King of the road

I have done what I thought impossible: Make a solo, continuous drive to Los Angeles.

It wasn't my intention. I gave myself two days to make the trek, figuring I would just stop when I was tired. But I wasn't getting tired. So I made myself little promises... and kept breaking them. "Let's at least get to Sacramento and then stop at the next quaint town." There are no quaint towns past Sacramento. "I'll drive until it gets dark." Well, but the time it was dark, there was only three hours left to go.

Back home, three hours driving would put me in Bend - which is, normally, in my mind "A Big Trip." However, when put in the perspective of having already driven 11 hours - three more seems less daunting. There is also the practical matter of spending money on a hotel room. My life is on a budget these days, and this trip is an extravagance. But need it be overly so? No. The final push came from my pride, which would not let me come so close to this achievement and fall short.

And so, just before 11:30 pm, I arrived at Russ' house in L.A.

There are two things without which I would not have been able to do this: My ipod and 2 liters of Coke. Blessed be. I listened to The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy on audio book - which killed a good six hours. The only way to drive solo is to pretend like you have someone else in the car.

More adventures to come.

-Thank you for reading.

King of the road

I have done what I thought impossible: Make a solo, continuous drive to Los Angeles.

It wasn't my intention. I gave myself two days to make the trek, figuring I would just stop when I was tired. But I wasn't getting tired. So I made myself little promises... and kept breaking them. "Let's at least get to Sacramento and then stop at the next quaint town." There are no quaint towns past Sacramento. "I'll drive until it gets dark." Well, but the time it was dark, there was only three hours left to go.

Back home, three hours driving would put me in Bend - which is, normally, in my mind "A Big Trip." However, when put in the perspective of having already driven 11 hours - three more seems less daunting. There is also the practical matter of spending money on a hotel room. My life is on a budget these days, and this trip is an extravagance. But need it be overly so? No. The final push came from my pride, which would not let me come so close to this achievement and fall short.

And so, just before 11:30 pm, I arrived at Russ' house in L.A.

There are two things without which I would not have been able to do this: My ipod and 2 liters of Coke. Blessed be. I listened to The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy on audio book - which killed a good six hours. The only way to drive solo is to pretend like you have someone else in the car.

More adventures to come.

-Thank you for reading.

ROAD TRIP!

I leave next Thursday for Los Angeles. I'm driving solo and stopping in the Bay Area on the way home to see family.



But when I look at this map, I wonder if maybe I'm a little crazy. And does it freak anybody else out that All I really have to do is get on I-5 for 14 hours? I mean, I drive that road almost daily. And if I just decided to keep going, I'd be in L.A. Strange.

-Thank you for reading.

A self portrait

I woke up at 5am today thanks to my inexplicable and pervasive allergies. I've been sneezing non stop since I got back from Belize. I think the humidity reset my allergy meter - flushed me out with it's sweet, moist embrace. And now my body must readjust to the various molds and pollens of my native land. Boo to that.

I've spent the time by getting in touch with my inner nerd by putting together a new external hard drive. I chose to go the economical way and DIY a regular old drive with an enclosure. It's not all that hard, and it saved me at least $50 - which will cover my haircut today.

I had a talk with Parrish not too long ago about wether or not I have any claim to h4x0r ski11z. What we determined is that there are many different tiers of hack and I fall in the "lower-middle class" area. I know where certain things can be downloaded. I will not hesitate to try and fix something myself - but my methods of fixing often end at turning everything on/off and unplugging/replugging cables. I have installed RAM. I like using keyboard shortcuts. I have looked at and changed a BIOS. I even changed out a broken power supply on my old PC tower - a particularly proud moment in my nerd-dom.

I cannot, however, do anything in DOS to save my life. If there is not a "set-up" assistant, I most likely will not be able to set it up. I do not solder things. I do not understand why or how the Internet truly works and continues to exist.

If I were to assign a number of stars to myself, rating my nerd-ability, I would say three of six. But a low three. Maybe two and half. I wish I had the gumption to photoshop a Yu-Gi-Oh card with Me on it, denoting my nerd rank.

IN OTHER NEWS!

I have agreed to be a part of the cast of characters at English, Baby. It's an ESL site for students wanting to learn conversational English. My job is to talk about predetermined topics and be recorded. No "work" is required on my part. Just talk naturally. It's very part-time, but I think it'll be fun. I'm really hoping to attain minor celebrity status in Asia - not that Asia is the only country where people seek to learn ESL, but its got the numbers on its side.

The Belize DVD Rough Draft has been completed. I'm very proud of the work, but it will need some reworking. Two things are certain: I've made tremendous progress since my last DVD and I've accomplished much more work in much less time. Both very good signs. But there's still a way to go before I would consider anything I'm doing "professional." Still, if anyone wants to see the fruits of my labor, let me know and I'll try to get you a copy.

-Thanks for reading.

More places to read my words

Some good friends of mine have started a site where you can read about bands and CDs and art and such. One of these things you can read was written by me. Yay!

You can see it here, although you will need to click on "The Tallest Building in the World."

Silly windows.

-Thank you for reading.

I believe they call it "The Big Time"

I've been busy at work on the video for The Lodge on St. George. The main editing is almost done - just tweaking a few things here and there. Also, I'm waiting for some of the professional photos that were commissioned. You can get a sneak peak of them here.

What's been really exciting, though, has been recording the music for the DVD. My friend Austin helped me out recording and editing five tracks. I suppose, for that kind of output, we didn't do a whole lot of work. I'd basically come in with a base melody that I wanted to play, we'd lay it down and then record a few "doodle" tracks and then pick out whatever worked from those. I'm really happy with the results and will probably end up getting some recording equiptment of my own so I don't have to bother Austin in the furture. Then again, he is trying to move all his equiptment up to his cabin - and a recording weekend getaway could be awesome, should it ever need to happen again.

I'm gearing up to road trip down to L.A. for the birthday celebration of a very old friend. I'm fixin' to stop in the bay area to see some family - either on the way down or on the way home. Not really sure. Is it terrible that I love not having anything solid going on right now? I'm waiting for the bubble to burst - and it will very shortly - but in the meantime, everything about life is awesome.

- Thank you for reading.

Has it really come to this?

Must I check every beer in my six pack?

I buy this beer

and I only get two Blue Paddles.

And the rest?


TRIPPEL!!! Blech.

-Thank you for reading.

I finally did something

The front page for my web site is up. Give me some feedback.

www.notsaid.com

-Thank you for reading.

I call her "Doris"

Seriously, don't you wish you were in Belize right now?

-Thank you for reading.

I've been meaning to put this up for a month

This is the greatest birthday card ever given or received.


I opened this and did a little happy dance for my roommate to see.

Then I opened it and saw this...



Amazing.

Thank you for reading.

P.S. I leave for Belize tomorrow. While I think there will be internet there, I'm not planning on blogging of my adventures. The point of going is to chronical the whole thing, but I think I may keep it more private until it gets sorted out.

You'd better Belize it!

I'm not a Godly kind of man. I've got friends on that team and they've made it clear they'd love to have me. As it stands, they get me if Vegas gets smitten. I figured after New Orleans, I couldn't argue against a second den of inquity being struck by hard times. But I gotta say, after the bizzare coincidental events of my last few weeks, they may get me anyway.

Let's recap: I quit my job without having anything better to do. My girlfriend breaks up with me out of the blue (more or less). So what happens then? I get a free trip to Belize for two weeks.

...What?

Yeah. You may remember I was doing a video for a friend of my mother's who published this book. Well I did it and it's been very sucessful so far. Well, since that has happened, Teri and her husband have invested in a diving resort in Belize. Because that is the logical thing to do, of course.

And they figure I should make a video to promote the resort.

So they're taking me to Belize for two weeks.

Makes perfect sense, right? I may bring a copy of the Old Testament on my trip. I leave the 11th and I'll try and keep this blog updated with my adventures. The purpose of the whole trip is to document everything, so I don't think it'll be too much trouble.



Belize.


Fucking nuts.


-Thank you for reading

Please update your records

I doubt there are many people who read this blog that don't know about a girl named Etta that has been in my life for more-or-less two months now, even though her name has never appeared here.

Suffice it to say that this is the first and last mention of her.

-Thank you for reading.

Ode to Jamie S. Rich

It's funny, because I was already planning on posting something silly about the fact that I haven't shaved in over a week - which is not in itself something I owe to Jamie S. Rich, but is coinciding with a recent post of his. But then I go and check his blog today and find this incredible link to a preview of his upcoming comic, "Love the Way You Love."

And it's really good.

I'll be the first to admit that I was skeptical about the style it's drawn in. Very cartoony. Jamie and I have talked briefly about it, and after seeing how well the art works with the storytelling I am a full convert. It will be part of my purchasing schedule even during my unemployment.

...which explains the beard. You see, whenever I suffer a break-up of sorts, I like to not shave for a good while. I don't like the feeling of a beard. I don't look good with a beard. Hell, I don't even grow a respectable beard. The hairs present are willing, but the numbers just aren't there. Anything after five days just looks silly.

I know all these things. And I go against my better judgement for one reason: The transference of the symbolic act of moving on to the a concret physical experience. It's like that part in "The Royal Tenenbaums", except with the Elliot Smith and wrist-slitting. Yeah...

We'll see how long the "beard" has to hold out.

-Thank you for reading.

A night to remember... (Birthday: Part II)

In case I haven't told you yet, my birthday was friggin' awesome.

