Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is an intriguing guy...[he] asks great questions and answers others with style, flair, reason and wit. On the blogroll he goes. Make him a part of your regular blogospheric reading. I certainly will.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Common Sense Junction: Misha @ Anti-Idiotarian never ceases to amaze me. He keeps finding other good blogs. I went over to A.I. this morning for my daily Misha fix and he had found this guy named Morgan Freeberg in Fair Oaks, California, that has a blog, House of Eratosthenes. Freeberg says its "The Blog That Nobody Reads" but it may now become the blog that everybody reads.
Jaded Haven: Good God, Morgan, you cover a topic from front to back with a screwy thoroughness I find mind boggling. I'm in awe of your thought proccesses, my friend, you're an exceptional talent. You start by throwing in the kitchen sink, tie in someone's syphilitic uncle, bend around a rip tide of brilliance and bring it all home in a neat, diamond dripping package of an exceptionally readable moment of damn fine wordsmithing. I love reading you.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
Philmon: When Morgan meanders, stick with him - he's got a point and it'll be worth it in the end. He's not a hit-and-run snarky quip kind of guy. The pieces all fall into place like tumblers in a lock and bang! He's opened a cognative door for you.
Rightlinx: Morgan at House of Eratosthenes is one of the best writers out there. I read him nearly every day because he manages to provide an interesting perspective, even though I don't always agree.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
On Saturday morning, I had set the alarm for 2:20am. But the Chinese food from Friday was not setting right with me, so I rose at 1:58 and shut off the alarm.
I sidestepped the ritual of preparing her the homemade morning coffee, since she would rely on Starbuck’s and so would I. I submerged myself in a hot bath, and at 2:50 I changed into my bicycling gear, kissed her good-bye and drove the car to the corner gas station to fill it.
She was mostly ready to go when I came back, at 3:15. She’d started NCIS, one of her Cutie Quincy shows, an hour before we’d have to leave for the airport so she’d know when her time was up. I stretched out so I could store up some energy, and in a few minutes the credits rolled.
She only needed her carry-on. I took it to the car for her. I dropped her off curb-side, at United terminal, 4:23. We kissed good-bye. Twice. She was pre-reserved, so there was no point to finding a spot in the parking lot.
As planned, I drove back to our homefires. I gave my bod a once-over with some Coppertone SPF 8, then inflated my mountain bike’s tires and got moving.
I thought it prudent to park for the better part of an hour at Starbuck’s…by this time, I was out of bed for over three hours without a caffeine fix, and that just wasn’t right. Besides of which it was still pitch black. Who knows what in the hell is out there. Coyotes? Snakes? A real man is capable of tangling with the Wild West — that’ what I was doing out here in the first place — but part of that capability is the resolve to engage only those exigencies that absolutely must be engaged. I grabbed myself a cup o’ Joe, tended to some of my secret projects on the HP mini, then re-saddled as the streaks of gray out in the East turned to rosy red.
Click the pic to embiggen these first four pictures from my week and a half of virtual bachelorhood. We engaged in some more chit-chat at 10:30 during her layover in Chicago…during which time, I was still toiling over my weekend errands on two wheels.
I’m forty-four now. I can wipe my own ass, pick out my own clothes, cook a fine meal. I’m about to toss a big ol’ side of salmon on the grill as I write this. And it’s nice to go conquering the wilderness whenever I feel like it, without worrying about a traveling companion who hasn’t built up her endurance.
But I’ll be happy when she comes back. Quoting myself in an off-line to blogsister Daphne:
We [men] like to be capable; trouble is, we’re inherently efficient. Starting at age twelve we look for ways to cut corners, drinking straight out of the carton and all that. Efficiency is very often at odds with being a good man. Once we’re alone, we’re reminded of this constantly, and we don’t like it because that’s a reminder that we’re inherently incomplete. Perhaps women are just as incomplete without us, but your side seems to have this enviable ability to remain blissfully ignorant of this.
A good test of a relationship is, are you happier with her than you are without her.
I can find some measure of happiness without her. But I’ll be much happier with her back by my side. I miss her. It’s a good feeling to genuinely miss someone, after so many years — decades, really — achieving an ideal state of happiness alone.
The world is filled with women who can command an unreasonable level of attention from a man; that is how the human genome is wired, after all. But what kind of woman can transform a man in such a way?
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