the ram lives.

hours after the movie, it was still there. i was still there. yes, bugsy has a real soft spot, but this one hit home on a number of pieces.

perhaps it was the ram going through the physical changes of age, his body no longer in the same reality of his mental world, where the fading reality of his dream lived so vividly. left without anything but his passion, his unresolved internal conflicts, and an image of what was in the eyes of others, he deteriorates to the point that he ultimately is wrestling himself, his biggest and most material foe.

and when the heart attack comes, and he is altered , it is a place that bugsy can connect with; when, around one year ago, bugsy was cut open, he too was forced to suddenly put life in perspective. the mind, healthy, but shocked, seeks new understanding in such a state; the body, healing, cannot fully respond, but forces the mind to work harder to find understanding. the ram and bugsy share this feeling together. the ram fulfilled his passion and life's calling by resolving his internal conflict with nothing less than doing what it was that he did best.

a good story, a good movie. despite the few areas that one could latch onto and try to critique it on, the overall performance and vibration that is created is a tour de force and well worth your sunday afternoon matinee money. buy yourself a popcorn while your at it and enter randy's world. the ram lives.

the drive the wiffle

wiffle ball in many states. wiffle ball on the bonneville flats. wiffle ball in the middle-of- nowhere nebraska. wiffle ball in the snowy land of iowa, in front of a privately owned armored personnel-carrier. wiffle ball in the sage infested fields of western nevada. wiffle ball in the wild wild west of california.

all along, a journey of trying to find our stuff. sometimes a curve ball. sometimes a fast ball. sometimes a knuckle ball that felt so slow and out of control that we wondered if it would ever make it over the plate.

a few headhunters, and a few perfect strikes. a few out of the park bombs and a few swings that showed intention but no fruit.

now the game is over. now my trunk plays whiffle ball with itself. now the bats go silent and the ball rolls, hoping to someday, once again, make contact.