Macho Man

Things Keri Geeks Out Over Part 3:

So I have a longstanding love affair with Macho Man.

It's freaking true. My dad was a big wrestling fan when he was younger and I knew him just from watching tv all the time, and as I've grown older Macho Man has found a very dear place in my heart.

It started with these guys, who love to do Macho Man impressions (and they do them side splittingly well):

My darling husband and our great friend Nick, champions of the Macho Man impression!

For real. These guys can have me crying begging them to stop once they start in on the Savage impersonations. "I said I can't sing and I can't dance but I can make romance, yeah!!"

Then this summer an amazing thing happened.
It all started when we were preparing to leave for Bonnaroo. We had to leave on Wednesday to get there by Thursday night, but everything was going wrong. We were having terrible luck. Our car rental got screwed up and we were having trouble with the bank giving us money and all sorts of crap. Earlier on that day Corey had bought a little stuffed shark with tattoos on it from Wal Mart and we proclaimed it our mascot, but after all that had gone wrong I joked that it was our mascot that was causing the bad luck. Of course we don't believe anything like that, but I was getting so stressed to the point where I was starting to get snappy at Corey and taking it out on him (which I absolutely HATE and avoid doing at all costs) so I took my mood into my own hands and decided to laugh instead. "We gotta get rid of that shark," I says. So we made a big deal out of removing the shark from the roster, effectively firing him as our mascot . This detailed ceremony involved tossing the shark out the car window into a CVS parking lot. :D We couldn't leave without a mascot though. On a lark I grabbed a Macho Man action hero that we have, tied some yarn around him, and hung him from our rear view mirror.

And wouldn't you know it...everything started going right. We didn't have a single problem for the rest of our trip to Bonnaroo and back.

Macho Man guarded us through Atlanta

Macho Man guided us at 6 am when the sun started to come up (we drove all night)

Macho Man guarded us through the mountains

Macho Man is still hanging in the Explorer, watching over us every where we go. My dad, knowing our religious affiliation *and* our sense of humor, chuckled when we told him the story and how Macho Man saved our trip. He shook his head and said "well, at least you believe in something."

And I do, dammit! I believe in Macho Man. I believe in the power of a man so freaking insane and hilarious that it could keep me and Corey from harm  :D Yuk yuk. I wanted to write about this today because I got the random urge to watch some of Macho's old interviews. They are freakin' hilarious and I ended up turning them off because I was choking back laughter and tears all day. Here are a few favorites:

 The draw to Macho is easy for me to pinpoint. He's absurd and confident and hilarious. Corey and I have long discussions on whether Macho was just playing a personality, or whether Macho was just...Macho. I like to think that he started out just playing a character but that Macho Man slowly started to take over Randy Savage, until at the end of his career he was all Macho all the time.

I googled Macho Man pictures and I changed my desktop to this. I mean, just look at the guy! He is my hero, and definitely worthy of the small amount of faux idol worship we have granted him.

RIP, Macho. RIP.

And when I return, the trees will know my name

So many words are swirling around in my brain, it's hard to get them out sometimes. It's already December, and I feel like I have to shake my head every few seconds just to make myself remember that. I don't mean to go all Keanu or anything, but dude! Whoa. Whoa. 2012? Already? Dude.

 I needed to get out, so I took Clem and we went wandering.

Our apartment complex is the only thing on our road, and if you leave the complex and go walking it isn't long until you reach some good old fashioned beauty. There's a bridge and a creek, and this lovely spot that makes me think of Arthur and his Lady of the Lake. Clem and I parked our butts here for a bit, with her trotting around sniffing at stuff and me just chillin'. Thinkin'.

Thoughts of life, the way it changes so fluidly, filled my brain. I get such a kick out of how silently time passes and how next thing you know you're a completely different person than just a few years ago. I tend to get wistful and sentimental a lot, it's a huge part of my nature. I just...love everything, dammit, and as such I get overly emotional about stuff. Stuff like where I live now, the places I used to live, people I used to know and places I used to go. Stuff like the fact that everyone and everything I know now is only temporary in my life. When I let my brain go, I vacillate back and forth between sappy thoughts of how far I've come and how in love I am with everything around me (it is not unheard of for me to whisper out loud "I love this moment right now, every part of it)...and then back to being ridiculously sad about how transitory everything in life is and how there's no guarantee that any of the lovely people in my life will be there tomorrow. 

Laying on my back, I entertained myself by pretending that the trees all knew I was there. I imagined that the tall and slender trees above me were aware of my presence, and felt that I loved them. I was in full daydream mode, pretending that years from now when I come back here (as a mother, a seasoned wife, an old lady) that the trees will remember me. It comforts me to think that there is some part of the places I go that knows I was there...as if I still belong to these places somewhat, even after I've moved on. As if when I go back to these places, the trees will say to each other "Oh I know her. She's a part of all of this."

 

The fact that these trees towering above me possess no sentience is also the reason why I take so many pictures of this live I lead. I know that when I return to my former homes and haunts, the only tie I have is my own memory. My own failing human memory. It's a bit of an irony that I fall so deeply in love with every little detail of my life and yet my brain is incapable of remembering them. I know in 30 years I won't be able to clearly recall the black iron street lamps that dot our streets, the ones that make me pretend I'm in Narnia every time I drive home. Someday we'll be out of our tiny one bedroom apartment, someday we'll have kids and a house and all that jazz, and I'm sure someday I'll crave to be back here. In our first home together, with our first pet together.

Under these trees, these beautiful and striking trees. They won't know me but I will know them.