The picture is of me and my younger brother wrestling at our family reunion this fall. He thinks that just because he is bigger than me that he can take his older brother. Once again he was wrong. I was really rooting for him this year to. Especially since as of tonight I have officially retired from wrestling matches at the family reunion. ;) I think I covered that in my previous post
Quality time with the little brother.Any way, that's not the point of this post. I just thought that this picture went really well with the title of this blog. The real point of this is the book, not the movie, Fight Club by Chuck Palahntuk. While the movie was very good, editing and time probably created a need to make changes in the original story. The biggest most significant change was how the two main characters met. I wont get into how they met in the movie since most of you that know what I'm talking about have most likely watched the movie instead of read the book. I will post the transcript of how the meeting took place in the book. If you haven't read the book, I would suggest picking it up or borrowing it from me. Even if you have seen the movie, the book is much better:
I melt and swell at the moment of landing when one wheel thuds on the runway but the plane leans to one side and hangs in the decision to right itself or roll. For this moment, nothing matters. Look up into the stars and you're gone. Not your luggage. Nothing matters. Not your bad breath. The windows are dark outside and the turbine engines roar backward. The cabin hangs at the wrong angle under the roar of the turbines, and you will never have to file another expense account claim. Receipt required for items over twenty-five dollars. You will never have to get another haircut.
A thud, and the second wheel hits the tarmac. The staccato of a hundred seat-belt buckles snapping open, and the single-use friend you almost died sitting next to says:
I hope you make your connection.
Yeah, me too.
And this is how long your moment lasted. And life goes on.
And somehow, by accident, Tyler and i met.
It was time for a vacation.
You wake up at LAX.
Again.
How I met Tyler was i went to a nude beach. This was the very end of summer, and i was asleep. Tyler was naked and sweating, gritty with sand, his hair wet and stringy, hanging in his face.
Tyler had been around a long time before we met.
Tyler was pulling driftwood logs out of the surf and dragging them up the beach. In the wet sand, he'd already planted a half circle of logs so they stood a few inches apart and as tall as his eyes. There were four logs, and when i woke up, I watched Tyler pull a fifth log up the beach. Tyler dug a hole under one end of the log then lifted the other end until the log slid into the hole and stood there at a slight angle.
You wake up at the beach.
We were the only people on the beach.
With a stick, Tyler drew a straight line in the sand several feet away. Tyler went back to straighten the log by stamping sand around its base.
I was the only person watching this.
Tyler called over, "Do you know what time it is?"
I always wear a watch.
"Do you know what time is is?"
I asked, where?
"Right here," Tyler said. "Right now."
It was 4:06 p.m.
After a while, Tyler sat cross-legged in the shadow of the standing logs. Tyler sat for a few minutes, got up and took a swim, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and started to leave. I had to ask.
I had to know what Tyler was doing while I was asleep.
If I could wake up in a different place, at a different time, could I wake up as a different person?
I asked if Tyler was an artist.
Tyler shrugged and showed me how the five standing logs were wider at the base. Tyler showed me the line he'd drawn in the sand, and how he'd use the line to gauge the shadow cast by each log.
Sometimes, you wake up and have to ask where you are.
What Tyler had created was the shadow of a giant hand. Only now the fingers were Nosferatu-long and the thumb was too short, but he said how at exactly four-thirty the hand was perfect. The giant shadow hand was perfect for one minute, and for one perfect minute Tyler had sat in the palm of a perfection he'd created himself.
You wake up, and you're nowhere.
One minute was enough, Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection.
You wake up, and that's enough.
His name was Tyler Durden, and he was a movie projectionist with the union, and he was a banquet waiter at a hotel, downtown, and he gave me his phone number.
And this is how we met.
Deep thoughts or inane rambling.........that's up to the individual. I personally feel some kind of pull toward self perfection. Satisfaction that its not always about the big picture, but the little small moments. The Little Nothings, sometimes that's what matters most.
I guess I'm not as much of a die hard hunter as I used to be. My little brother Colton is though, although its kinda hard to tell from this picture of him. I had a lot that I had wanted to write about the first day of Deer Season but than I realized that I had already written it all a year ago in a previous blog. 
