Oct 19 2009 11:13 pm

we make weather

I hate the thoughtless soldier less when I realize there’s no other way.  The selfishness of getting mine is distasteful only when I acknowledge what it takes to build a nation.  What comes natural and what comes necessary are almost always at odds.  Primitive desires shaped in the fires of the Pleistocene are neither excuse nor sufficient for modern behavior.  Some might say that we as Americans tip-toe a cautious line between individualism and altruism.  I say we ride that fucker like a freight train without no brakes, careening down the tracks with inertia enough to dislodge mountains and make weather.

I taste this kind of thing every time I eat a breakfast burrito in Santa Fe with hot green chilies and my mouth is on fire and I sip fresh, strong, steaming coffee to wash it down and it burns and tastes vaguely dusty. 

I see this kind of thing every time Raul Ibanez steps into the batter’s box and bobs and sways subtly over and over again like a video game version of himself.  With an explosive crack of the bat, he lines one deep into the corner and the outfielder has to dig around for it.  

It’s like the way I know Joe Flacco is from Camden when he says the word “last.” 


It's like the way I know I was skunked on wiper and smallmouth today.


It's like the way I know the Phillies are charmed.  

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