Cool Blog: PostSecret

A person can waste a lot of time looking at the PostSecret blog. In the words of the site, PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail-in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard.

No matter how contrived you try to believe the postcards are, it obvious that some are the real deal. It's an experience. Check it out.

Sojourning: games adults play

This poem is typical of my poetry. It does not rhyme. It has no capitals nor punctuation. It has multiple meanings.

I do not usually rhyme my poetry because I love the natural rhythms of the English language; besides, I’m not a good enough poet to rhyme my phrases and still have them read well. (Robert Frost and Edgar Allen Poe are incredible at this, by the way.)

I do not use capitals nor punctuation, because I like the way it forces the reader to slow down while reading the poem. Each word must be evaluated for its relationship to the other words. Another of my favorite poets, ee cummings, taught me that trick.

As for multiple meanings, here’s a hint: I have written a good bit of my poetry just trying to get a date. For example, this poem was sent to a young woman with this footnote ‘P.S. If you want to be kissed, no games are necessary. Just ask.’ There, the truth is out, except that is not really the whole truth at all. Ooh, multiple meanings again! I’d say more, but I’m already baring my soul here.

games adults play

today
my daughter wanted
love
yet she chose a very
strange way
of asking for it
she told me
she did not want to be
kissed

a ploy
intended to increase
my affections
so unlike the childlike way
of freely asking
and freely giving
love
she must be getting
older

Mark Hamby
June 1994

Sojourning: untitled

I am constantly astounded by how much of a romantic I am. It kind of sickens me, honestly. But I have to admit that ten years after writing this poem, I still believe every word of it.

Or I was just trying to get a date. I don’t remember.

beauty
will ever astound me
the simple delicacy of wildflowers
the ardent glow of sunsets
the playful innocence of children

when
in the presence of beauty
my eyes no longer behold
my heart no longer quickens
my body no longer pauses

then
it will be time
to die

Mark Hamby
October 1994

Application To Date My Daughter

The following “Eight Simple Rules” and “Application” were not written by me; but now that my daughter is sixteen, I plan on handing them out to all prospective suitors.

-- Mark

W. Bruce Cameron's
Eight Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter
Copyright 1998 W. Bruce Cameron

When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend's father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands on his daughter's chest. He would open the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly murderous expression, holding out a handshake that, when gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.

Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my daughter's suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt them in the living room and they'll stay wilted all night.

"So," I'll call out jovially. "I see you have your nose pierced. Is that because you're stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid?"

As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.

RULE ONE: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

RULE TWO: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

RULE THREE: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to assure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric staple gun and fasten your trousers securely in place around your waist.

RULE FOUR: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I WILL kill you.

RULE FIVE: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."

RULE SIX: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make YOU cry.

RULE SEVEN: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process which can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

RULE EIGHT: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places lacking parents, policemen, or nuns. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her chin. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay. Hockey games are okay.

My daughter claims it embarrasses her to come downstairs and find me attempting to get her date to recite these eight simple rules from memory. I'd be embarrassed too--there are only eight of them, for crying out loud! And, for the record, I did NOT suggest to one of these cretins that I'd have these rules tattooed on his arm if he couldn't remember them. (I checked into it and the cost is prohibitive.) I merely told him that I thought writing the rules on his arm with a ball point might be inadequate--ink washes off--and that my wood burning set was probably a better alternative.

One time, when my wife caught me having one of my daughter's would-be suitors practice pulling into the driveway, get out of the car, and go up to knock on the front door (he had violated rule number one, so I figured he needed to run through the drill a few dozen times) she asked me why I was being so hard on the boy. "Don't you remember being that age?" she challenged.

Of course I remember. Why do you think I came up with the eight simple rules?

Available Nights and Weekends

Ladies, I'm available most nights and weekends for personal entertainment. Reasonable rates (I'm cheap!) and satisfaction guaranteed. (Well, I'll do my best!)

I'm posting pictures of me. Why, you ask? Just in case some super-model happens to be surfing past my blog and thinks, "Damn, that's a really good-looking hunk of a man!" Yeah, not bloody likely. Still, you never know...



Okay, after a second look, I've decided that there is no way any super-model is going to immediately start emailing me for a date...





... It might take a day or two before she realizes that, while at first glance I'm a bit respulsive, I've got a certain boyish charm that she just can't forget.



If you are a super-model and you've made it this far, remember: my email address is mhamby@yahoo.com.

Hello? ... Anybody? ... You don't even have to be a super-model; just a normal really-good-looking-model would be just fine. ... Hello? ... *sigh*

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Sojourning: Truth and Hope

I wrote this poem in April 1992. At the time, my children, Adam and Melissa, were living with their mother 800 miles away. My ex-wife was very insecure about my children’s love for me. She told them things about me that were…um, less than true. (I’m attempting to be diplomatic here, since she and I get along relatively well now.)

I made a decision then to never say negative things to my kids about their mother, nor even contradict the negative things she said. I lived with a horrible fear that my children, so far from me, would be turned against me; but I resolved to live in truth and hope for the best.

