After almost four years of being in a committed relationship with the woman I thought I would marry (the woman who still possesses my engagement ring, as it is), I find myself single. At 32. That's right...two years past that dreaded age marker that defines the fading pigment of one's hair and the slow descent of one's testicles. So now I'm out here trying to attract women, long teeth and all. Looking for Miss Right, or a former Mrs. Right, or possibly even Widow Right.

So, how did all this happen? What series of events led me back to the unkempt lair of bachelorhood? It's simple, really: the fiancee moves to Africa, a friend engages in some harmless dowsing then receives a message from God, a saxophone-playing Ivy League-educated Mexican seductress confesses her love for me through a cloud of bong smoke and voila! Suddenly I've shirked my chivalry and decided that 28-years of irresponsible sex and commitment-less passion just wasn't sufficient. I need more!

More pregnancy scares with people I barely know, more walks of shame down bedroom halls adorned with George Clooney posters and Crate&Barrel paraphernalia, more awkward conversations in overpriced restaurants so that I can learn about the most recent Sandra Bullock film or why Fendi is no longer en vogue.
Welcome back to the Great American Poon-Tang Chase. The game of human croquet where the mallets have scrotums and the course is closed five days out of every month.

The engagement just ended. Literally, two days ago. I got a call from Liberia, where the fiancee has been living for the past three months while she helps develop a solid-waste initiative. For the sake of avoiding litigation, I'll assign her a moniker. Grendel.
So, Grendel calls to tell me that a.) Liberia is lovely this time of year, b.) the food is delicious, although Liberians are predispositioned to using an excess of sugar in their tea c.) she's been fucking some guy named Kyle.
Kyle? This indignity I can not suffer. While I could nobly accept that I have lost her fidelity to a Marcus, or a Xavier...I can not grant any modicum of superiority to the penis of a Kyle.
Alas, however, I must respect her terrible, terrible choice.
The fucked up thing is that Kyle was another student from the U.S. who had accompanied her on the trip. How are you going to be in Africa, surrounded by Africans, and wind up blowing a white guy? Wow, sister, you went to a lobster bake and ordered the seaweed salad.
But, I digress...

Following her confession, I tell her that I am hurt and perplexed, yet understanding. After all, hadn't we both seen this coming? She's known for months that I share a mutual attraction with a young brown-skinned lady with whom I play in a jazz band -- for privacy's sake, we'll call her Isabella de Coltrane. And recently, a co-worker engaged in a ritualistic form of magic (which, in retrospect, seems to have been eerily correct) that predicted a significant change in my love life. I do not accost her, do not press her. Merely acquiesce and let her have her Kyle.

But I should have know it isn't that easy. As soon as I am not heartbroken, not ravaged by her sinful confessions, not redfaced and threatening to show up in Monrovia where I'll promptly remove Kyle's balls and forcefeed them to her, she changes strategies.
Maybe she's been too hasty. After all, we really were in love at one time. Maybe we shouldn't be too rash...blah, blah, blah.
Crazy, fickle woman.
So, long story short...I tell her to get bent, enjoy Africa, don't swallow too much Kyle lest she get a tummy ache on the plane ride home. Her admission of lewdness had already introduced into my mind the vision of Isabella wetting her lips before wrapping them around the reed of her woodwind...lips that were no longer off limits, given the fodder of this incredibly stupid telephone conversation. If you rip the blinders off the horse, you will promptly get bucked the fuck off.
Sorry, Grendel.

So I am now single. Isabella is the first of many mountains I plan to climb before I lose whatever bizarre sex appeal it is I still seem to have. It's only a matter of time now. My body is a time bomb that will one day explode into a mess of erectile dysfunction, back hair and uncontrollable gassiness. Before that day arrives, I am setting out to see what casual sex looks like in the 30s.
I have a feeling it's somewhat the same as it was in the 20s. There will probably be more naps.

Regardless, I am Josh Palmer. Single. 32. Did I also mention that I live in a basement?
How could this not work?

And guess what, I'm bringing you with me, faithful reader.
We'll walk this road together. From hand-holding to promiscuous sex to the dreaded morning after you'll be beside me every step.
So stay tuned. Friday is only four days away. And I've got four years of nasty just waiting to introduce itself to an unsuspecting lady. Hey...it could be your mom.
You never know.

