A younger couple is sitting across from each other playing chess in a coffee shop I am at the other morning. The chess pieces seem scattered across the board as if there were just there for decoration, but knowing chess, each piece was put on each square for a reason.

The couple doesn't talk. They don't look at each other. The girl with dark hair pulled in to a pony-tail wearing sharp thick rimmed stylish glasses rests her chin on her cupped hand. The guy is wearing one of those hats you see old men wearing, with a thick brim and flat form and has arms crossed. His left hand is over his right arm.

The man pushes a piece with a horse head with the tip of his finger. He rests back in his chair crosses his arms again and smiles. The girl shakes her head and smiles.

"Again!"
"Again..." He says back laughing.
"I'm never going to beat you." She says as she starts packing the pieces back in to a box.

"It's all strategy, babe." The man says as he laughs and puts his coat on. "You'll get it."

The woman just shrugs looking disappointed. And for a second I am with her. I'm exactly in that shrug.

Strategy. It's in the games we play. It's in the arguments we have in order for people to see our side. It's in the way we live our lives. We've got the rules and that's it. How we go about succeeding is up to how we play and most of us play it to win it. Everyday is just another day to attempt to go for the gold... get that job or meet the one or finish that book we are writing or just finding something that makes us happy.

Sometimes we totally win and walk away with a smile telling others they will one day get it. Checkmate.
Some of us, though, are still trying to figure it all out.

"Bouncing is what Tiggers do best... gushing is what Byrons do best."

And why I adore and admire little dancing Asian kids.

It's art. It's writing. It's free with free beer. Beer rhymes with here. Which is where you should be.
1935 1/2 NORTH AVE

One of my potential students who wants to try to get in to my class is sitting down for an interview with me.

Student: You know you look like Chris Brown?
Me: I don't know who that really is, but how so?
Student: Well, a white-boy style of him.
Me: Uh huh.
Student: And if you had different colored eyes.
Me: Uh huh.
Student: And if you could dance like him.
Me: Uh huh. So, how do I look like Chris Brown.
Student: You don't.
Me: Then, why did you say it?
Student: 'Cause it will get me in your class, right?

This morning I caught a stranger staring at me from his car at a red light.

It may have been because I am having a good hair day.
It may have been because the wheels I rented to go teach are pretty sweet and eco-friendly.
It may have been because he was trying to ask if I had any Grey Poupon.

Or it may have been because I made a CD and had two espressos this morning and decided that it would be fun to, you know, belt out the songs on the CD with the energy and passion that comes from two espressos which included bouncing in my seat and head banging.

Snow-blowing the snow in the alley at 5:30 in the morning where there are windows where people have their beds and lay their heads and are still sleeping because they were out kind of late the night before might be just a little bit freaking rude... especially when it happens two days in the row. I could be wrong, though. But usually I'm right about these kinds of things.

I've seen this movie at least ten times.

If you haven't seen Vanilla Sky, it goes a little something like this: Guy has perfect life--girls, glam, cash, and owns a successful magazine left to him by his crappy father. He sleeps with hot girls and has great parties. Everyday is a fun day. Until he meets the love of his life. He has this fantastic night with her and they stay up all night talking and watching t.v. and then a horrible accident happens and his life changes and he doesn't know what is real and where his life is going and it's so good because it's Cameron Crowe and it has a soundtrack and it has these fantastic one liners like: "I will tell you later... in another life... when we are both cats." or "Look at us. I'm frozen. You're dead... it's a problem." And some of the scenes will blow your mother fing mind. I mean, there is this one where they're in a dance club and the laser lights and the camera angle and the soundtrack and the people and it feels like I am there dancing at my favorite place and I want to just be them and I just want to be these characters and... and...

OK. See. I've seen this movie. A lot. But for some reason... this time was different.

You know how you can watch a movie or hear a song or read a book three or four or seven times and each experience can be the same? You enjoy it. It fulfills you. You go on with your life... unless something has happened in your life... and has changed the way you see...well, everything.

Then you hear that song or read that book or see that movie again and because you have changed and your perspectives have changed... the movie has changed. The scene that you never really got before totally makes sense. Or... or your empathy for a character, empathy that you never had for them, is there and you see it through their eyes and it's like the movie is brand new and better and something feels different... you feel different... you feel like you get some things... you feel wiser.

This is why I am a writer.

I believe that the things we do and the things we show others and the things we create and the way we perceive things make us better. See, it might not make us better the first time we see something or read something or hear something, but nothing ever comes that easy.

There are things in life we are not ready for. There are some scenes that we keep reliving over and over. There are some dialogs that we hear on repeat, but it is not until that moment where we are the wiser and that life experience has gained up on us where those scenes and dialogs and our lives start coming together... start making sense.

And like a movie you fall in love with all over again... you can start falling in love with your own life. And that is a damn good ending to any story... Hollywood's or your own.