After spending the afternoon generally resting and reveling in the calm before the storm, I began to get back in step with some balloon inflating. I completed the project before my sister and her boyfriend (who intended to help me) showed up - which was all for the best, because then we could make a hasty jaunt to the Rogue Pub where I could take advantage of my free yearly half yard of beer. Or so we thought.

Scott from Holocene called as we were stepping out the door and we were able to swing by to distribute the newly inflated balloons - which was a load off my mind. Seeing Holocene in the fluorescent light of day was odd. It looks smaller. And without the cover of mood, it is blatantly apparent how sparse the decor is. Truly a success in minimalism.

With floating bunches of lime green, mandarin orange and silver in place, we left for the Rogue. Time, at this point, was running out and I did not have the time to drink my half yard with the leisure that such a thing usually demands. Needless to say, I was sporting a healthy buzz when we arrived at Jakes for my Birthday Dinner With The Family.

I like seafood, and I like Jakes - but the real reason I chose this place was because I'd been told they carry 25-year-old scotch. I was told correctly. I am now of an opinion that 25-year-old scotch does not change in any but the subtlest ways in the 10 years that pass between it and a slightly more economical 15-year-old variety. But, lord, is it smooth. All flavor and no bite or burn. I will never ask my Dad how much our two glasses cost him, but they were worth it. For his part, Dad had bought me a bottle of 12-year single malt that he had researched and found to be The Good Stuff. It was, also, the finest bottle he could find at the one store he went to. I could say something about the occasion of a son turning 25 possibly being cause to go to more than one liquor store looking for scotch, but I am sure I will be more than happy with his choice. Thank you, Dad.

The dinner was the best family gathering in recent memory. Perhaps, actually, since my last family birthday two years ago. Maybe it is just when seen through the birthday high that the family comes across so pleasantly. But conversation was animated. Food was delicious. Togetherness was felt. I regret that my Uncle and clan chose not to attend, but I respect their reasons.

And then on to the party.

I arrived just before 8 as the band was finishing up sound check. The band. That I had at my birthday. It just sounds good to say that. My first guests were there moments after, and they were the unlikeliest of first-comers. A new friend, Aaron - who tends bar at the wonderful Renaissance cafe - was there +guest. Shortly after, Nestor - another friend who I rarely see - was the next invitee. That the first people to come were people apart from the inner circle of my friends is a great compliment to me and my party: It was a good sign.

All in all, I can account for at least 40 people (parents excluded) in attendance. I am almost certainly missing a few. There were many who I didn't expect and many I did expect that fell short. None of which mattered at the time - but let me just say to those who didn't make it: You missed a great party. That is not meant to shame. It is merely a fact. I was kept in drink (predominantly a gin concoction with cucumber that was cool and refreshing as well as intoxicating. Sweet Jimmy T Did me service and more than service by spinning records until the wee hours - and even stooping low at my request to play "Footloose" - which is the single greatest dance song of all time. I also cut some rug to "Love Pipe," by the Red Elvises, whose day has come and gone. I could say more about the evening, but it is not a recollection of numbers and informations that will stick with me. It is the simultaneous feeling of love and support and joy and pride and giving and receiving that I embodied all day.

And maybe that's why Monday was so terrible.

I was, miraculously, not hung over. It is a birthday miracle. I was, however, Very Tired. I was at work on time, but there was a cloud above my head all day. I was constantly taken with the need to get out of there, like it was sucking me dry of all the feelings laid out in the above paragraph. And so, I called the Boss and asked for a sit-down. As we were on the phone together, he being out as he so often is, I did not want to make any true decisions. Things like this are best done in person. But I did impress on him in plain words that I was unhappy in the position I've been put and needed concrete plans to be reinstated in the function for which I was hired. His response was non committal and defensive, stating that I would never truly not be in a sales position and if that is a problem for me it may be time for me to "move on." This is nothing I haven't thought of or expected. But it was finally real. I postponed any final judgments until we could arrange for a meeting Tuesday. These things are better done in person, after all.

When Tuesday came, I was wresting with the idea of whether to quit or endeavor to get fired. To me, being fired - or, rather, "let go" - would acknowledge for Rick's part that my purpose for being there had evaporated or never materialized and thank you very much, but we just don't need you. It would have made me feel right. I also thought about going on a tirade and telling Rick all the things that are wrong with him and his company. I wasn't sure what exactly I would do when we sat down.

Of course, we'll never know, because that didn't happen.

I went to his office, asked if he had time. He said no. I asked if I should wait. He said he would call me. I accepted this and went to lunch because I was hungry and it was my lunch. When I came back, he had left for the day on some errand or other. I fumed. It was another two hours until I simply called him and told him I was giving my notice. His response, and I will remember this exactly and always - though I don't know why - was: "Sorry things didn't work out for you, buddy." And what really gets me about that statement is the utter disposability with which he views me, and I suspect all the employees in his company. I knew it, but knowing and feeling are two different things.

So I have quit my job. I will put in two weeks to wrap up loose ends and hopefully make a smooth transition for the people I work closely with and have come to respect and care about. It's odd because almost nobody who leaves this company ever does things the respectable way. One day they just decide to stop coming in. And I don't blame them. It's a symptom of the crushing feeling one gets working there. You take all the pressure until finally you just snap. The snapping is a quick thing and once you have broken, there is no way to possibly phone two extra weeks. But I will do it, and it is my hope that in doing it people will know that I have no malice and was a good employee and deserved better than I got. That is my little smug hope.

What does all this mean? Likely that I will be blogging a lot more. That I will be taking some time to reflect. And, ultimately, that I need a new job. Anybody have any ideas?

-Thank you for reading.

Birthday: The beginning

12 hours into my birthday and all goes better than well. As per tradition, I officially began the day by dancing around to the Beatles' "Birthday." In past years, I've done nothing but listen to that song all day. There is a beautiful presence of mind to that song - filling a much needed space for annual tradition. Much like Queen's knack for knowing that sporting events through time were lacking an anthem such as "We Will Rock You" or "Another One Bites the Dust." Marketing genius.

My birthday has already reached outrageous heights at the J&M cafe, where I seemed to know everybody in the restaurant. Cari and Erin were both there with their families. And this fine fellow Andy, who used to stop by Vivace now and again was there with a friend. Writing it down only three names doesn't seem to convey the extraordinary coincidence of it all, but believe me when I say the impact was profound.

On noticing the words on my bright gold paper top hat proclaiming it was my birthday, the waitress brought out my breakfast with a candle stuck in the orange slice. Andy and his friend commenced to clap and sing me a shy round of Happy Birthday, while Russ and Etta lowered their heads in laughter and shame. I was beaming. I still am.

I fucking love my birthday.

-Thank you for reading.

The funny things that happen between people

I do not understand people.

I like to think that I do. That I attempt to do so is paramount. But I still don't get it.

So, Tuesday night I go to the bar. My bar. Well, it is less my bar now than it used to be. Still, I have ties there and generally feel welcome. This is due almost entirely to a friend of mine who tends bar and serves there. Shortly after we met, we tried our hand at dating. And when I say that it was a mistake, I simply mean that the chemistry was not there. Not the right chemistry, anyways, and it was with a fairly mutual agreement on that fact that we placed the boundaries of our relationship squarely around "friendship."

This is almost two years ago. Recently, I met her new beau and he seemed a decent fellow. He builds bicycles. I saw this as fortunate coincidence as I am in the planning stages of doing just that. Tra la la.

Unfortunately, as it turns out, he is "the jealous type."

I don't know if he knows that I ever smooched his lady. What I do know is that I have a level of physical comfort with her - the kind that comes (and is so enjoyable) when you know as a solid fact that there will be no romantic entrigue to follow. Where so many male/female relationships are burdened with the constant uneasiness of sex, the possibility of sex, the thought of sex, et al, it is a pleasure to have people you can be close to without any of the fuss. And this chap observed me acting as such on Tuesday night.

My actions are not wrong. This is something I am very firm on. I however will allow that some people like the lines to be drawn a bit tighter - and it is my place to respect that. If I'd known, I would have. Hypotheticals are not much help to me now. Because as it stands, he is in a jealous rage against me. As I left the bar that night and commented on the new bike he had built, he proceeded to cut all ties with my acquaintance.

And I'm the one who feels bad.

I feel bad for my friend, who has at this point been inconvenienced by my actions. I feel a void of connection with this fellow because of the potent irrationality of his thinking. And I feel the sinking feeling I get every time I know there is nothing I can do to make a situation better.

I am not telling this story to you for you to act as a judge on propriety - because I found myself behaving with a vaguely similar irrationality last night.

I went to get a coffee with another friend. And on entering the establishment, the barista was on the phone. No problem. I was a barista. I have a great respect for the service industry and do not expect its workforce to abandon their humanity when on the clock. But without having words... something about the way he was on the phone immediately pissed me off. And when he spoke, I was more enraged. For no reason, I was sure that this person was an asshole. Do some people just give off asshole? Without even speaking?

I was courteous and he continued to emit this ass-vibe. We sat in the back. I drank my coffee. I went in for a refil. I look about for cream - it is after 10 and my coffee is more dessert than anything else - and I look to him silently as if to say "Where is the cream?"