My hope in the truth was rewarded. My children came to recognize and learn the truth from both myself and their mother. To my surprise, their mother called me this year to sincerely apologize for some of her actions during that turbulent time, an apology for which I am enormously grateful and humbled.

The poem gained a second significance for me when my second wife left me, and I was powerless to stop it. Again I lost my children, my step-children this time. Again I am resolved to be true to myself and hope that my step-children know the love and sacrifice I gave to them. I love them like my own.

Of all my peotry, this one hangs in large print on my refrigerator; it is that important to me. I read it almost every day.

Truth and Hope

One day
my children will know
the truth.

One day
my children will know
my love.

I will not tell them
yet they will know.
The truth from their hearts
will grow
as my love for them
shows.

Lies can not last;
truth is everlasting.
Hate can not conquer;
love will conquer all.

If this is not so,
then I am a fool.
Destroy me now
for I no longer desire
to live.

Mark Hamby
April 1992

Sojourning: My Songs of Love and Loss

Ten years ago, I compiled a small collection of poetry I had written over the years. I called it "Sojourning". Most of those poems were the voice of my heart working through both new love and lost love. Many were written in the two years after my first divorce.

I pulled that little book of my poetry out last month and read through them again. Strangely enough, I could have written many of them this year. My heart, it seems, gets yet another chance to work through the grief of lost love.

In an exhibitionistic moment, I have decided to “publish” my poems from "Sojourning” on this blog. I think I’ll add a little commentary as well. I am not posting the poems in the order they are in the book (for those of you who have read it). Not that it matters much, I guess.

For those of you who only know my outspoken, joking, "manly" side, you may be a little shocked that I write poetry. I'm a bit shocked myself. But I love the English language, and I do have a minor degree in English, after all. And though I hate to admit it, I'm a sucker for romance.

So go ahead, read my poetry, and comment them if you’d like. Good or bad, I’d like to hear what you think.

Mark

Old Story Retold: Bats In My...Bedroom?

(Originally from 7/19/2004)

Okay, I know not a lot has happened in my bedroom lately; but really, it's hardly a crypt or anything.

I walked into my bedroom tonight carrying my usually pre-bedtime bundle of book, low-carb ice cream, and a cup of tea. (My blanket was taken from me when I was much too young.) As I reach for the light, I see this "thing" fly in front of my face.

"Holy crap!" I think, "That has gotto be the biggest moth I have ever seen in my life." As I am ducking, it flys by again. "That's a.... No, it can't be. Yes, it is. It's a bat!"

The little guy was circling round and round my bedroom. He didn't want to fly out the door. (I can't blame him. I'm not to pretty a sight in my underwear, trust me.) He was so cute, about 2 inches long and 3-4 inches wide. I just wanted to catch him and...

Wouldn't be cool to own a bat for a pet? I mean if you could train them to land on your finger like a parakeet? And you could do some living room "falconeering" but with horseflies and your bat. Speaking of flies, I bet you could throw out your plastic swatters. Little Vampie would take care of them. But I digress.

I have not idea how the fella got in my bedroom. I mean, my house is not exactly air tight. I've had flies and bugs in there occasionally, but a bat? That's a first.

So I opened a window and let the little guy out. I'm going to miss him. I know our time was short (about 3 minutes to be exact). But I kind of liked him circling round and round and round. But maybe that's because I'm a little batty myself.

Old Story Retold: Mood Ring

(Originally from 2/28/2001)
(I'm not sure if I made this up or not. The original had names in it [removed to protect the guilty]. I do remember a mood ring... Oh well, it's short and funny.)

My daughter bought a mood ring the other day.
When she's in a good mood, it turns green.
When she's in a bad mood, it leaves a red mark on my son's forehead.

Old Story Retold: A Wallpapering Adventure

(Originally from 10/4/2002)

I have a wallpapering story to tell. It is long, but not as long as the living it.

Mona and I are remodeling our house. Some rooms need a lot of work, but the living room is not one of those. All it really needed was to replace some old wallpaper. A simple, weekend job, right? Not when there is a Hamby involved!

Mona and I spent 3 hours in Home Depot looking at wallpaper for the living room. We could not find anything we liked. When Home Depot kicked us out that night, we were frustrated and exhausted. However, we did decide that we wanted some sort of burgundy stripe with green and/or gold accents. And we knew the style we wanted: sort of classical European, but not too formal if possible.

I went online to a great wallpaper place called decoratetoday.com. I did a search for striped wallpaper. I got over 31,000 striped wallpapers. Ohmigod, WAY too many! So I searched for burgundy stripes. I got 2,940 wallpapers. OK, it will take a while, but I can go through these since they show thumbnails 20 at a time. After another 3 hours, I had narrowed the choices I liked down to about 20. Time for Mona to look at them.

Mona and I narrowed them down to 5 after discussing for about an hour. Hmmm, maybe our parents can help. Call them up and invite them for dinner. Amazingly, my parents are nice enough to drive one hour to look at wallpaper. Do they love me or was it just because food was involved? After printing out pictures of the 5 wallpapers (with accompanying borders and matching alternates for the hallway), we taped the pictures to the wall and further discussed them for another 2 hours. Mona’s mom, by the way, thought we were all nuts and went home shortly after dinner.