A couple on the bus:

Guy: "Oh my GOD, it's so COLD!"
Girl: "Yup. It is."
Guy: "What's your problem?"
Girl: "Nothing..."(She says this in the way there is so something wrong, but not admitting).
Guy: "Um, OK... GOD, I think my brain is frozen."
Girl: (Mumbles) "I think your heart is frozen."

Me: (To myself) "I'm totally going to use that."

They say penguins huddle together to keep warm and rotate positions so each penguin gets a turn in the warm center of the group. Polar bears have stiff hairs that insulate and create traction on the ice and cold and tend not to leave their mates during birthing season. And in the Tundra, the coldest climate on Earth, the wind causes what plant life that can survive in the conditions to hold on to the stones and rock that surround the terrain.

We hide.

For twenty -five years I grew up in this. The temperatures that even make touching window glass painful are so easy to forget in those months where we sweat and die for air conditioning. You would think it would get easier. You would think putting on layers and covering your ears and watery eyes would be something you prepare for like Christmas or your birthday or tax season. But it never gets easy. Never.

Right now the hum of my steam heat reminds me of how quiet the cold can be too. People stay under covers and have fires in their fireplaces. Car honks are minimal and crowds of people who don't mind walking a few blocks to restaurants and bars drink at home or risk a cab ride. It's silent.

I think we have it all wrong. Like penguins or polar bears or even the moss that grows on rocks, we should totally depend on each other when it gets this cold. We should say: "Yo, let's huddle. Let's hug and stay warm!" Not that waiting for the bus would be all that pleasant if say some dude walked up to me and started huddling me to make sure I didn't freeze before the 146 bus made it to our stop. But the idea is nice. Or maybe the city in the cold is too scary for me.

I'll admit it. It's too quiet. Because, yes, I grew up with the cold but I always had a full house to snuggle in. My parents would order pizza(because it's never too rude to make a pizza guy go out in the weather!) and we would all grab blankets and fall asleep watching bad movies on the USA Network. And now, well, it's not like that. My apartment doesn't have a fire place and I don't have cable and I don't have a house full of people... or anyone else to cling to under the blankets... like I used to. It's just me. Sometimes that makes it even colder.

It's funny how the warmest thing can be the memories of the good in the coldest times.

I totally dig breathing.

It's this thing that I've been doing since, oh you know, I was born. It's this really super cool thing that involves sucking air in to my body and then letting it out when I am done using it. Apparently it keeps me alive and makes me have energy and gets my brain working and my blood pumping and all that good stuff. I dig that. I really do.

I get habits, too.

There was this one period in my life where I would come home and watch four hours of Saved By The Bell on that channel, TBS. You know, the channel that has that wacky show time thing like: 8:05am to 8:35am Saved By The Bell will play... they don't round it to normal hours of the clock.. they love that five minute deal. Anyway, I had the habit for a good semester or two of high school to come home and do my homework in front of four hours of that show reciting every line... even if I saw the episode the day before. It was a habit.

But it didn't kill others.

You know where I'm going with this. Yeah. If you don't know, you can't smoke in Chicago. Finally. Thank God. Now, I'm not going to get on my whole social high horse of why I think this is fantastic(because I don't smell like crap when I leave a bar because I don't have to hold my breath when I am dancing at Berlin because I don't have to worry about absorbing all the stuff other people enjoy absorbing because other people are absorbing it at choice). I'm not a judger. I'm just not.

But, I love it. And I don't just love it because I don't have to smell it. I love it because it's like we are finally on the right track. It's like we finally get it as people.

I was born when smoking was still as popular as 80's synthesized beats. I remember people smoking all over the place... including people in my family. And I used to think it was so fricken cool. Those awesome white sticks dangling out of mouths. You got to carry a lighter wherever you went. You got to blow out smoke from your nose like a dragon. There was nothing cooler than that. Being a dragon, that is.

But then we lost a family member to it. And then there was the realization that being a dragon wasn't as cool as staying alive. And it was when I saw that ad back in the mid 80's where they were all: "Would you give a cigarette to your unborn baby..." and a picture of a fetus totally lighting up where I got that sometimes we are all still idiots.

We still shoot at each other with guns when we disagree. We still eat ourselves in to death. We still sleep with people without using protection. We still keep on making the mistakes that we should totally be learning from.

So, this whole no smoking in public places in Illinois is making it easier to breathe... and the scent that we are breathing in is no longer tar, but maybe it's optimism. Maybe this is a new step for us as people or at least respect for ourselves. Maybe it's just good to know that we might not be able to end a pointless war or stop people from getting sick from having sex... but we can take it piece by piece... or puff by puff.

Or maybe it's just nice to know that we can take a deep breath without choking on our mistakes.

I'm pretty sensitive.