He is talking to some girl. I'm not sure if they are flirting and they are planning on making out when he gets off work, if she is a friend come to see him or merely a regular customer. So we look at one another, and before I speak he says, "We're closed, man." He is bobbing his head slowly while he says this. Maybe twice up and down through the phrase. And the tone, was that of the most vacant and false apologies backed with the attitude that I am somehow making his life miserable by not knowing this intuitively and leaving quietly.

I could have punched him in the face.

I know what it is like to have people keep you at a job past closing. I am all for being told that I would do better to leave, so these workers can end their shift and enjoy their work-free lives. But there are ways to be told such things. There are manners that must be observed. As I respect him, so too do I demand respect. And this man had none. I am sure he is the kind of man who does not care if a sexual partner is enjoying his or herself. As long as he's taken care of, what could possibly be amiss.

The reason this sticks with me is that I can't explain it. Again, I am not wrong. But as my bartender friend's boyfriend could not control his reaction to my behavior - likewise I could not control my reaction to this man. And it bothers me. Because I want to accept people for their differences and understand situations and emotions that are not my own. But even if I can do that - and it is no certain thing - what if other people can't. Do I have to sink to their level? And can I let it not bother me that there is nothing I can do?

Thank you for reading.

Formalities

Bunnies and Birthdays

The decision has been made and Holocene has come out on top. That lands my party on my actual birthday: Sunday April, 16. Show up any time after 8 pm. Bring friends. Dance. Converse. Bring me presents... expensive ones.

I'm paying for 100 drinks and intend to give two drink tickets to the first 50 people who come wish me a happy birthday. That means actually coming up to me and saying the words. I'll make sure I'm easy to spot - likely by making my hat MUCH taller than everyone else's party topper. And I'll probably be loud and drunk after too long. That should be a dead giveaway.

I know having a party on Sunday is less than desirable. I hope you can overcome that mental hump and come enjoy the festivities anyway. It would mean the world to me. Because 25 years is far to short a time to have spent among such admirable hobbits...

-Thank you for reading

Operation: Kill Easter

From time to time, Easter has the great honor of falling on my birthday. And that might seem ok. You know, eggs, clucking bunnies...

But it's not.

See, Easter means something to people. Well, not people. Gentiles. And they RUIN my birthday with their church and their family and their hunting for boiled eggs. WELL NOT THIS YEAR!

On April 16, 2006 I will have managed to not die for 25 years. A quarter century. And I intend to make it a Big F'n Deal. But the question is: How?

Here's what I need
1. A place - I want this party to be more than my apartment, while ample, can contain. I'm thinking a venue that can contain between 50 and 100 people. I'm invisioning a loft-like space. Or a bar. Not paying would be awesome, but I don't see a way out of it.

2. A band - I want a band to play my birthday. And a DJ. The DJ I think I can swing. But band... don't know what kind of favors I can call in. I'm willing to pay something.

3. Booze - well, that's pretty self explanitory. But it does create the logistical problem of any minors attending... Do I know any young'uns anymore? Hmmm. Don't think so.

The only REAL issue left is the date. Do I throw the party Saturday night, with the impending Easter morning service? Or do I throw it Sunday night with the onset of work Monday morning, but the added bonus is I imagine Sunday evening will be easier to find a place. I am broadcasting all this for the simple reason that I need your loving guidance. Please post your suggestions.

Thank you for reading.

Lousy Smarch weather

It is snowing outside.

In March.

Not that anything will come of it, but at least it explains why I was so friggin cold last night.



Thank you for reading.

And the award for best moron in a lead role goes to...

I decided rather suddenly last week to have an Oscar party. Nothing fancy, just watching the Academy Awards with friends. Until this week I hadn't seen any of the best picture nominees and maybe only two other films nominated for anything whatsoever. I made time to watch "Capote" and "The Constant Gardner," which in retrospect were good picks.

But that's not what I'm driving at.

I had assumed the Oscars started at 8. Not so. They started at 5. I was working at 5. I, in fact, worked until 6:30. And I didn't give a second thought to my original assumption until right as I was leaving work and mentioned to someone, "Yeah, I'm having an Oscar party tonight."

"Aren't they on already?"

And my stomach dropped. So I raced home and turned on the Tivo to salvage the remains of my party. And that would have been OK. But no. Tivo was only scheduled to record three hours of Oscar. Just as the winner for Best Actress was about to be announced - literally, the words were coming out of the presenter's mouth - the Tivo stopped playing back.

Poop.

I don't care about the speeches or the montage or the fashion. I care about missing Jon Stewart. The glimpse I got leads me to believe he was cool and witty - giving the show a new air of sophistication rather than pomp. Though that crap Jake Gyllenhaal had to read about "Epics" which was basically a plug for the public to keep seeing shows at movie theaters was CRAP. And did anybody else notice the "Speed" bus in said montage? You cannot put a clip from "Speed" in a montage with "Lawrence of Arabia." Thank G-d for ol' J.S. putting the spin on things by declaring they were now "out of montage clips."

It only remains to be seen how long he milks this on The Daily Show.



This is one other thing I'd like to mention: Mouse Guard. I was at the comic shop a few weeks ago to pick up some of my regulars and saw this on the new release shelf. I couldn't help picking it up and leafing through, and if you already don't understand why go back and look at that picture again. There is a mouse with a sword and cloak on it.

The story is engaging enough for the moment. It's the first issue of six, so it's really only hinting at things. But it's so beautifully drawn that I can't really stop looking at it. It reminds me of the "Serendipity" books I read as a kid. I still have and cherish a few of those volumes. In search of the Hoard-a-saurus was a favorite. And this one:



You can preview some of the pages here. Not that you need to go buy comics. I'm just saying give credit where it's due.

Thank you for reading.

Wedding Bells

Everybody loves a wedding.

At this point in my life, three of my friends have gotten married. That's no great number considering the slew of weddings my roommate gets invited to every year. But then, she is a year older than I and knows about 10,000 people. But to me, the small scale of my wedding visitations makes each one more distinct. The most recent was just last night as my friend Nora gave herself to a good man by the name of Nick. Their initials, first and last, remain the same even after the union.

I met Nora just a week into college. I was young and emboldened by new freedoms. Nora was sitting on a couch in the student union hunched over a notebook and buried in a large hoodie sweater. What truly caught my eye was her vibrant purple hair, with two streaks of blonde framing her face as it parted down the center. And in an act of unprecedented bravado, I went and complimented her on it. She was awkard, obviously not knowing what to do with me, but we talked and I gave her my phone number.

A week or so later, she called that number and asked if she could hitch a ride to Portland with me. I honestly don't remember if we talked before then, because I was indeed bound for Portland, and it seems odd that she would just think to ask me that randomly. Whatever the case, I obliged and we scheduled our trip accordingly.

The third memory I have of Nora is of her in my car and pulling this horrid, gray mass from her purse that looked like an apple-sized dustball. And she puts this thing up to her nose and she starts sniffing deeply from it, turning it slightly with each inhalation. This is weird. This is gross. It gets grosser when I find out what it is: the remnants of her childhood blanket which has not been washed in a good many years and which she sniffs for comfort. At this point, I abandoned my original intentions of hitting on Nora and though "Maybe she'd be better as a friend."

We became good friends, though odd friends. Sophomore year there was scarcely an afternoon that she didn't come to my apartment. But we never did much together. We have few defining moments. But, and this is very in keeping with my view of friendship, we just decided that we care about one another and are there when needed or wanted.

The wedding was beautiful. She wore a light green dress that she proudly told me was actually a bridesmaid's dress she got for $100. But it was Vera Wang, which apparently was the important part. That and the deal she got. Nick, a long time Hot Lips Pizza employee had the reception catered with pizza and beer in a small park facility that they rented for what I assume was a minimal fee. Nora traded her heels in for a pair of pink vans to dance the night away. Many friends played and sung songs, and I wish I would have been one of them. I had intended to play Belle & Sebastian's "Like Dylan in the Movies," which she put on a mix tape for me many years ago. I didn't and I'm sorry for it. I would have liked to have somehow marked the occasion. But really, my mark wasn't needed. It was a wonderful wedding.

Thank you for reading.

The world according to Miyagi

I have gained a new level of love for my friend Erin. She came over last night to watch a movie, which we were to pick from my collection - of which I am very proud. I was feeling open to about anything except blatant goofery - which is too bad because she hadn't seen "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" and I am obliged to spread the gospel of Carell and Cowan. What I was really feeling like was "Brazil." Or maybe "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." I think enough time has finally passed that I can watch that again and not feel the need to fall hopelessly in love.

But I also said in passing, "I could totally watch 'The Karate Kid Part II.'"

And Erin took me up on it.

Fuck yeah! Karate Kid is AWESOME. Anyone who says otherwise gets a crane kick to the nose. You "no can defense" that shit. The awe all boys who grew up in the '80s have with The Karate Kid is inexplicable. I mean, we're talking about a movie where an old dude takes a young boy under his wing and NOBODY even thought of horrid homosexual molestation. "Now, Daniel-san, I will teach you 'Pounding Dog Thrust' technique. Bend over."

The second film has always, to me, been as good as the first. It's a great evolution of the story and the characters, rather than just Daniel having more problems and getting in fights. Plus, it's filmed in Okinawa and they got to put in lots of pretty Japanese shots. And did I even mention how ripped Chozen is? I mean, his pecs like double the thickness of his torso!

But the best part of the whole trilogy (Yes. TRILOGY. Don't even bring up that Hilary Swank shit.) is the spew of wisdom from Mr. Miyagi. Is there some little pocket book, "The Quotable Miyagi"? A quick Googling says no. That is my million dollar idea for the day. Just need to clear it with Columbia. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to smash some blocks of ice.