Finally we decided on the “right” wallpaper: a nice burgundy strip with a classic fig-leaf design on a light marble background. How nice! We all went to bed happy.

The next morning as I stumbled out into the living room, I looked up at the wallpaper picture still taped to the wall. Yuk! Something is just not right. But I didn’t know what. I mentioned it to Mona. After dodging her screaming lunge at my head, she looked at the wall herself. She sighed and quietly said “Whatever.”

I should now mention that Mona had employed the classic Hamby technique of scheduling a party to force remodeling to be done by a certain date. Mona, while not born a Hamby, is well on her way to being “completely assimilated” as Star Trek’s Borg race would say. Mona’s party was only one week away by this point. One little “catch” about the wallpaper was that it was out of stock until next month. Now one would think that out of 31,000+ stripped wallpapers, we would be able to choose one that we liked AND was in stock. You would think so, wouldn’t you? Nope, we liked this. So Mona decided to paint the room for the party and we could wallpaper it afterwards.

Now by this time, we had already torn off the old wallpaper and painted the room TWICE with Kilz. The living room was a nice clean white. Good enough for me to live with for a month. But I love my wife, so I said, “Sure, honey. Go buy a can of paint. The cheap kind, please.” And off she went. She came back with a paint a lovely shade of 'Dusty Rose' (to quote the paint company).

The boys were in trouble and grounded. Nothing unusual about this, I guess, but in my anger, I had added “…and I’m going to work your butts off, too!” to their punishment. So I told them to paint the room. Big mistake. If you have ever done had a teenager work on a job he did not want to, you know that they are experts in making simple jobs long and complicated. A one hour pain job, turned into an all day affair. In the process, I spend far longer teaching (read “yelling at” ) them how to paint the room than if I’d done it myself. When the boys found out that they were painting a perfectly good white room only to be wallpapered within a month, they complained non-stop. But finally they got it done.

Mona and I stood back to admire our new, if temporary, living room walls of ‘Dusty Rose’. Almost immediately and with all the clarity of the kid in ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’, one of the boys commented “It looks pink!” The trouble was, he was right. And not a nice pink, either. A nasty pink-that-is-not-supposed-to-be-pink pink. It looked like a teenage girl’s room.

So back to the hardware store, Mona went again to get some “accent” paint. Another $15 and she returned with yet another wonderful color the paint company called 'Sunset Gold' (or something like that). She pulled out her brush and began to paint on gold accents to “tone down” (her words) the bright pink.

Now I am no artist, but something tells me that if you take a pink wall and paint yellow marks on it, it will get brighter, not “toned down”. After Mona finished her hand-brushed “accents” (which are foot-long sweep marks across the wall), the room no longer looked like a teenage girl’s room. It now looked like a toddler girl’s room.

Every marriage needs a bit of diplomacy occasionally. And just then, mine needed plenty. “What do you think?” asked Mona. What was I supposed to say? “It looks great”, I said. “…if everyone at your party is under five years old!”, I thought. I would have pulled it off, too, if my face had not given me away! (The traitor!) You all know how the rest of the conversation went…. “You don’t like it.”...“It’s not that I don’t like it; it’s just that…” …and so on. The scenario played out as expected; and in the end, Mona was outside pissed off and I was feeling really like a dirt-bag.

The pink had to go. I called the boys in and told them to repaint the room with the gold paint. Ever told two teenage boys that they had to redo a job that they did not think should be done in the first place? I do not advise trying it. Now their complaints of “You are going to wallpaper it in a month!” and “What was the matter with white?” were louder and more obnoxious. Two high points, though: they painted the room in less than an hour the second time, and it looked much better in gold.

The next day, online wallpaper store sent me an email. (This is a story about wallpapering, remember?) It said essentially that the hallway wallpaper has become available, although the living room wallpaper was still out of stock. And, by the way, a 24-hour wallpaper sale with free shipping was going on and wouldn’t I like to order my wallpaper today to take advantage of it? (I am such a sucker!)

I sat down to order the wallpaper which everyone agreed was the prettiest. But something about it….. Hmmm, here is the same wallpaper in blue with red and gold accents. Isn’t that pretty…. “MONA! COULD YOU COME DOWN HERE FOR A SECOND?” In the end, after looking at over 3,000 wallpapers and spending 8-10 hours, we ordered the blue one within 15 minutes of seeing it. But it was in stock!

We moved all the furniture into the living room. The gold paint looked good…really good. In fact, a little too good. I knew I was in trouble again when Mona pressed up against me, caressing my arm, smiling so sweet, and saying “Honey, I really like the gold. Do you think we could cancel the wallpaper?” Well, fine, except that she waited 2-3 days before deciding that.

This morning some really pretty blue-stripped wallpaper arrived in the mail. Anyone thinking about wallpapering their living room? I hear it’s really easy.