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The Adventurer


I make a painting called The Adventurer. There are no real adventurers anymore, at least not in the classic mode: costumed out in khaki and straps, always crash-landing their dubious flying machines, or half-starved and completely mad beyond the borders of some godforsaken jungle, or abandoned hinterland, or skeleton-paved mountain range, before disappearing forever in some desperate, senseless attempt to circumnavigate an area of the globe entirely devoid of dots or reason. One can't just rollick around the planet any longer, powered by stylish steamer trunks and charming letters of introduction to the right local chieftains. Too much of the world is a no-go zone now, with all the appeal of a drainage ditch, or wet ashtray, or Detroit, except with cluster bombs and refugees, and like Detroit these places just keep limping along, no matter how poorly their scars and screams fit into our Instagram feed. 
I remember reading Scott's letters in school; I think he was meant to personify something specifically British and stoic and doomy and romantic all at once, and I wonder how much my National-Lampoon-saturated brain could have possibly soaked in.
Friday, March 16 or Saturday 17 - Lost track of dates, but think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn't go on; he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could not do, and we induced him to come on, on the afternoon march. In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few miles. At night he was worse and we knew the end had come.
Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Oates' last thoughts were of his Mother, but immediately before he took pride in thinking that his regiment would be pleased with the bold way in which he met his death. We can testify to his bravery. He has borne intense suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very last was able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did not––would not––give up hope till the very end. He was a brave soul. This was the end. He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but he woke in the morning –– yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. He said, 'I am just going outside and may be some time.' He went out into the blizzard and we have not seen him since.
We go skating. Oona never wants to go skating (see: kids, effort) but this is a skill she needs to acquire. As with learning to ride a bike or catch a ball, I would like her future decisions to be motivated by reason or enthusiasm and not based on fear. So yes, avoid the company slow-pitch team like the 100%-polyester drunks that they probably are, but don't do so because you feel like Les Nessman in left field. Besides, she's getting better all the time.
I played hockey as a kid and I was atrocious. Combine one cup of all-limbs, talent-free athletic ability with two tablespoons of white-bread, indifferent coaching, mixed with the mendacious no-name mincemeat otherwise known small-town hockey culture and voilà: you get a thoroughly lacklustre hockey player who jumps from the oven as soon as humanly possible, and afterwards can only relate to sports through a Funny Games versus Island of Doctor Moreau-like prism. Are all sports bad? Of course not. Should most of them be regarded as Amway with whistles and more meaningless prizes? Yes.
It's always The Past at public skating. It's always time for Nazareth or Golden Earring or Def Leppard (did you know the drummer only has one arm! wow!) or Tears for Fears or the Cranberries or even Poison, and it is never, ever time for Kanye. But the one song that eclipses all others, that tears through the psychic stratosphere of public skating like an avenging comet, obliterating all consciousness with syrupy detonations of feel-good rock stardom, is More Than a Feeling by Boston. You can skate to that forever. 
Alright. C has put me on a 15-calorie-per-day diet so I don't have the strength or mental cohesion to type any more. Tonight we're going to see the Peking Acrobats!

I hope everyone is having a good day...

djb



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