Thank you for reading.

It might be dehydration...

For the better part of two years, I've been teaching my body to distill the water it needs from coffee and beer exlusively.

I do not think things are going well.

I keep seeing things from the corner of my eye and thinking for a half moment that they are really there - or are things that they are not. Eye corners are tricksey places, so this isn't too unusual. But I've been more affected by it. Last night at the Goodfoot (check out the awesome site redesign) I kept thinking this jacket on the floor next to my bar stool was a sleeping dog. And this morning, when I woke up, a fold of my blanket looked like a man's nose and mouth in profile.

Speaking of the Goodfoot, the lead singer of Sounds Like Fun was there to watch and I asked him about the song I was denied on his album (still good, though). He apologised and said they weren't able to get it on there, but it is called "Mr. Wonderful." I thought that was appropriate.

Thank you for reading.

The sweet sound of disappointment

I was at the Doug Fir on Sunday for the free CD release show of Sounds Like Fun. My being there was less about the band and more about being out. I go to concerts in waves, and I think I'm about to catch one right now. Still, the band was excellent good fun. A trio of gentlemen singing unabashedly happy songs in three part harmonies.

In contrast to the choral bliss of Sounds Like Fun, Dat'r was about pounding beats and blips with atonal vocal droning. I'm tempted to call them Portland's Crystal Method. It's not the right thing to say about them, but it'll do in a pinch. Dat'r is 2/3 of The Binary Dolls, a band I once lauded in a WW preview enough for them to quote me on press releases. I heart this band. I heart the solo work of Dolls frontman Nick Jaina. So it only follows that I love Dat'r. All three incarnations offer different pleasures. Dat'r offered the universal pleasure of ass shaking on Sunday night. To the pre-recorded loops and samples, they add live accents - most notably the emphatic symbol crashing of Paul Alcott. The bouyancy of his curly locks as he bounces about the stage with sticks and microphones is perhaps the most wonderful thing I've ever seen.

What this brings me to is the inevitable purchase of both bands CDs. And, as happens time and time again, I am let down by the music once contained in ones and zeros. In the complete reverse effect of what needed to happen, the rumbling urgency of Dat'r is overcome by the now comprehensible whining lyrics that were much better as complimetary melodies. And Sounds Like Fun's album washes out the power of the vocals. Live, I would have followed that voice like a Pied Piper to wherever it led me. And, of course, the one song that cemented my purchase of the album is not actually on it. Damn.

I've talked much with Russ about the value of local music VS the established cannon and rising stars. It's not a debate one of us feels need to be "right" about - which is rare for he and I - but rather oposite views. I cherish the local music for its intimacy and involvement. I love buying the CD that was silk screened by the hand that now plucks notes on the guitar and knowing my X dollars goes directly to his pocket. I love the little shows where no matter where you stand, you are within spitting distance of an empassioned vocalist. I love seeing these people at their day jobs or parties and telling them I appreciate their art. And so, for all this, I accept the inherent risks and disappointments. I make allowances. I give benefits of doubt. And I love it all.

Thank you for reading.

Oh, the pressure!

I've been out of the loop lately, which is largely because of this. But I was scrolling through Jamie S. Rich's posts the other day to find I made the cut of his "regular blog reads." Or maybe, it's just that I link to him... either way, as Jamie is one of my blog inpirators, I am now moved to action!



It's funny who you meet when you sell toilets for a living. I've sold them to one of the head designers for Adidas' hip "classics" line. I've returned a sink from radio/tv personality Lars Larson (who seemed a decent fellow). I've shook the hand of Bobby Kimball from Toto. And just yesterday I sold a some bathroom paraphernalia to a member of Portland darlings, The Decemberists. And, as we are gearing up to have another one of our infamous customer appreciation concerts with non other than "cold as ice" Foreigner, I planted the seed that one day we might have The Decemberists grace our in-house stage. We'll see. I could be the siphon that taps the hip young plumbing market of Portland.

In my non-plumbing hours, I've been working on a DVD for a recently published children's book called "Bird In Hand." It's a story about a day when the author and her husband found an injured hummingbird and nursed it back to health. The illustrations, also done by the author are really stunning and thanks in no small part to my Mom's wonderful networking efforts, the book has been getting noticed. They're carrying it at Borders, now. At least the one in Bridgeport Village. The project I'm working on is to be a video the author can use when giving presentations at schools. They hooked me up with an insane desktop computer that has more power that I possibly know what to do with. If I were the kind of person who played games on computers rather than consoles, I would probably have wet my pants by now.

My other little project - which will be largely neglected until I finish this video - is my very own Web site. I've purchased a domain name and made a few rough designs for a home page. My only prior experience doing Web anything (aside from this wonderfully simply blogging) is back in college where I made a couple HTML sites using just a text editor for a class. I have ambitions of lovely flash animations and sexy graphics, but when something eventually goes up, it will more likely than not look more like this.

Thank you for reading.

I am the seagull

This is so friggin weird.

Over the last month, I've been going to rehersals of ART's latest production: Anton Chekhov's The Seagull. My Mom purchased this package at auction where she and a friend (or son) could go see the process from start to finish of staging this brand new translation. For those who don't know, the play takes its name from a scene where the young male lead kills a gull for no reason and gives it to the girl he loves. Note to self: Girls don't like dead birds.

For me, this whole process has been fascinating and has reinvigorated me with the love of theater (re?) I had in high school. It's been a bigger help that I've befriended the director Jon Kretzu, who is a little nuts and a lot of fun.

What I'm building up to here is this: The play opened Friday night and I went to see it. And here, Sunday morning there is a dead seagull that has apparently just fallen out of the sky and landed in my work parking lot.

Bizzare.

It's easy to forget how light birds must be. This gull looked so solid just lying there, almost like it was glued to the ground or weighed down as if all organs and muscles turn to lead in death. But when I picked it up (most companies don't like dead things in their parking lots. Discourages spending.) it was so light I dropped it out of shock. I obviously had my American Beauty moment taking pictures of it. Who am I to let that bizzare coincidence pass?

You know, this brings to mind an incident from last summer where I chanced upon a number of smaller bird corpses along Legacy Hospital in NW. There were four of them within a block, similarly dead with no sign as to why. Is this a bad sign for industrial air quality? I though bird flu was limited to the land dwelling avians, but perhaps... Let's not think of it.

Thank you for reading.

Escalation

This is not the Nerf of my youth. Foam warfare has attained a perfect form in the N-Strike Maverick 6-shot pistol. These foam missles of doom fire far and true. The gun (amazingly void of too many tacky neon colors) feels like it will actually endure multiple aggressive exchanges where combatants pull violently on the cocking mechanism (hmmm... that sounded less perverted in my head). My only regret is that it doesn't have twelve shots, but then I suppose that's why you buy two, isn't it?

I was prompted to buy a dueling pair of these pistols after reading about them on my favorite comic. About a year ago, Katie and I bought two foam swords at Finnegans Toy Store and we fenced the entire way home - even on the Streetcar and while walking/running down NW 23rd. What can I say? We're total dorks. Remind me to show you a picture of our curio full of He-Man and Star Wars toys.

Anyway, just thought you'd want to know I can still have fun.

Thank you for reading.

Froo Years

There is something to be said for the power we all have to make something a big deal when we want to. New Years is becoming an occasion where I insist I be having insane amounts of fun. That doesn't necessarily mean a lot of planning or elaborate parties, it means having an attitude for adventure. I rang in 2006 with two good friends and two new good friends in San Francisco (where, incidentally, I left my heart and some puke on someone's bathroom). If you have not had the pleasure of S.F.'s company, I suggest you make a call. This was actually my first time staying IN the city and being able to spend a few days walking her streets and buroughs laid plain her charm. From the quaint smutteries around my hostel to the only good coffee shop I had time to chance upon off Haight (where they were playing "The Thermals" I might add) I could have just eaten up the beauty like clam chowder in a bread bowl - which I did as well.

There are few actual "moments" to relay from the trip and many of those are not fit for print. But it is no small thing to say that after three long days and nights together with the same four people did nothing but make me love them each more. Everyone had something to contribute to the group. From Dan's many Australian eccentricities and catch phrases to Russ' female escapades to my own drunken boorishness, it was good things all around.


Of all places, we rang in the new year in a Rogue pub. Yes, I went all the way to San Francisco to drink at a Rogue pub. Our evening had taken a downward turn and I was anxious to find something comfortable. And by comfortable, I mean dark. The power had somehow gone out in the afternoon (only at the Rogue, mind you) and was not able to be restored. So the waitressess carried around flashlights and poured insanely generous shots of liquor, as that and bottled beer was all they could sell. Yes, I went all the way to San Francisco to drink bottled Rogue beer. I am a very silly man.

I also had occasion to see my oldest friend on this earth. That is not to say he is my best friend, but I have literally known him since he sprang from the womb. Regardless of how different we become in this life, we will always share a bond worth having a few pints over. He lives in S.F. and does some manner of investing. He will be very rich and I basically keep his acquaintence in the hope that when I go broke he will lend me money.

We had ice cream at Ghirardelli, were this asian man could not have been more excited to bring us our enormous sundaes in success. Seriously, HE was more excited about them then we were. He's probably more excited about sundaes than three-year-olds and I think we ALL remember how fucking exciting a sundae bigger than your head was at the age of three. Later that night, I think we met his sister at the Chinese restaurant we ate at. Slightly less excited, but good fun. Good food too.