I think this is well known by many. But I'm going to put it out there just in case.

So, being sensitive. It comes with a lot to deal with. You know, a lot. There's the whole "I'm trying to figure out what it all means!" feeling and then there's the whole "Am I overreacting to what just happened or is he or she an asshole and I'm totally at right to react the way I am reacting?" feeling. And then there is the whole " Let's be all melo-dramatic Grey's Anatomy-like" thing. You know, this involves music and metaphors and pauses and all that fun stuff.

But, it's sort of part our jobs to figure out this stuff going on all around us. If we all just sat around watching T.V. and eating ice cream in one sittings we wouldn't know that there was gravity and we wouldn't know that we could go in to outer space and we wouldn't know that you could totally spell "boobless" on your calculator if you turn it upside down(AWESOME since fifth grade!).

And some of us are just a little more sensitive when it comes to figuring this stuff out. Especially when it comes to relationships.

I keep everything. Not in a creepy " I can't get rid of that tin can because we made our last dinner together with that tin can" kind of way. But I like ticket stubs and I like Polaroids and I like receipts and bowling score sheets and photobooth strips and playbooks. These things are what us sensitive people use to go back to. We use it to remind us that something existed. We use it to sigh and laugh at and to get mad at and then get frustrated at and then get heated at and then... and then...

we shove it all back in to a box and hide it under the bed next to the stuff you wouldn't want your mom to find.

And I thought this was normal. I thought this is what everyone does. And then I found this:

And for a second I stared at it. I stared it like how you stare through a store front window at something you didn't know you wanted until you saw it right there at that moment in the window.

These bags... these bags... make sense:

Because having boxes of things from the past sometimes isn't the right way to approach where you are trying to go in to the future. All the reminders of things that were right that went wrong... eh, there's a better way to use space.

Sure, we should totally keep the good stuff. And if the time together ended well, then you should save all the things that mean something to you. But when there are bags like these and there are melo-dramatic ways to approach it... well, sometimes it's fun to see your past go up in flames. Usually, once the smoke clears, it's much easier to assess the damage and start making room for the new.

Like most everyone, I made a list for 2008.

You know, "The List". Things you want to get better at or accomplish or finish or start or lose or gain or ignore or pay attention to. The things that, for whatever reason through out the other part of the year, you feel will be better started at the beginning of the new one. And let's not forget Oprah's big find of 2007, The Secret! Where you write down things you want to accomplish and the phsyical-ness of it makes the world start making it happen or some shit like that.

So, I've seen other people's lists. Theirs involve things like:
Go back to grad school
Get a dog
Get a car
Own a home...

Those are great. Good goals. Go for it. Yeah!
But I decided to get a little more inventive with mine... and it ended up being a few pages...

Things that are on my list:

Ride in an air balloon
Ride all the trains in Chicago(Pink and Yellow to go!)
See a show at the planetarium
Host a travel show
Get a piece published in a popular publication
Go a week without texting(HA!)
Write more letters... to people who live close and far
See that giant dinosaur in the desert
Go to New Mexico
Go to another continent I haven't been on
Fill three Moleskin notebooks

And the list goes on and on.

But the one that I am working on today is:

Write a letter/essay/piece to my future kids about the lessons from their dad.

See, lately I have been scaring myself about how much I want kids and what that would mean for me and how that would happen. But what I've realized is that one day I will be a freaking awesome dad with stories... so many stories that these kids are going to laugh at or get sad at or get scared at or not hear until they are older and drunk and I am slightly senile and they don't know whether to believe me or chalk it up to me being a writer.

But this letter, it's the stuff I am learning now. Not: "You should always start a savings account because you never know when you're going to need it." It's more like: " You may break up with someone that you've lived with for years and have to move out. You will need friends. Good friends. Get those friends and have them help you pack those boxes to get you out of that house so you are somewhere new and not regretting... and this is OK... making these mistakes. It's awesome. It means you know what you want..."

And my kids will read this and totally know that their dad wasn't, well, whoever I will be as their dad when they are around.

Because that's what these lists are for, right? They are to make us better people. They are to remind us we aren't just supposed to get up in the morning and take every second like it's always going to be there. The lists are to make us see that we've got more to offer and we just need to stop watching reruns of Samantha Who to realize that.

On the list: Watch more reruns of the four episodes of Samantha Who

"Have a good one, Big Guy."

So, lately, people have been calling me "Big Guy". I didn't really think anything of it until I heard it the fourth time at the health food store I was buying a salad at.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking... "So? What's the big deal? "Big Guy". People say it all the time."

And that's fine to think that... especially when you're tall. Being tall and hearing "Big Guy" is like saying: "Have a good day, sir." When you're a male. It's just how it goes. But when you are, um, vertically challenged, "Big Guy", has a different meaning.

