Unbirthday Birthday Presents

I think there should be a special term for presents you buy yourself. Something that makes it clear that you're being spoiled by yourself. Well, it's my birthday today and I'm the proud possessor of several new things.
Comics: The $4 a pop for comics hurts my budget in a big way, so I almost never buy them anymore. As a birthday splurge I tried out a few new titles. Blue Monday from Oni Press was good: nice thick line work, expressive faces, believable dialogue, good movement from panel to panel. Bite Club from Vertigo was not good: despite being about vampires and high school, two subjects guaranteed to pique my interest, I was bored all the way through. High schoolers who look as old as the cast of 90210 do *now*, a dull monochromatic type color scheme, and bland interchangeable faces. I also bought the first Courtney Crumrin graphic novel, but this does not count as an unbirthday Birthday splurge, as I will be passing this one on to a librarian friend.

CD: Singular. See above comment on cost. Me'shell Ndegeocello's latest, Comfort Woman. No opinion on quality yet, as it's currently receiving its first playthrough on my tiny gray stereo-box.

Tasty Snacks: Assorted. Fresh ginger chocolate truffle, mint chocolate cookie, coffee, indian buffet, tabouleh, hummus, rosemary olive oil bread. Not to be eaten all at once, because that would pose a serious threat to any digestive system.

And as random presents from the universe, I ran into a number of people I sort of know, including an acquaintance from school who has the same birthday as me, and was also out shopping for presents for herself. And someone who I went to college with about 7 years ago, and haven't been in touch with since.

It's been a good birthday.

How I Learned Love in the Samurai School of the Heart

Sit. Face the wall. Bow.
Face your partner. Kneel. Bow.
Before leaving the house
shave your legs and armpits.
Have consideration for your partner:
abstain from strong smelling foods
and keep your feet clean.

It amazes me how these rituals comfort.
The belt is tied with a square knot,
the feet are tucked under at just this angle.
First dates are coffee or drinks,
second dates are dinner
(there will be no sex until the third date).
No one questions the teacher
as he explains the rules of etiquette and tradition.

Over the weekend I try again and again
to learn the simplest roll.
The more I try, the worse I become
until my back is a mass of bruises.
Over coffee I hammer away at my lover
as if I could convince him to tell me everything
by repeating my wrong words
over and over again.

At home I fall onto my mattress on the floor,
arms out, head up, slapping up the impact
(always protect the head, the heart
can take care of itself.)
But back in the dojo I forget my lessons,
forget my practice and my resolutions
falling breathless and uncontrolled.
(He walked by again and I couldn’t breathe).

There is a video of our founder, I learn,
notable for what it doesn’t show:
he was too fast, and the attackers fly away
between one frame and the next.
Of course! I think.
I know exactly how that is.
I understand now why I can never remember
the moment when I fell in love:
It happened too fast to be recorded.

Samurai, it turns out, are not Samurai at all,
unless they serve a master.
The long and short sword, the years of training
(how to walk in high heels, how to apply
makeup and how to hold a teacup) require an object.
Masterless Samurai are only Ronin.
But none of us are comfortable being alone:
everyone wants someone else to answer the difficult questions.

When it is my turn to take the test
I run up the aisle when my name is called.
My white clothes shift around me as I turn to face my partner:
I can tell that he is as nervous as I am,
but somehow the ritual carries us through.
We stand, we fall, we throw each other around the room:
the clear voices carry us and I forget
who I am, who this person across from me is.
The movement takes over, and when it is done
there is a moment of silence. I think maybe I begin to understand.