I think I will end by saying something to the fine fellows with whom I shared one of the best weekends of my life.

Russ: You're such a prick. And next time, aim for the toilet.
Dan: If there ever comes a time that you are NOT hungry, I will shoot myself. I miss you already
Ethan; I'm glad you are there to point out all that is important with your emotionless, robotic heart and finger.
Cara: A woman whose libido can keep up with four young men... your face should be on currency.

Thank you for reading.

I even post my posts late.

(The following was written on Dec. 15 and my lazy ass is only now getting around to posting it)

As my good friend Parrish pointed out, it's been over a month since I posted anything. Don't I feel sheepish! Well, time does fly and all that. But, really. Sorry. SORRY!

I was actually looking through stuff on my computer literally yesterday to find an entry I had started when I was away from ye olde Intronet and never got around to finishing/uploading. It was mostly about my realization that Elmer's Glue is Ejaculate. So I don't think you were missing out on much.

Winter is cold. I love it. Though I wish I hadn't lost my hobo gloves. I lost my red hat too. I'd get sentimental, but the only thing that bugs me is shelling out another $15 bucks for a pair of gloves. They were such nice gloves...

Yesterday I discovered the greatest movie theatre in Portland: The St. Johns Theatre and Pub. It's right in downtown St. Johns and shows first-run movies for a mere $6. AND they serve beer. I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia (mediocre) with some friends and talked the shop keep into giving me the "Family Beer Combo" (which I invented on the spot) - basically consisting of me getting a jumbo popcorn for $2 with the purchase of two beers (that were going to be purchased anyway). My allegiance is firmly set and I will not be found going to another theatre to see any movie they are currently showing. Really, Portland is a treasure trove of independent theatres. I am now making it my goal to see a movie at ALL of them. Yes that's right. ALL OF THEM! I'll make you a list to monitor my progress and perhaps... join along?

My roommate and I are throwing our second party on Friday: Chrismukkah. I will only say this: Fuck YEAH! The O.C. is my church. I know I am crazy. I know this. I also know I don't care. Because I made a goddamn yamiclaus!

Writing "goddamn" just then keyed me into an odd hypocrisy: I think dammit should be spelled as I wrote it, rather than "damnit." Yet "goddamn" warrants an "n". Why?WHY?

I am making a slideshow/video/thing for the year-end meeting at work. Currently I'm in the "gathering" phase. I have rarely known such joy as when seeing pictures of these people in their youth completely disconnected from the age-worn individuals I know in context of George Morlan Plumbing. It preys on the worst of my voyeuristic impulses. Love. This project is a strange thing that has fallen in my lap, but I am trying to roll with it and learn the art of videography/editing. I'm a bit skittish about it, but it's also a lot of fun. Perhaps I could do this all the time rather than selling toilets...

-Thank you for reading.

Almost famous

Pardon me while I toot my horn for a minute.



While I didn't find out until Sunday, the above image of myself shooting stick at Berbati's was the lead in picture for last Friday's A&E cover story about Portland's latest late night scene. My identity was less of a give away in the paper because the photo was printed black and white (which looked HOT) and thus you wouldn't have noticed my signature red hat - which at the moment I fear I may have lost.

It was taken a week prior when I was out with friends on a completely unplanned Friday post-work bender that continued into the wee hours with me waiting some 40 minutes to get a Voodoo Doughnut. Seriously, what WAS that guy's problem? Anyway, the photographer approached me and asked my name - which having worked in "The Biz" I didn't think twice about and had forgotten it by the next morning. Though that may have had something to do with the bender part of the evening.

The funniest part about this episode is that I found out about the whole thing from a friend in New York, of all places. Apparently his Dad had told him about it and he mentioned it to me in passing when I had just called him to talk about anime and video games. So from now on I want all my news to be filtered by going coast to coast before it reaches my ears. That way all the unimportant stuff falls off somewhere around Nebraska.

But wait, there's more.

You ALL need to watch AM Northwest this Friday morning because I'll be getting my hair cut by Dayna Cakebread (best last name ever) of the Belle Epoque salon. I'm on their mailing list (dork) and she put out the call this morning for cool, scruffy guys. As I haven't had my hair cut since the last time she laid hands on it some three months ago - and she left it fairly long anyway - I'm prime for a new doo. I'm going to give her free reign, so who knows what the hell will happen.

But it's a whole makeover, not just the hair. So I get to wear hot clothes and possibly (and I don't know how I feel about this) get a facial. Anyway. That's worth working a little late this week so I can duck out early on Friday morning, right?

-Thank you for reading.

I want to have less meaning

Hmm. Where to begin.

It's been an odd month, which perhaps explains why I haven't written. I've meant to. I meant to say how I saw Neil Gaiman read from his latest novel and how magical hearing him speak was. He is man who exists to tell stories - captivating ones that, as he would like it said, "say true things." His charisma and ease in his own skin are the kinds of qualities that should be held by all great movers of men. It was a wonderful moment that would not be sullied by waiting an hour and a half for an autograph.

I meant to tell you of my trip to Bend - the second weekend of the month that I have given to my employer. I was there working a home show with poor attendance where I was only 60 percent needed. Had it been a four-night trip, it would have been better. Six-nights, as it was, stretched a little long. I compensated by eating some delicious and outrageously priced meals on the company dime. Yes, waiter, I'll have some of that scotch I see on the bar with "15" blaring out at me. Mmmm. Expensive scotch.

My excitement over halloween was high going into October, but now I find I haven't carved a pumpkin or planned any elaborate costume. Somewhere along the line, my resolve broke. I hope to do better by myself for New Years - and if Russ has anything to say about it, I will - but in general my mood is low for both reasons of season and emotion. I never thought myself too susceptible to dramatic mood swings that follow the cloud cover and moisture content of my atmosphere, but I have been bouncing rather from pole to pole as each day decides what exactly it will be. In that regard, there is no finer place than Bend for consistently gorgeous weather. I meant to tell you about the way the sun cradled between south and middle sister as it set punctually 6 marking the progression of 70 degree days into below freezing nights of crystal clarity.

I didn't mean to write this. But being in my head for too long is never a good idea and I don't want to have to continue and look back at things I meant to do.

Thank you for reading.

I am the host with the most

I love my roommate. She tapped the keg for our party because I've never done so and would most likely have fucked it up.


We cleaned the place up nice, complete with foofy foods like hummus and vegetables... OK, there were m&ms too, but they were GIANT and in strange pastel colors.


We keep him in our secret closet. He dances for nickels that people throw at him.

I am so happy with how the party turned out. The crowd was big enough, but not too big. Everyone was respectful of our stuff and drank responsibly while managing to kill the keg. I am heartened that our future entertainment endeavors will meet with success. Next up is likely Pumpkin Carv-nival Part II: The Carvening. I certainly learned my lesson from last year not to leave pumpkins out in rainy weather for two weeks. Ew. Though it was fun to push them all off the balcony.

The first of many

Stretching out

I love my new apartment like I love puppies.

Each time I come home, I have a moment of awe that I live there. It’s beautiful, spacious and full of charm. AND it’s coming together nicely with our preexisting and newly purchased furniture. The living room looks so adult with Katie’s new couches and my awesome rug. The dining room will be good, but we just need more stuff for it, it’s so big. The kitchen was fantastic before we put anything in it and will only grow more incredible – though we did overlook the fact that none of the brand new drawers and cabinets have handles. Yeah. Got to get on that.

My bedroom remains a mess, mostly because after getting my new bed set up and my books put away, my motivation to do anything else dwindled. It’ll happen before next Friday, though, when we are hosting our housewarming bash. I am insisting, though here for the first time, that I purchase the keg as I’ve never done so and have wanted to ever since seeing “Teen Wolf” – which got an odd sort of props from The O.C.’s third season premier last night. I swear, they’re not even trying to make those characters believably 17-years-old, but if they did I probably wouldn’t love it.

Also in the good news department, my time-off request went through and I’m taking a long weekend in New York on the 23rd. I’ve done the NY thing enough times that I don’t need to act too touristy, though I’m always excited about real NY pizza, even if we have the next best thing right here in Portland.

What we also have in Portland is rain. I’m going to have to gear up if I want to attempt scooting to work from here on out. I’m thinking something like this:



Sexy.

-Thank you for reading.

The most outrageous shit ever

Am I that lowly of a person that I get excited when people leave comments on my blog? Yes I am. But what do I see there? BLOG SPAM!!! Scroll down a bit and check it out for yourself. Check your own blog, for that matter, if you have such a thing. Did you look? You’ve got to be fucking joking, right? Yes, because you comment on my blog, I will be very interested in your diabetes testing site. Why, to think, I’ve gone 24 years without considering the fact that I COULD HAVE DIABETES. What a horror!

Fucking blog spam and mattress ads on my Gmail. I think the path of cultural technology excess I’ve embarked on could just be an intermediary to a complete shutout of info tech.

Thank you for reading (and not spamming, fuckers!)

I'm just a boy with a new haircut

I think I will instantly fall in love with any woman who washes my hair.

Of course, it helps that all the girls working at Belle Epoque are button-cute. They said just a wash would be $10, so I'm thinking if I can stretch out two washes a week, I will have beautiful women wash my hair forever.