"Hey! I put some new shoes on." - May 1-3, 2009

This may come as a surprise, but I am not one of those girls who enjoys the prospect and purchase of a pair of new shoes. I much prefer to buy comfortable, cheap flip flops that I can wear for years until holes develop as a result of my dragging feet than to drop over a hundred dollars on stilettos that I’ll wear with one dress on one occasion. It may not surprise you to know then, that I have been wearing the same pair of Nike sneakers for basically any outdoor activity since my dad purchased them for me over 7 years ago. That’s the great thing about shoes… you may put on a few pounds or drop some weight but your shoes will always fit. So, no sense in buying new ones if the old ones are still in one piece.

Here’s a picture of what I’ve been dealing with:


Amazingly, I was under the impression that it was completely safe for me to be running in these things. The first few times I went out last week to see what my level of stamina was, these bad boys slammed some pavement with me. They have also accompanied me on 3 Walks For Hunger (20 miles each) and plenty of camping and hiking trips.

The first few runs were outrageously painful. It was hard to breathe, move, push through the pain. Everything was hard. But I figured it was supposed to be that way and gave myself some mental lectures for letting myself get so out of shape. It wasn’t until Thursday night that I visited Runner’s World online and realized a pretty big error on my part. Turns out, shoes are a pretty big deal when you run. Oops.

So, on the first of May, the first day of this challenge I’ve given myself, I visited the New England Running Company in Beverly, MA to buy my first pair of Running sneakers. I had done a little bit of research before going, so I had a price range and I knew basically the kind of support I was looking for. The woman took a look at my gait, made some recommendations and sent me on my way with these babies:


I had no idea what I had been missing! The support offered by these shoes is incredible. The back of the shoe is snug, holding my foot in place and in a position that promotes healthy posture while running. The front (toe box) is open, giving your toes room to spread out as you push off from the pavement. These things were designed to function as the most crucial tool for runners and having a pair of my own was greatly satisfying. I bought a few other things this weekend to compliment my goals and these spiffy shoes:

3 sports bras (I can’t believe I’ve never had one of these)
2 pairs of running shorts
2 wicking shirts
3 pairs of moisture controlling socks
1 iPod shuffle (I hear that listening to distracting music while you run makes the time go faster)

So after a bit of a shopping binge (something I’m definitely NOT known for) I hit the road - one step at a time. Spending money is certainly a great motivator. Gotta put all this stuff to use!


Yeah, that's right, I'm a Beast!

I'm finding more and more that as an adult, its important to set goals for yourself. After school years, work takes over and personal time seems to dwindle. I've spent the last few years wading through this new part of my life - transitioning from one place to another. Unfortunately, I've found that I've spent less and less time taking care of myself, specifically exercising. Last week, I went with my boyfriend to a canoe race that he was competing in with his company. The experience was the kind of motivation I needed. I've gotten very weak recently, mostly as a result of the sedentary nature of my daily life. So, I've set a goal.

I'm giving myself one month to become a runner. I've done some research, talked to some seasoned experts and have mentally prepared. I've never been particularly good with matters of stamina, but then again, I've never really tried.

I'm going to catalog my experiences over the coming month. By June 1st, I hope to be running ever day - and enjoying it! The ultimate goal is to participate in and finish a road race of some kind by the end of the summer. Wish me luck!

Jen Salamone

April 29, 2009

Heard this week by Jen:
Jen: Yep, its always good to have extra suits laying around. Or in my case, dresses.
Male co-worker: Oh, I don't know. I think you'd look quite dashing in a suit.

Head this week by Josh:
Female co-worker: Is this too much cleavage for work?
Josh: (awkward silence)


April 22, 2009

Heard this week by Jen:
"Oh, I can't have caffeine. My husband has a great nickname for me when I've had a cup of coffee - Mega Bitch. I stick to hot chocolate.

Heard this week by Josh:
Josh: When did you stop believing in God?
Male co-worker: When I started working here.

Why is it so important that the federal government creates minions instead of sages? Why is an education so expensive and difficult to attain? Why is the media from which we glean information about the world that surrounds us so filtered into flashy pop culture frames?

From a logical perspective, it stands to reason that a country of highly educated and well informed academics would be a country that possesses superior strategies for homeland security, foreign relations, energy solutions, etc. I doubt that America disagrees with that. However, the forces that be also understand that a well informed populous may be more reluctant to allow for convoluted legislation to emerge and pass without citizen consent, and may take umbrage with their parent nation attempting to manipulate world markets. Therefore, our Good Uncle has weighed the options and spoken in favor of an elite few as opposed to an equal mass.

College will not be offered debt free (just wait and watch); the nation will not adopt a news-sharing program that will inform the masses of the goings-on in the political sector; there will be no transparency introduced into large-scale legislation, especially not that associated with education, homeland security, or the courts system. While some will say that this is an attempt to strictly maintain the hierarchy, to make a sociopolitical statement about rank and position as a privilege one is born into or earns from a set of very specific and highly scrutinized circumstances, I tend to disagree.

