Modern guilt won't get me to bed

About a week ago Melissa and I watched the award-winning movie Milk and while I viewed I ate a plate of pretzel sticks and ranch dressing. I gave practically no thought to my light snacking much like any popcorn popping movie-watcher doesn't consider the hand in the bucket and the munch in the mouth. Eating and watching a movie is mindless until tragedy strikes. Usually this tragedy takes place on the screen but of course there is the ill-fated kernel or nacho not masticated properly that winds up wedged deep and painfully in the snacker's throat. At his point is completely impossible to ignore the snack itself since it is clearly not to be overlooked without a fight.

In Milk, the true story of the first openly gay individual to be elected to major public office in the United States (for those of you who didn't already know that which I am actually quite positive any one of the half dozen people who read this knew what the movie was about so I apologize for the patronizing explanation), the protagonist is heinously murdered and the grief Melissa and I felt was enormous. Since the movie is based on actual events the ending was already clear from the outset but as any well-done movie should do it made the inevitable shocking and moving, not just expected. At the moment of Harvey Milk's assassination I could no longer eat my pretzels. Tragedy struck and I could not bring myself to indulge in another salty stick. It would only seem to cheapen the moment and show disrespect. In actuality I bet the real Harvey Milk would want me not to stop enjoying my snack on account of him but I didn't want to break the stirring silence with a seemingly rude chomping noise. When a movie is truly tender and feels quite intimate with the audience then to continue chowing down would be like slurping a milk shake at a funeral viewing and then laughing aloud at texts you are receiving. Truly uncouth. I didn't want to be that guy so the pretzel I had picked up and was nervously bringing towards my mouth found its way back into the bag from whence it came.

I was so self aware at that moment while I was also entirely lost in the throes of the film. It was a very odd sensation.

brandonpiercegeary

bottemless beverages

I truly believe that life is full to bursting. I like to look at optimism not as taking potentially disappointing situations and seeing them as efficacious such as in the old "glass half full" euphemism but more like a bottomless fountain beverage that is never empty and if we are thirsty enough the glass never has to be quite full either. "Drink and be merry for tomorrow we die." Bottoms up.

I don't know, I was talking with Melissa earlier and she said some simple and profound things about feigning happiness to not honestly feel something unfavorable. It caused me to rethink my motivation for positivity. As far as I can tell and have been told I am a generally, or perhaps more sincerely, haphazardly optimistic. If I am merely compensating for feelings that leave holes in me then I indeed create more holes through my self-delusion. But if I do not delude myself and excuse and then suppress poor situations and instead continue throwing back life so that even when I reach the end and the straw starts making sucking sounds I will pound my tumbler on the table and demand my free refill. We don't have to stay at the bottom trying to slurp the watery backwash trapped under the ice cubes. And to take this miserable metaphor one painfully silly (or astoundingly poignant) step further - when the fresh beverage slides across the wooden planks and into our palm we can continue the fellowship and discourse over the bountiful meal with our friends. We can pour into each other.

Good poopin' that was ridiculous but I meant every word.