumor from my head. I talked about how it altered my hormonal output and, for a time, left me completely uninterested in sex. I talked about how strangely liberating that was; to not worry one bit whether I was clever enough, or funny enough, or cute enough, or rich enough to get laid; to be free of the sexual hang-ups and burdens that have plagued almost every post-pubescent man and woman since the dawn of the civilized age; to not even miss the pursuit of that kind of contact -- or the contact itself -- and the hassles that often come with it. That was just sex. This is love. This is full-time companionship. This is the stuff of songs and sonnets and supposed soulmates. If sex and passion are inspirational in our lives, love is epochal. And while I don't claim to know whether the latter is something I'll purposely avoid, and if so for how long, I know that I'm not looking for it anymore. I don't feel about it the way I once did and so I have to find a new way to feel about it.

In the meantime, I drift -- although I'm not sure it's really drifting. Next month I'll be hitting the road again, traveling across the country and eventually ending up in Los Angeles for a few months. I'm doing it for the reason most people have gone west in the past: opportunity. In this case, work and quite a bit of it. But I'm also going because, as I said the last time I struck out into the empty space, there's therapy in movement, in forward momentum. And because there's wonder and adventure in not knowing exactly what happens next. And because I can.

I have no idea what happened to that little blonde-haired, alabaster-skinned girl with the ice-blue eyes. Wherever she is, I hope she's happy, that she has a good life. I know what became of the impetuous, passionate boy who once thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, though. He's gone. But the man who took his place is doing okay.

Parenting for from Dummies

So Inara is sitting here watching Dora the Explorer -- of course, because that stuff is catnip for preschoolers -- and in this particular episode Dora travels to China.

While there, she learns that the Chinese kids apparently have their own version of Swiper the Fox who regularly torments them -- he's a weasel named Ying-Ying.

This is the most subversive thing I've ever seen on this show.

"So, the Chinese have created a cheap knock-off of Dora's intellectual property," I said to my daughter when I saw it.

She just stared at me -- then went back to singing the "We did it!" song.

Girl Interruption

Just a heads-up that the output around here is likely to be a little lighter than usual over the next couple of days.

My little kid's back for a quick visit -- and I'm very happy about it.

Happy Birthday, Inara

A Little Day Music

Inara vs. Priest

While flipping through channels one night at her grandmother's home recently, I came across a Judas Priest live show on Palladia.

This was Inara's reaction to it.

Daddy Care Day

Just a quick note to wish a very happy Father's Day -- and say thanks -- to all the dads out there.

Now I'm going back to spending today the way it should be spent.

Tuesday Is Recycling Day

Because it's a slow news day, and because I now spend quite a bit of time playing with Inara in the backyard, under two big trees that remind me a lot of the one I describe here...

"Shade of Gray" (Originally Published, 12.9.08)

When Jayne and I were scouting for a new place to live back in July, we looked at quite a few apartments. Some were very nice -- some, not so much. But what made us settle on the Astoria townhouse we currently call home was its abundance of unusual charms: the high ceilings; the living room which had already been painted a warm and inviting red; the large kitchen; the second bedroom, perfectly suited for a nursery and facing the backyard; the large outdoor deck extending out over the same yard.

The big, beautiful tree in that backyard.

The one that our landlord is having cut down today.

We moved in during the summer, when the tree was lush and full; Inara was captivated by it when we would sit on the deck or in the rocking chair in her small bedroom. I fell in love with that tree; there was honestly nothing more relaxing -- more enchanting -- than sitting underneath it and listening to the wind blow through its leaves, watching its heavy branches sway languidly against the giant sky beyond. It was hypnotic. It was peaceful, in a city that offers very little peace. The tree was like some kind of ancient sentinel, standing watch over Inara's bedroom. Over our home.

And now it's coming down -- piece by piece.

To call it sad wouldn't even scratch the surface.

Apparently, the reason it needs to be destroyed is that our next door neighbors -- a retired NYPD cop and his very sweet, very Irish wife -- are tired of having to rake the stray leaves from it each fall. Why that requires that it be cut down completely is beyond me. Regardless of the reason, killing something that's been a part of this neighborhood longer than any of the parties involved have been alive -- removing something so beautiful from this Earth -- feels wrong. It is wrong.

I'm in no way a nature buff, nor would I call my views on the environment particularly left wing -- sensible, yes, but not left wing. And yet one thing keeps going through my mind as I watch this once majestic thing -- this seemingly invincible being that's seen and withstood so much in its lifetime -- be so casually shredded:

"It's not yours to kill. This tree doesn't belong to you."