Now, I'm not that short. If you've met me, you'd agree. But I'm not tall either. I'm five foot seven. I really have never been sensitive about this either... until someone actually called me short while in line at a concert. The dude that called me short was a jerk and isn't worth the story, but when I realized that five foot seven isn't really that common for most Midwestern guys, I started thinking... is that what everyone thinks.

Plus, "Big Guy" is like a phrase you use for a little kid that did something really cute and is proud of it and wants to be talked to like he's all special and stuff. You know, "Good job eating all your peas, Big Guy!" or "Wow! You finger painted that all by yourself? Good going Big Guy!" but when you are paying for salad or getting a latte or holding a door open for someone or even returning a t-shirt... you are not really doing anything deserving a "Way to go, Big Guy!" kind of compliment. So, that sort of "Big Guy" doesn't work.

What I'm saying is, well, I've just noticed people calling me "Big Guy" lately and I just wanted to know--since I don't have cable--if that is a phrase that is being commonly used on some new hit show. Like, "Boo" or "My Bitch" or "Maam" or "Lova".

Or if I should just assume I'm getting a belly and that's the sort of "Big" they are relating to. Because if that's it, then you know, we don't need to be talking about the fact that people have been calling me "Big Guy" and we can pretend that this has never existed. Cool. Yup. Totally.

Hey. Did you know the Earth is round?

And one plus one is two. And B comes after A. And we breathe oxygen. And we have fifty states.

It's easy to look past the facts we learn at a young age. You know, the stuff you pick up when you are in grade school and will never forget. Cursive handwriting and how to multiply and the first president of the United States. It's these things that we know that we totally take for granted because they are just so obvious.

It's the taking for granted thing that we also learn at a young age. If we're lucky we are given things easily. Our parents or family love us and give us what we need and even what we want. Christmas is never a problem and our birthdays will always be a glowy memory in the back of our heads. We never thought where everything that we've experienced or been given to us came from. We just liked that it was there.

We do this with people, too.

Every year, since I could remember, we've gone to dinner as a huge family to celebrate my grandma's birthday. It was usually at places where you have cloth napkins and silverware on both sides of the plate. We'd sit at a long table and yell conversations at all directions laughing and ordering more drinks and sharing off each other plates(uh, yeah, even at fancy silverware establishments!).

But it's sort of different now that, you know, my grandma is no longer around.

It's been a fact that she's been gone for almost three years and with her birthday this weekend I can't stop thinking about how that fact never quite sinks in. It's there. It's obvious. But it's still hard to let it sink in.

But worse, I take for granted the memories I have of her. Some people never have the closeness with relatives or a special person that I did with my Grandma. The stories I could tell you about that woman would blow your freak'n mind. You've probably heard stories already.

But like the facts we've learned years ago-- the Earth is round or one plus one is two-- I don't think the memories we have of people we really have loved that leave our lives will ever go away. We're lucky that way... having places in our minds where that stays like a wine stain that sets in a white shirt.

We shouldn't take that for granted. Not the wine stain. The memories.

Last night I saw a woman having a conversation with a dog.

This is normal to me. I grew up with pets. A lot of them, actually. We were sort of a halfway house for animals. We had a three legged cat we saved from a bush. We adopted a dog that was pretty sick and a dog that someone gave to us as a dying wish before she had cancer. My mom talked to the pets. I've talked to pets.

But this was on the street, as the Collie was tied to a parking meter. The streets were wet from melting snow and the woman, probably in her sixties, was wearing a skirt and standing in a deep puddle having a conversation with the Collie.

The Collie wasn't talking back.

"So, do you like it warm here?"

PAUSE. As if the woman was waiting for an answer.

"Do you like it when you are tied up like this?"

PAUSE.

"Do you like bones?"

PAUSE.

"Do you like chasing cats?"

More silence as the Collie looks up at the woman who, as I wait for the bus, I realize might not be all there. As the woman asks more questions without more answers here tone becomes a ton more frustrated...as if she is getting annoyed that she is not being talked back to.

She continues to ask strange questions. Her voice raises higher and higher as the dog starts pacing, looking for its owner. Cars whip by on the wet street and as the bus rolls up to pick me up, I see the owner-- a younger guy-- come out of the video rental store and save his puppy.

On the ride home I think about how maybe we try too hard at things that aren't meant to happen.

Sometimes we attempt things and put our everything into it hoping that we will get the answers we want to hear. We try so hard. We get optimistic. We get excited. We want what we want...

And when we don't get it we feel like we've just made the biggest idiot out of ourselves.

Except, maybe, we need to look at it like a talking dog. They don't exist, and if you want it to exist you are going to be waiting a really, really long time for that to happen. Some things are just not meant to happen at a certain time, with a certain person, with a certain job, with a certain opportunity...or are never meant to happen.

And the questions we keep asking others... ahem, or dogs, are the questions we need to be asking ourselves.