The Fugue States of Americana

I guess when that thing means something to you, you want to put it someplace meaningful. Maybe not over your garage, but on your bumper instead, or your wall, or your back. Maybe you have it on your checks, if you still have checks. Maybe you pin it to your lapel, if you still wear a lapel. Maybe someday somebody chisels it into your tombstone or sticks it in the ground above you because they know it means something to you. Maybe, but I can’t say for sure. I don’t know what it’s like for it to mean something to you, because I don’t know if it’s ever meant anything to me.  

I used to study it, swear to it. I used to hold it, fold it, wave it. I’ve seen it worn, and torn, and burned. I’ve seen people fight and cry and die over it. I’ve seen people fall in love under it, but I’ve never understood it. 

So I just look at it. I look at it, unsure what it could possibly mean to someone but glad that it means something, and hoping that I do, too. 

Arcade Nation Is Trendy

Late last week I got the good news that Tumblr had added my Arcade Nation blog to its roster of trending blogs. I still haven't figured out what that means exactly, but I take Tumblr's word that it made good on its promise because number of followers for that particular joint -- already way, way beyond what I ever thought likely when starting it a few years back -- has continued to tick ever upward over the last few days.

A big thanks to those who count themselves among that growing number, and an especially hearty and not in any way ironic fist bump to those who've managed to find your way here via that avenue; I appreciate the interest. 

Progress In Progress: An Exchange with Dad

I go downstairs to get water and find dad watching hockey.

"We winning?"

He turns away from the TV. “No. 4-2, Calgary.”

I fill a glass and sit on the couch. Dad shifts in his recliner.

"Are you going to talk to your mother again?"

"Yeah." I realize the sound on the TV is muted. He’s been watching this game in silence. "Do you have a headache?"

"What?"

"The sound?"

"Oh," he leans for the remote. "They were talking about all the empty houses in Detroit."

”On the game? You mean the announcers?”

"Yeah, they were doing one of those videos about how much the Red Wings mean to Detroit. Soul of the city and all that."

"And you didn’t want to hear that?"

Dad doesn’t answer right away. “Not from them.”