As it's almost winter, there are no leaves left on the tree -- they've long since fallen off. Yet even in its skeletal state, the giant is so impressive that as it comes down and barren gray sky replaces the area where it once stood, the kitchen in our apartment -- and of course, the nursery -- becomes brighter and brighter. The shade that Jayne and I cherished so much when we moved here is vanishing before my eyes.

Sad doesn't even scratch the surface.

It's just heartbreaking.

DXM History Repeats: Inara

Here on the fifth birthday of DXM, there's not a whole lot that I can add to the following two pieces. They kind of speak for themselves.

DXM Fifth Birthday Jubilee

Topic: Inara

Number of Posts: 108

"Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" (Originally Published, 9.5.10)

I just put Inara to bed.

Every parent believes his or her child is special. I realize that there's a danger in this way of thinking; far too often it plants a demon seed which grows into an insufferable sense of entitlement as the years go by in a young life. We've watched the effect of this brand of parenting on a massive scale -- with children serving as little more than the reflection of their mothers' and fathers' own narcissism -- as it reached a point of critical mass over the past decade. We've been forced to live with the consequences of it, and we've come to despise it.

But all of that being said, I have no choice but to believe -- after all I've seen and felt and come to understand -- that there is something different about my daughter.

It's not simply that she's learning at a truly accelerated pace; that she counts higher or spells better or comprehends concepts she shouldn't be able to at the age of 25 months or engages in two-dimensional thinking; there are plenty of parents who can make that claim. No, what Inara possesses and exhibits that never ceases to leave me astonished -- and occasionally shaken to my very soul -- is empathy. Humanity. She's not just an incredibly sweet little girl; she seems to have a genuine understanding, on a primal level, of the way those around her are feeling. She knows when people are happy, or sad, or angry, or excited, or lost. She feels it. Maybe this gift is something many children have, and I've just never been around one long enough to see it for myself. Maybe it's perfectly natural for a father to convince himself of these things when it comes to his child.

Maybe.

But she's taught me that sometimes I need to shut my brain off, to stop spending my life trying to peek behind the curtain to see how the magic trick is done. And when I do this, I know I can't come up with any other explanation for Inara's rare and inexplicable compassion for the world around her than it being just that: some form of beautiful magic.

Earlier today, she and I went to a place called Butterfly World. While she was wandering the aviary, laughing out loud as butterflies danced all around her, she noticed a man standing alone. She looked down, suddenly very quiet, picked up a flower from off the ground and walked over to him. Without saying a word, she handed it up to him. The look on his face as he leaned over and took the flower from her was something I will never forget. There was more beauty in that moment than in almost anything I've seen throughout my life.

Later, when we got home, she and I laid down together for a nap on the couch. We slept until we were awakened by the sound of rain on the lake outside. She curled up closer to me as the thunder came. I told her not to be afraid -- that it was wonderful. The living room strobed white with lightning, so I whispered to her, "Give me your hand," and we held our arms out together like a maestro conducting an orchestra. I waved her arm up with mine at the moment the sky cracked and exploded, shaking the entire room.

Years from now, I hope she remembers that when she was just a little girl, she and her father could make the thunder.


"Goodnight Noises Everywhere" (Originally Published, 6.5.10)

Tomorrow morning, Inara goes back to New York -- but tonight there was this:

After watching some TV on the couch together, followed by a little collaboration on a coloring book that features cartoons of dogs (whenever Inara wants to do this, she gets the book, looks up and announces, "Draw puppy?") and a couple of bites of what she excitedly called a "yummy salad," I finally decided to put my daughter down for the night.

I picked Inara up, carried her into her room and set her gently in bed -- along with a cup of milk, her blanket and stuffed bunny -- then laid down next to her on the floor. I listened to her fidget for a few minutes, then from out of the darkness came a tiny voice.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, baby."

Nothing. She didn't respond at all, just went back to sucking on her sippy cup.

A few moments later, there was the voice again, even quieter this time.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, honey. I'm here."

Even though she couldn't see it, I gave her a warm and reassuring smile -- one fueled by pure contentment.

Again a little later: "Daddy?"

"Yes, Inara. I'm still here. I'll always be here."

After a while, the voice grew smaller and smaller -- its entreaties further and further apart. But each time she called out for me, I answered, until she stopped altogether and the only sound left in the room was her steady breathing.

This is the best Saturday night I've had in years.

DXM History Repeats: Inara

DXM Fifth Birthday Jubilee

Topic: Inara

Number of Posts: 108

I saved the best for last. The birth of my daughter, Inara Grace, on July 29th of 2008, was without question the high point of DXM over the last five years. That's because it was the high point in the life of the person who writes and edits it. I've shared so much about my young daughter: the joy of being with her, the anguish of being apart from her, and the hope for a future in which I'm never not by her side either in body or in spirit. I've put it all into words as best I can -- but maybe it's best to just start with some of the pictures that have appeared here.