I treated myself to a full-service wash/haircut/hand and scalp massage (all standard at B.E.) last night and couldn’t be happier about it. Well, actually, I’d be happier if it was a little cheaper, but I figure it’s all money that I won’t be spending when I go bald. Flaunt it while you got it, I always say.

I went under the shears of the owner herself, Dayna Cakebread (not sure if that’s a real name). She moves with speed and precision, at once deciding on her vision and carrying it out with excitement. It was fantastic, as I usually have few specific requests for my stylist. There are just general guidelines that usually include, but aren’t limited to, shorten the back and de-thick-ify the sides. She did that and oh such more… not that I was paying attention because her uber-cute new assistant was massaging my early-stage carple-tunneled hands. Ohhhh so nice. She tried to give me a little too much spike in the back, but I decided I didn’t want to look like this



(that part behind the “N” is still his hair.

Anyway, the move is still on. Apparently my Dad just got a truck that I can use. Sweet. He must be giddy like I was when I got my scooter. Seriously, he’s been talking about getting a truck for like 10 years. It fulfills his inner-putterer, though at this stage in life, I don’t know how much rugged use he’s going to get out of it. I mean, my folks just got a gardener for the love of Pete.

Thank you for reading.

Go see what I saw

Oh Dog, You Sleuth! posted a fantastic picture of Aqua Boy from the soapbox derby. How fucking cool is that kid! I wish my parents would have made me a cape. For Halloween, I'm gonna be fucking Aqua Boy.

Thank you for reading.

All I'm selling are false promises

Last week on the sales floor was, in ways, less frustrating than my first go-round because I’ve eased my internal pressures (mostly by farting) and am generally more assured in the fact that by simply speaking kindly and honestly with people, they will tolerate your complete incompetence. What I remain skittish about is the fact that I am not giving these people anything when I make a sale. I am selling them a piece of pink paper that says at some point before the magnetic poles reverse, they will receive the items listed therein. How that is supposed to happen is almost entirely beyond my control. So when they inevitably call me two months from now asking where their sink is, I will be just as bewildered as they.

As Katie has mentioned on her blog, she and I are moving at the end of the month. Our place is gorgeous. I bought a rug for it the other day. I never imagined myself buying a rug, but I seem to have gotten quite a deal. We are already planning a bash to christen the dwelling. Katie wants to call the apartment “Versailles,” which I’m not opposed to in theory, but in practice it doesn’t really roll off the tongue. We’re working on it. But the party will be excellent. You should come.

Thank God for Jezebel (the name stuck on my scooter like squashed bugs on her angular hood). I’ve taken to scooting around just to relieve the tension. Today, for instance, a brief jaunt to Cha Cha Cha! for lunch has refreshed me. Unfortunately, the minutes are scraping by, each clinging to the one after it, willing to drag them down but not succeeding and making the following minutes cling harder for their knowing that they will fall just like the ones who are lost.

I’ve endeavored to go to New York this September for two reasons, who happen to be people. The first is Greta, one of my closest friends whom I love dearly. She will be appearing in her first non-student lead role and I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss it. I had the pleasure of seeing her as Juliet in the premier Portland Shakespeare troupe’s production when she was still in high school. Basically, the girl has the stuff. I’ve always known it. I’ve always told her so. And it’s basically just nice to be right.

The second is Alisa, an ex and extraordinary individual that anyone would be a fool to cast from their life just because she doesn’t want to smooch you anymore. So I didn’t, and I’m better off for it. I mean, she gave me a microwave for crying out loud. And I plan to have a thrilling ride on the back of her scooter for my trek back east.

There are others to see, but those are the important ones. The REALLY important ones, anyway. Nobody offended? Ok? Ok. So yes, it will be a lovely trip. I’ve not breathed the NY air for a few years. Hopefully it won’t be too full of poop.

Thank you for reading.

Look what I got

Unless there are strong objections, I think her name is Jezebel. It's the first thing that ever came out of my mouth, but it's grown on me. And I love the dictionary definition that she was a queen who encouraged idolatry, because I do fucking worship her. She's beat up and rattles like a maraca, but I have never experienced such joys as I have in the last few days scooting the streets of Portland.

So now I want to make a sub chapter of some existing scooter club. If Jezebel really sticks, maybe I'll name my chapter something to do with the 10 commandments. Banning false idols and other gods was #2 on the list, so that might give me some ideas.

Otherwise, I've been swamped with work and looking for a new apartment with Katie. And I've got more books, CDs, video games and anime to get through than I can possibly hope to consume in any efficient time frame. Ah, such troubles.

The working world

Does everyone have this much trouble with new jobs? Here I am, three weeks in and I haven’t truly done anything I was hired to do. The closest was yesterday wherein I learned to use the super-fancy poster printer and produced and mounted 18 large posters for display at the Street of Dreams. The furthest from my purpose was when I spent two rather sweltering days in the warehouse last week. But as far as this “catalogue” goes… Well, I’m becoming of a mind that it will never really happen.

And all I want to be doing right now is reading Harry Potter and then playing videogames. These desires haunt my thoughts even as I pound this keyboard. Scooters, too, are much in mind as I have contacted a fellow selling a 1985 Honda Aero and we should meet this afternoon. I’ve learned not to get my hopes up, but I believe I beat others to the punch and if this man has any sense of loyalty, he will give me first priority and option to purchase. The scooter is more practical than charming, but I would never call it an eyesore. A few well-placed stickers and possible a basket or two and I dare say it would look rather fetching. Obviously, if anything happens, it will posted here promptly.

Last night was spent making merry with an old friend who has abandoned us for New York many years past. Seeing him reminded me of just what a good man he is – quite the life of the party with his wit and character. Even though he manages a video game store, I have no idea how he plays as many games and consumes as much anime as he does. Though I was slightly clued in by his demonstration that a PSP can play compressed video files. My interest in the machine is now piqued, but I’ve mostly forsworn portable game systems for the horrendous temptation they represent.

But presently, I am tempted by the promise of lunch.

Thank you for reading.

Down the drain

That's where my weekend went because it was all spent at the George Morlan Tent Sale. The last three days have been utterly insane. I wish I'd been keeping track of personal numbers the way they tracked all the sales figures. If I could do so, I would love to tell you things like how many miles I walked (all within a one block radius), how many hours I talked and how many names I forgot.

The world of sales is strange. Through one lens, "salesman" is another word for "vulture." I pounced on so many people this way with the "are you being helped" line, or "can I answer any questions for you." It's funny how these phrases are ingrained in my vocal memory from all the salesmen I have been irritated by in the past. Now I am one of them. But on the other hand, I learned that if you are willing to do what you can to help people and be sincere and considerate of their situation, you can sell even if you don't know fuck all about what you're selling. Of course, it involves a lot of frantic shoulder taps for help and I made a point to personally thank everyone I pestered during the weekend.

I don't know for sure, but I averaged 4-6 thousand dollars a day. For a novice, I'm pretty happy. The new girl who actually got the job I originally applied for went at it with a fucking conviction. I don't think I ever saw her without a customer. And after working the 13 hour days, she would go home and research the products Online so as to have more knowledge the next day. I am dumbstruck by her effort.

My trial was entirely intended to give me the crash course primer of the company. I have a sense of the culture and environment at the company. But most importantly, I know what the customer wants to know and what the salesman has to do to move the product. Now over the next few months I get to take all that and build a catalogue custom tailored for George Morlan, and I hope unlike any catalogue that exists. I've got lots of ideas I want to put to use somehow, though any one of them is going to take a lot of work.

What I've been most impressed by is the way this company supports its employees, who in turn support each other. As I said, the help people offered me was invaluable. I can't imagine what I looked like when in a panic, I realized I'd charged someone the wrong price or needed to find some antique replacement part or forgotten how to describe simple aparati like shower faucets. No joke. There came a time I was looking inside my head for words and just found a gaping whole where knowledge and communication used to be. Actually, that's kind of how I feel now. Time for some beers.

Thank you for reading.

God made me a job

Well, actually it was Rick Kramien - President of George Morlan Plumbing - who made me the job. I'll warn you now if it's not too late, there is a HIDEOUS audio clip that plays when you click that link. I'm putting it on my list of things to shake up once I'm comfortable.

You may wonder what the hell I'm doing working for a plumbing company. After looking at the plumbing knowledge test I have to take, I'm kinda wondering the same thing. But appearances aside, this is an incredible opportunity. Basically, I went in to interview for an Admin Asst position with the small hope that I would gradually learn some skills in marketing. Well, when Rick saw my resume, he got all excited about my communication skills and basically created a position for me to spearhead all content production for a catalogue spanning their entire product inventory. To make a metaphor, it would be like asking Santa for a vest and him getting you a 3-piece tailored suit. Sure, the job won't be all glitz and glamour, but it's putting my communication skills to work exactly like I wanted to. AND I still get to walk to work!

Thank you for reading

More death

This is Precious. She was my dog. Now she is dead.

My parents finally decided to put Precious down on Friday because of numerous health problems that, I am convinced, had actually turned her into a zombie dog. I'll spare you the gory details, but she was literally falling apart. She had numerous infections and open sores that were just not healing and, at 15 years old, not really worth fixing. I know that's a little callous. I'm ok with that. My Dad got really emotional about it, which is a little surprising considering the love/hate relationship he built with her. As she aged and went deaf, I think she lost any sense of "the rules," that or she just flauted them knowing she had nothing to lose. She really wasn't living much of a life for the last year. And so we say, "It's for the best." But really, all we know for sure is that it was for our best.