The reason for keeping status quo as a static demographic is simple: people are afflicted by that troublesome aspect that seems to be incorporated into so many of us…the conscience. If we are informed enough to believe that we are producing fiscal incentives via taxation to a machine that inherently goes against what our standards of morality dictate, that is the point at which revolution becomes dangerously possible.

And it seems that the feds have met and concurred that the best method for avoiding an ethical uproar is to facilitate a very short scope of vision. This was voted upon and deemed worthy. Then the second question arises: What instrument is used to dampen the formation of a long-term vision in the public sentiment? And the answer is simple: macroeconomics.

By constant and unrelenting manipulation of what is within a person’s wallet, a sense of “cyclic nature” begins to blossom. If it is within our relevant experience that oil prices are highly variable, and will, without fail, go through periods where they fall drastically and allow for cheap transportation, development of petrochemicals, machining, etc., then the public is loathe to look for an alternative.

This allows for the government to engage in practices that would be suspect to the ethical mind if prices were consistently low, providing for a more complete evaluation of the product. These practices include pacifying Arab nations in the short-term while we exploit (for many of them) their single means of maintaining any form of a positive gross domestic product, keeping Arab allies vigilant to ensure against uprisings of Arab enemies (i.e. Iraq and Saudi Arabia will not easily let Iran close the Straight of Hormuz, as America has dictated that the waterway is a lifeline for their national prosperity). It also justifies war (Operation Iraqi Freedom and nothing more need be said). All of these are actions that the layperson’s conscience does not endorse.

How then is manipulation of commodity prices so effective at maintaining a short scope of vision and numbing our collective morals? It is simple: the process enforces the emergence of a narrower range of morality that is not a threat to the federal government. For the sake of this paper and revelation of sentiment, I will refer to this as “moral immediacy.” That is, when an individual with a family is constantly waging a war against fluctuating prices, where at times she is an adequate provider for her family, and at times she is less able to provide for a spouse or a child, the development of a familial conscience takes over. If the government can keep you concerned with feeding and providing for your children via market devices, then there is no surplus of ethics left over to be much concerned with actions in far off nations, or even on far off Capitol Hill. This is maintained by escalating prices. But lowering prices intermittently also serves a critical function, as it keeps revolution at bay.

Moral immediacy is a dangerous and heartless form of federal genius. If we were to use the blockbuster film “The Matrix” as a philosophical model for the United States of America, and the role of Morpheus played by Uncle Sam (admittedly one of the most versatile actors of all time), then there would be only an offer of a Blue Pill. The Red Pill would be effectively quarantined and sequestered in the deepest ice bores of the Arctic. Do not wake up. Look…gas is cheap today…take a trip….take your family somewhere nice….grill some steaks…your country loves you…………


After Note:

This section will feature short conversations and one-liners that we've heard while sitting within our cubicle walls. If you've heard some great work-place banter, shoot us an email or write it in the comments section below!

Overheard this week by Jen:
"Nothing to do. Excellent! I'm good at that."

Overheard this week by Josh:
Male co-worker (pointing at computer monitor): What I want to know, is how do I get this shit off of my shit?


April 8, 2009

So far, most of what we've put up has been poetry, but the scope of this blog is intended to be far wider than that. We are going to begin rolling out some of our other ideas shortly. Josh and I are both interested in a number of different writing techniques and styles as well as social and political criticism. We are hoping to keep the variations of material broad and entertaining for anyone who comes by to visit.

We hope you enjoy what we are working on.

Jen

Is it terrible
that I smell you
when we hug?

Or is it worse
that I think about it
after the fact?

Or perhaps
these things are both trumped
by the truth –

that I do this
with almost every man
in my life.

by Jen Salamone

placed there, along the dense shelf of granite
abutting cobalt waters that spit lichen up and out,
scattered to grow crimson
in summer light.

felled like dominoes, each one
lipped upon the next.
ancient vessels forged from modern ore.
a timeline from native to miner; innocence to exploitation.

their stories unknown.
a revelation as opaque as
these Maine waters.
hinting at a history that remains hidden.

perhaps banked here where the waves stir shoal
by teenagers baked honey brown with sun.
alive in that wonderful time of
raspberry scars and grass stains.

their muscles taut with youth.
floating through a fleeting summer shine
that brings the first feel of oar in water.
the tugging tides of a tangible freedom.

and these canoes remain, as empty shells
upon the beach after the molting cycle.
those days now gone, as they’ve shed adolescence
for a paycheck. a mortgage. responsibility.

only aluminum hulls beginning to rust
left as proof to that former life.
to the fact that they were once adrift
before time forced them to anchor.


