There's got to be a Morning After!
As anyone old enough to have seen the original Poseidon Adventure knows so well by now -- there's simply got to be a morning after!
And this goes for paradises lost to inexplicably elevated boxing rings practically in one's backyard (see post below), too. So I'm prepared to just look the other way, all summer long.
You know, I live in an extremely conservative little town -- regrettably (to me, at least), it is very Republican. City Hall has all kinds of rules and regulations, some of which boggle the mind in their obtuseness. A lot of the property regulations around here have to do with what might seem unsightly to one's neighbors (i.e., only one garage sale is permitted per household, per year, etc.). So who knew it was perfectly okay to erect a boxing ring a good ten feet above the ground for everyone in the surrounding yards to be regaled with? (I at least took heart in being told very politely by the police that I wasn't the only neighbor who called in "with concerns".)
But alas. (These are the same neighbors who moved in and promptly cut down seven (!!) healthy, 50 year-old pine trees that used to completely isolate my backyard from their backyard. They are also the neighbors who let their enormously HUGE pet black snake get out of its tank so that it could find its way into my family room and scare the bejeezus out of me late one stormy Sunday night in the fall of 2009. So I am already predisposed to having to be super tolerant towards them.)
I don't mind if people want to box, or if they like boxing, or if they like to bet on boxing -- what have you. I just have a really queer feeling about having the spectacle foisted upon me when I least expect it. These are teenaged boys, though, so I'm hoping they have limited attention spans and will tire of this novelty early on in the summer.
You know, many years ago, I was severely traumatized by being forced to watch the Scorsese film, Raging Bull, while literally trapped in a small room with an exceptionally violent and abusive ex-boxer who was rapidly losing his mind. It was the longest and probably scariest 129 minutes of my life. And I am someone who has survived rape twice. For me, while rape is basically unendurable and awful, it is a terror & confusion that is very much "of the moment." Your brain kind of disconnects and flees your body (mine did, anyway). The Raging Bull episode was 129 long, drawn-out minutes of up-close horror and menace and fear. My brain was very much present and accounted for and scrambling to help me find a way out of the ordeal, but there was none. (God, what a horrifying movie.) Anyway.
When I saw that boxing ring last evening, I immediately thought of bloody middleweight bouts involving Jake LaMotta, but here in that glorious morning after of cool, calm, reasonable thinking, I'm guessing it's not going to get that bad. It's just the freakin' suburbs, gang. To this, too, I shall adjust!
And this goes for paradises lost to inexplicably elevated boxing rings practically in one's backyard (see post below), too. So I'm prepared to just look the other way, all summer long.
You know, I live in an extremely conservative little town -- regrettably (to me, at least), it is very Republican. City Hall has all kinds of rules and regulations, some of which boggle the mind in their obtuseness. A lot of the property regulations around here have to do with what might seem unsightly to one's neighbors (i.e., only one garage sale is permitted per household, per year, etc.). So who knew it was perfectly okay to erect a boxing ring a good ten feet above the ground for everyone in the surrounding yards to be regaled with? (I at least took heart in being told very politely by the police that I wasn't the only neighbor who called in "with concerns".)
But alas. (These are the same neighbors who moved in and promptly cut down seven (!!) healthy, 50 year-old pine trees that used to completely isolate my backyard from their backyard. They are also the neighbors who let their enormously HUGE pet black snake get out of its tank so that it could find its way into my family room and scare the bejeezus out of me late one stormy Sunday night in the fall of 2009. So I am already predisposed to having to be super tolerant towards them.)
I don't mind if people want to box, or if they like boxing, or if they like to bet on boxing -- what have you. I just have a really queer feeling about having the spectacle foisted upon me when I least expect it. These are teenaged boys, though, so I'm hoping they have limited attention spans and will tire of this novelty early on in the summer.
You know, many years ago, I was severely traumatized by being forced to watch the Scorsese film, Raging Bull, while literally trapped in a small room with an exceptionally violent and abusive ex-boxer who was rapidly losing his mind. It was the longest and probably scariest 129 minutes of my life. And I am someone who has survived rape twice. For me, while rape is basically unendurable and awful, it is a terror & confusion that is very much "of the moment." Your brain kind of disconnects and flees your body (mine did, anyway). The Raging Bull episode was 129 long, drawn-out minutes of up-close horror and menace and fear. My brain was very much present and accounted for and scrambling to help me find a way out of the ordeal, but there was none. (God, what a horrifying movie.) Anyway.
When I saw that boxing ring last evening, I immediately thought of bloody middleweight bouts involving Jake LaMotta, but here in that glorious morning after of cool, calm, reasonable thinking, I'm guessing it's not going to get that bad. It's just the freakin' suburbs, gang. To this, too, I shall adjust!
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