Precious came into my life 10 years ago. My sister inherited her from her horse trainer at the time. Unfortunately, we all inherited the name "Precious" too. It took Dad and I a few years before we were comfortable saying that in public. On walks she was referred to as "you," "dog," and "girl." She was a well-bred dog - fuckin' papers and everything. I think she might have showed briefly. Horse trainers like to train other things and in her younger years, Precious had an impressive arsenal of tricks to display for guests. The one where she went on hind legs and after you point a finger-gun at her and say "BANG BANG!" she flopped over dead... that was a crowd favorite.

I always considered her to be part cat, because she was never an overly affectionate dog. She wouldn't want to sit in your lap or beg for attention. No, she was a whore for the treats and scraps. If you had food, she was your best friend. If not, maybe she'd let you rub her belly for a while. A bit of a diva, really. That's part of the reason her loss hasn't hit me that hard. She was never really my dog in the Old Yeller sense of the word. She was just Precious. And I will miss her.

Thank you for reading.

Kara-OK!

The fine art of good karaoke is practiced seven nights a week at the Alibi, but last night I was witness to a slew of songsters like I've never seen. I suppose that's what happens when you start waving money in people's faces. Every Wednesday this month, some ellusive judges are picking people to compete in a final competition for the monetary sum of $1,000. Maybe that doesn't sound like a lot to you. But then I would remind you that this is for getting on a microphone and singing two, maybe three songs by artists whom you probably mimic on your own time (say, in the shower or car) free fuckin' gratis.

I'm not one to brag, but I put on a fair show on the mic. I'm no Freddy Mercury, but I can carry a tune. Likewise, I'm no dance machine, but I acknowledge good karaoke doesn't constrain itself to a mic stand. Stil, I have never seen the room more packed with people - 80 percent of which were formidable contenders. The crowd has two harmful effects from the get go: Cigarette smoke lingers in the Alibi like fog over a Scottish meadow and the chatter of people over already high decible levels of singing both strain the voice something fierce. Luckly, I got my songs in before 10:30 because by 1 am, I couldn't have sang "Footloose" if Kevin Bacon had given me his blessing. What I did sing was "It's now or never" by Elvis and "Man of Constant Sorrow" by The Soggy Bottom Boys. Good songs to be sure, but they don't move the crowd the way I'd like.

All the while I was cheered on by my friend Stacey, from whom I stole the excellent title to this post. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have had in my corner and her being there was wonderful on levels and for reasons I don't want to get into just now.

Someone I wish wasn't there was this large black man who is just too damn good for karakoe. There comes a point where you should just be in a band or work as a studio musician singing theme songs for cartoons. He gets up there and sings "Kiss" by Prince - and he fucking nails it. NOBODY can sing Prince except Prince. Sigh. I'd seen him at a few other karaoke places around town and hated him for basically nullifying any chance I had at the finals. Stacey and I took off shortly after 1, not waiting to hear who made it. But there's good odds I'll be there next week, if y'all want to come represent!

Thank you for reading.

The Departed

I have a dead woman's furniture in my house.

It's not something I'm particularly weirded out by, as the furniture does not somehow warp into Tim Burton set props once its owner leaves this world, but it is bizarre to consider. The furniture I have was either gifted to me by friends, relatives or street corners. These are the scraps of an estate - and one which I don't think Vanessa even had strong ties to. I told Vanessa if light bulbs start to mysteriously not work or my firstborn only has one arm, we're getting rid of the shit.

As it turns out, I knew who this woman was as she would come to Vivace from time to time. She was a Suicide Girl, as was obivous to anyone who saw her. She carried a vinyl bag with large spikes on it, and often met men there who were obviously not friends getting together for coffee. Nonetheless, she seemed nice enough and I have no cause to complain. But now she is dead from a heroin overdose. And don't think of making any suicide/Suicide Girl joke. I can't believe you'd even say that. You people make me sick. It's like nothing is sacred anymore...

Sadly, this isn't the only death in my life as another Vivace customer recently passed away. His name was Kurt and he would come in mornings and order a morning latte in a mug. That was it. He was very soft spoken and kind. He worked at Pioneer Music, and excellent fine instrument store downtown. One of my fellow baristas really took to him and they would play guitar together from time to time. I can't claim any strong ties to the man, but he was a good person and I'm sure many people will miss him.

Death isn't something I'm equipt to deal with. I don't know if anybody is. There still hasn't been a close death in my life, so that'll really shake me down. My gradpa died when I was six, but I couldn't begin to process that. My parents actually had me see a counselor because I didn't cry. I remember my Dad taking me on a walk to break the news and he cried saying it. Seeing your Dad cry at that young age is a strange thing. He is still flawless and my unfailing support and protection. But there he is crying. All I could do was say, "It's ok, Dad." and the like, trying to console him, because this thing happening right in front of me was more real and more pressing than the news that someone I didn't see daily would never be seen again. I'm almost afraid that I'll have the same reaction for all deaths - just to pause, consider and change the files in my head about that person from the "alive" category to "deceased." I tell people I'm dead on the inside, but I don't want to prove myself right.

Thank you for reading.

It's official

Well that was easy. Get a load of this business.

Blogs in the 'Hood

I just made a weekly check-in to a blog I stumbled upon some time ago about the Sellwood neighborhood, only to find it has now moved to OregonLive. Turns out, the site (which is the online presence of The Oregonian, among other things) has a whole section of blogs devoted to various areas around Portland. And you know what's missing... MY neighborhood! SO, I am now officially starting my campaign to be Northwest Portland's blogger. My first post subject: Wacky Willy's.

This emporium of... stuff is closing after many years of operation just a block from my house. It's a sad state of affairs, to be sure. The store reminds me of the song "Portobello Road" from the Disney film Bedknobs and Broomsticks. "Anything and everything a chap can unload, is sold by the barrel at Portobello Road." For the record, I've since been to the real Portobello Road in London and can vouch that the song speaks true. Wacky Willy's is the greatest of junk stores, where you have no idea what will ever be there or how it came to be there. There is a standing trashcan full of the early "brick" style cell phones. Around Christmas, they had a huge shipment of Teddy Ruxpin dolls and tapes. But what's most amusing are the signs the employees make for various doodads. There's no way to explain with words, so I'm going to go snag some pictures to post later.

In the meantime, everyone send OregonLive emails about how wonderful my blog is and that they should pay me millions of dollars to write about NWPDX!

UPDATE!!!

As it turns out, Wacky Williy's already has secured a new home and it remains mere blocks from my house. Yey! Sadly for them, the street visibility is much poorer, but I've a feeling that the kind of people who go there will seek it out. Still, as I promised, here are pictures.




Thank you for reading.

Out with a bang and a beer

This Memorial Day was less about remembering heros and more about remembering my friend Ryan. I was out at the coast for his bachelor party before he ties the knot this Friday. Rather than a raucous, debauched weekend, it was just five guys united by their bonds of friendship to Ryan... and a keg of beer.

I've had friends get married already, but this is the first REALLY close friend to go. His bride-to-be has basically been that for the past 2.5 years, though it's only been official for the last six months. Still, it's going to be quite the affair. I'm an usher (I didn't make groomsman because I won't wear a tuxedo. It's a longstanding vow of mine and Ryan knew me well enough not to even ask) and will be taking Ryan's parents down the aisle. But what I realized also sets this wedding apart is that Ryan comes so much from where I come from, and was so cared for by just about everybody, that EVERYONE will be at this wedding.

Let me just give you some context on Ryan: All through junior high and high school, he would go around to every table at lunch and ask for people's scraps. It wasn't because he was poor, it's just who Ryan is. And people would give him everything from a roll to some tater tots to hamburgers because he was so unapologetically genuine about what he was doing. I think he was the best fed kid at school. Ryan's peddling became so commonplace that people (myself included) would actually seek him out to give him food they weren't going to finish.

So myself and the people who care about him sent him off in style this weekend. Nothing special. Just good times, good smokes, good beach and good beer. We all love you, Ryan.

Thank you for reading.

Jobless and Joyful

I got fired last Tuesday.

It's been gradually sinking in since then, but last night I had a dream where I had it out with my old bosses and I came away from it feeling very cleansed. To those of you for whom this is news, I'll sum up: I had recently begun plugging my ipod (Yes, I bought a new one. I call it "Mpu2.") into the stero at work because any more time I spent listening to the crappy, stale music there would have caused me to jam a portafilter into my eye socket. I knew this would chap the bosses' hide. He designed the music program on the computer we used and it is the last remnants of his previous career in engineering. Still, I was willing to bear the consequences if they found out, and hoped it would open a dialogue about some changes that might be made.

Well, they found out. But I had underestimated the fury of Alex's wounded pride because he fired me on the spot. I didn't fight it, but I tried to explain some things to him that might improve the work environment for my co-workers. I doubt any of that penetrated. Because what you have to understand about this man is that he is mentally 7-years-old. He actually admitted to me, and it took a while before I could say this without envisioning my fist in his face, that had I not gone down and put Mpu2 in my bag while switching the stereo back to normal, he would have TAKEN AND KEPT it.

Let that sink in.

Yeah. Fucking absurd.

But regardless of how silly the situation is, it's a blessing. I've been discontent not just there, but with the entire service industry for some time. So the boot out the door is the push I needed to get going in a better direction. I'm reminded of The Sandman, my favorite comic series. For those of you not familiar, over the course of the books, the King of Dreams subconsciously sets himself up for a big fall because it is the only way he can get out of the rut he's in. I did the same thing. Because while I wouldn't say I was trying to get fired, I no longer feared any consequences my actions might bring and my according behavior was out of line.