By: Josh Palmer, inspired by the art of Jen Salamone

Gooseflesh erupts on curves
of legs.
Tight nodules of skin
amidst the colorless down
that is peculiar to
thighs of women.
Shivering naked in the
lilac glow
of this efficiency bathroom,
I can study her slowly.
Deliberately.

Her topography
of peaks and marshes.
Rivers
which I have seen
on summer days
meander her length from
neck to navel.

Framed against steamed glass,
Bare skin translucent.
Raphael’s Madonna.
Her brush strokes are
the scars,
the soft dimpled cellulite
that collects about the hips.
Angelic imperfections.

Couldn’t she be a
saint?
If only in this moment.
Freshly washed,
dripping water softly
down cathedral pedestals.
Candles and coins
at her feet.


by Josh Palmer

the scars

along the bends of his knees were

shining bands of

white.

left by some self-proclaimed

"trainer"

who had used a

wooden rod

to beat back

generations of

instinct.

reaching out to touch him,

i almost

hoped that he

would send me

sprawling

with his massive

trunk.

anything to prove

that he was still

untamed and

variable.

but he merely

lowered

his head.

allowing me to feel

the bristle

of hair up top.

a terrible vacancy

in his eyes,

surrounded by

striations

of neon stage paint.

and i thought

of my

father.

trudging from the house

each morning

in suit and tie

with briefcase clasped,

prepared to smile

as a

boss

critiqued his

work.

by Josh Palmer

Running

April 29, 2009
May 1, 2009

At the Bottom
Traveling Circus
Marisa, After Bathing
Four Canoes
Almost Innocent

April 8, 2009
April 15, 2009
April 22, 2009

Want to submit a piece to be featured here at Deconstructing the Muse?

Want to tell us what you think of something you read or saw here?

Just looking for a good chat?

Send us an email: jenandjoshblog@gmail.com

What's this all about?

We wanted to give all of our visitors and readers some insight into what has inspired this project and where we are hoping to take it. If you have any questions or are interested in submitting a piece to be featured here, please send us an email at jenandjoshblog@gmail.com. Thank you!

From Jen:

Greetings! Thank you for visiting this space that Josh and I have begun to create. I met Josh in 2008 when he began working in the cubicle next to mine. We never really spoke to one another until one day we began emailing back and forth over something that we had both seen in the office. A few months passed and we realized that so few face-to-face conversations had taken place between us. We sat less than 10 feet apart, but spoke almost exclusively through email. We were both so intrigued by this social environment that our office had created and were equally delighted by what it had shown us. Josh and I both have an incredible amount of creative energy that has been bottled up over the last few years as we've each joined the corporate world. After some thought and consideration, we began discussing the creation of a project that would allow us to work collaboratively on all different types of art. Several brainstorming sessions later (through email and real-life chats), Deconstructing the Muse was created.

Since beginning this project, we have found that the amount of art we are each producing has increased exponentially. We are constantly hatching new ideas and working out ways to participate mutually in one piece, taking two different approaches to create one final experience for you. We hope to make this a constantly changing and growing community for art and those who wish to participate in its creation.

Thanks again for visiting and please stop by from time to time to see the new things we're working on.

From Josh:

The great thing about Deconstructing the Muse is the dynamic that it was born from. Jen and I are both artists who are forced to engage ourselves in corporate employment to "make a living." The question that seemed to be at the root of this collaborative endeavor was, "Where are the muses in a life spent largely confined to a cubicle? " Where does one find inspiration and beauty in a stark white office environment that, by design, inhibits creativity?

For me, this blog is equal parts realism and escapism. Realism in that it is a space to examine the daily cycles of the life that I am living. Escapism in that it is a place to bring art to life from reservoirs of beauty that are kept inside, and perhaps not experienced on a daily basis. Jen and I want this to be an oasis of art for others who are confined to parameters that are dictated by economy rather than aesthetic. We are also eager for all types of art as submissions. Together we can truly deconstruct the muses of our daily lives.

Please incorporate (pardon the pun) yourself into this site. The concept that has bolstered art through numerous different cultures, from Renaissance to post-modernism, is the collective. My goal is to create a virtual gallery that highlights a variety of media, all of which is united by the theme of art as something that is freely given and freely viewed.

To echo Jen's statement, thank you for taking time to visit this site. We hope that you will return often as both an audience member and a participant.