For those of you readers new to Green Girl's blog, Muttonchop Monday celebrates dreamy men with fantastic facial hair. Today's muttonchopped studmuffin caught Green Girl's eye over 20 years ago when she was a much younger lass. Back in the 90's when most of her friends were gaga over the cast of 90210, My So Called Life and Dawson's Creek, Green Girl spent Monday (then Thursday, then Friday) nights swaddled in a plaid flannel shirt and long underwear wishing she could move to Cicely, Alaska and make long-haired hippie babies with a particular philosophical, well-read, poetic, free-spirited DJ at KBHR. Sometimes he'd smile and bite his lower lip, sending Green Girl's heart into a turmoil of passion.
Even in high school and college Green Girl had a thing for older guys and while this man was 8 years her senior and much more worldly, she shrugged off the heartthrobs of her generation, tuning in weekly to hear Chris Stevens pontificate in Maurice's radio station and grow the sexiest hair she'd ever seen. She fantasized about living in the mountains and traveling the backroads of America in a VW van, wrapped in the arms of a man who could quote the great minds of literature and history while embracing sunshine, moonlight, good whiskey and hum a range of awesome music that didn't include rap or hip-hop.
As Chris Stevens, John Corbett stole Green Girl's heart--and he continued to keep it in every role he played, but he'll always be her favorite as the ex-felon Renaissance man from Cicely, Alaska. I'm raising my coffee cup to you, Chris--a man who made muttonchops so fine.
Who is Chris Stevens? Who are any of us? Are we one person fixed at birth or do we grow like a snow ball coming down the mountains side of life? O can we change? Shred our skin? The caterpillar becomes the butterfly leaving the remains of his former self behind. I look at my yearbook photo, class 81, and I wonder who that stranger is. Damn if I know, maybe that's the point, maybe we are not supposed to know, maybe that's what this earthly joyride is all about. Like Robert Frost said "We dance around the ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows.
Morning Cicely. 8:00 A.M. muchachos. Time to finish those flapjacks, knock back that second cup of joe, get ready to greet the day. Temperature's creeping towards double digits as the solar drought continues--23 days, an average of an hour and a half of sunlight every day. No relief on the horizon. Which only makes sense cause there is no horizon. Our friends at the weather service are calling for another storm and as we know, they've been batting a thousand lately. Hey, let's check our social calendar. Nothing. Total blank. It's cabin fever season people, that time of year when four walls feel like they're going to come in here and choke the spirit right out of you. Time to lock away those firearms and hang tough. No way through it except to do it.
Rain usually makes me feel mellow. Curl up in the corner time, slow down, smell the furniture. Today it just makes me feel wet. What is it about possessing things? Why do we feel the need to own what we love, and why do we become jerks when we do? We've all been there--you want something, to possess it. By possessing something you lose it. You finally win the girl of your dreams, the first thing you do is change her. The little things she does with her hair, the way she wears her clothes or the way she chews her gum. Pretty soon what you like, what you changed, what you don't like, blends together like a watercolor in the rain.
Greetings, Cicely, on this most exceedingly beautiful spring morning. A morning swollen with new life, a morning on which, if I had the voice, I would let loose with song. It's hard to believe just a few short weeks ago we were eating our cornflakes in the wintry dark. Now, well it's still kind of dim our there, but I can see the golden glow of Apollo's chariot waiting in the wings, about to make its entrance. Winter's on the lam, no doubt.
Whenever there’s a new moon looming on the horizon, I’ll inevitably get a call from someone saying, ‘Hey Chris, how bout that sucker.’ And, I’ll usually say something cordial like, ‘Oh yeah, it’s a marvelous night for a moon dance,’ or ‘I wonder what old Sun Young Moon is up to tonight.’ But, knowing how we’ve been tossing and turning these past few nights for fear of where our dreams may be taking us, I’m not about to pretend that that man, in that moon, has our best interests at heart. No way, he’s too much of a kidder. So until the big fellow packs his bag and hits the road put away those sharp utensils and stay close to your love ones, if you’re lucky enough to have any. I’ll see you in the morning, folks, or the moonlight, whichever one comes first.
There's a dark side to each and every human soul. We wish we were Obi-Wan Kenobi, and for the most part we are, but there's a little Darth Vader in all of us. Thing is, this ain't no either-or proposition. We're talking about dialectics, the good and the bad merging into us. You can run but you can't hide. My experience? Face the darkness. Stare it down. Own it. As brother Nietzsche said, being human is a complicated gig. So give that ol' dark night of the soul a hug. Howl the eternal yes!
You know what they say - life throws you a gutter ball, you got to slap on the old rosin bag and step up to the line.
Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.