Still, I have visions of the entire staff just walking out in protest and leaving the old bosses royally ass-fucked.

SO! I'm on the career hunt and if any people have suggestions, I am open to hear them. I've already contacted some temp agencies in the area, but I'd love to get more recomendations (there's so many). I'm thinking I'd like to find something to do with my writing/communication skills like marketing or public relations. I'm also looking at industries that are filled with creative energy like publishing, video games, shoes (nike and adidas are in my backyard). Of course, I might just go teach in Korea. "All things are possible in this best of all possible worlds."

Thank you for reading.

Allure and Dissapointment

I've been spending a lot of time poking around craigslist lately. My love for this site has already been covered and I am not claiming any originality in being one of its many fans. But what I've been so interested by lately are the personal sections - in particular the "casual encounters." I'm 98 percent there as a voyeur, which covers a large percentage of the readers, I'm sure. But, people post these things hoping for legitimate response. The whole breakdown is fascinating. Mostly gay/bi posts, followed by straight males and then ugly/older women. The odd post is by someone who probably has no need to do so, possessing the god given tools to secure satisfaction from whatever sex they want. I'm not saying any of this with disdain. Rather, it is illustrative (as even this or any other blog is) of the outlet created to just say what you want and hope to find a sympathetic ear - maybe even a collaborative voice.

The bottom line: People are lonely and I count myself among them. Don't take that as a depressive statement. I care for many people and have many that do the same for me. But I'm looking for more. To that end, I empathize with the people who make these posts - however outrageous... and I mean really outrageous.

But what happens when nobody answers? Whatever hope the Internet represents, I think it really just hold more dissapointment. Of course, that may just be a matter of asking for reasonable things. Substitute perhaps a conversation for a cock-sucking. See where that goes.

Thank you for reading.

Boost

You know that feeling where you're talking with the most beautiful girl in the room even though you probably don't have any right to - and it's working? I hope so, because it's great.

Comix Chic

I make no secret of the fact that in the last two years I've fallen hard for comics. I collected as a young teenager in the dawn of the Image days when the market was booming with pomp and circumstance. Though I didn't know it at the time, that was a huge bubble that popped shortly after I started collecting avidly. At one point, there were actually two comic stores across the street from one another in my little suburb town of Lake Oswego and even though I hadn't been in either for a while when it happened, I was sad to see them both close their doors. In one case, the whole building was just knocked down.

The comics I collected in those days were mixed, but it was all super hero stuff. Having re-read almost everything I own in this second coming of comics, a lot of it is crap. Then, I was more obsessed with the habit of collecting. You don't want to know how much money I wasted on sports cards before comics. I didn't even care about those damn things. That was just compulsive. Actually, my grandpa and I would play baseball card rummy: Instead of suits, you'd match cards of people from the same team. A child older than five could have probably read the team name of his opponent's cards from the back.

Anyway, getting back into comics was very much an escapism because I had graduated college, was living at home and wanted to occupy my time. I'd started reading a number of manga in college because I'd caught the anime bug and, most times, wanted to read the source material for series I enjoyed. But my new full-fledged foray into comics came with The Sandman. Without exaggeration, it is the greatest comics achievement ever. From there I hit all the other big name series: Preacher, Concrete, Transmetropolitain, Lucifer, Books of Magic. At the same time, I fostered an appreciation for the alternative scene. My Mom had gotten me a copy of Maus back in my first phase because in her mind it was a way for my love of comics to have some real impact rather than good guy fist meeting bad guy face (she was right, by the way). Daniel Clowes, Paul Pope, Craig Thompson, Jason Lutes, Paul Hornschemeier, Doug TenNapel, Kyle Baker... I've discovered a lot of incredible artists. And you'd better believe I was foaming at the mouth for the McSweeney's comics edition.


But just yesterday I struck gold. I was scanning the comic section at Powell's on Hawthorne when I found the Vol. 2 #1 of Raw Magazine. This is the magazine Art Spiegelman started and where Maus was originally published in serialization. This is from 1989 and it is exactly what the McSweeney's edition is today - just 16 years older and subversive rather than celebratory. I haven't even begun to read it, but let me tell you it's a find. As I was telling the clerk (who frequents my coffee shop) how excited I was, the fellow just down the counter asked me where I found it, hoping there might be other copies. No such luck, fellow. No such luck.

R.I.P. Mpu (April 2-11)

Oh, Mpu, I barely knew you and now you are gone. On the first full day in Costa Rica, where I am currently on holiday, Mpu and his older brother DigiCam were stolen right from under my nose. The subject is still sore, so I won't elaborate. But the fact remains, my tiny, wonderful and expensive digital toys are gone. Is this a sign from God? Am I not meant to partake of his technological spledor? Should I shave my head and become some manner of ascetic, spending my days in contemplation of non-technology (aka "nature")? I hope not.

The larger question remains, will there be an Mpu2? The ipod is never something I coveted, and yet, having just barely tasted the possibilities it presents, I may be hooked. The camera is a no-brainer, though I may take some time to consider different models. But I just don't know... Either way, I'll spend some time generating the funds to cover my losses. If I knew how to start pity pay pal donations, I might do such a thing because I have now gotten my first comments from "anonymous" readers, meaning some people might actually be reading this on occasion. Particular thanks to those wonderful people. And for the rest of you, as always,

Thank you for reading.

The continued saga of Mpu

Can I just say how much I love craigslist?

The ads I placed with my tale of ipod case woe actually got a response from a kindly man willing to GIVE me an extra skin he had just lying around. So I went an picked it up from him on Thursday where he works, which was mere blocks from the house I grew up at in the burbs. And you know what? It's exactly the skin I was looking for. I was expecting some gaudy pink monstrosity - which in itself would be awesome because of the story - but instead it is sleek and clear and has that part that covers the input so you don't get it all linty in your pocket. Fantastic.

To further the wheel of karma, I turned right around and offered the skin I mistakenly purchased for free. Not an hour later, someone claimed it and I will pass it on to them today. Of course, he works at Vinton studios, just a block away from my coffee shop. I've probably made him crepes before. This is out of the whole craigslist community. Think of the odds.

I tell you all of this to prove a point: I believe the universe is random, but there sure are a lot of coincidences. But more importantly, there are a lot of kind people.

Thank you for reading.

I pod, therefore...

I have joined the anti-social elite by finally obtaining an ipod musical device. I have named it "Mpu" after the AI satellite in episode nine of Cowboy Bebop, my favorite anime series. Dorky, yes. But not nearly as dorky as the fact that you can also use Mpu as an anagram for Music Player Unit. Wow. I am a such a nerd.

But not only am dorky, I'm also stupid. Because I want to protect my investment (thankyouverymuch) I went to purchase a nice rubbery case to keep Mpu safe. Firstly, let me say I'm dreadfully disappointed with the selection of such accessories. I there is no perfect combination of features. The either have the screen protector AND an annoying clip, or neither. And the colors suck. AND their overpriced starting at $20. So, after settling on a clipless model assuming I could figure some way to also protect the screen, I now realize it is for the 40gig model, where I have the 20gig. I'm not foolish enough to mistakenly purchase a "mini" accessory, but nobody told me the normal ipod models were different sizes! Sigh.

So, not that this will help at all because nobody sees this, I have made a few posts at craigslist to emplore the good people of Portland to bail me out. But should you stumble on this and feel generous/helpful, I'd love any assistance. Honestly, it's not a huge deal. But it's the principle of the thing.

Thank you for reading.

Ding Dong...

Well, the Pope is dead. I have absolutely no moral feelings on this either way. The simple fact is, I am no longer last in the celebrity death pool I'm in. Sadly, it's not like this tragic loss came without expectation, so I've a ways to go before taking the lead. If Jack Osbourne kicks it though, I'll net three points for unexpected checking-out. Honestly, though. I'm not sure how Courtney awarded each person point values. I think it's purely age, which is a little boring. A mutually agreed upon scale of likelihood would have been better.

Moving on to exciting news of the living, last night I had the pleasure of seeing one of my pet bands, alaska! The exclamation point is part of the name, as is the lower case "a", both of which made them a bitch to write about the two times I've put them in various newspapers. This is was my third time seeing them, and sadly the least fulfilling. They were only allowed a 30 minute set at the beginning of a concert for Ash and The Bravery, both of whom I knew nothing about prior to last night. Though I was unfulfilled by the show, I was able to pick up a pre-release copy of their second album. My first impressions are that it lacks the variety of moods shown on their first album, but it does go more passionately into dark and mystic sounds. The lead singer/guitarist Imaad Wassif comes off as a moody, fragile fellow with explosive energy and capable of channeling his emotions into his music with hypnotic effect. The man is literally a scarecrow and as he thrashes about on stage, I am deeply concerned he will break himself.

Another blogger I read was at the show for Ash, and he described alaska! as "dismal." This first struck me as an insult, but honestly it is dismal music. I suppose that's just its appeal to me. And just as I wasn't enthralled with Ash because they are totally new to me, he was unimpressed with alaska!. The way my head works, I need to decide I like something. I'm rarely moved by pure emotion and taken with something in the moment. There must be a process. An introduction followed by a courtship and then, after many many flowers, love.

Thank you for reading.