Day One: It’s snowing! It’s snowing, snowing, snowing. I hope it sticks. Maybe it’ll stick. Do I have a sled?
Day Two: Everything is white. This is beautiful. No problem. Let’s go pick up a friend at the airport. Four and a half hours of waiting because the Max line froze up. Kill me now.
Day Three: Sledding almost works. There’s a little bit of snow on the ground.
Day Four: It takes 10 minutes to leave the house. Long-johns under jeans, jeans under snow pants, snow pants into snow boots, two sweatshirts and a down vest, coat over the top of it all.
Day Five: Feels like an End of Days Movie. Snow ball fights abound.
Day Six: Movie indoors, under thirty pounds of blankets. Hot tea. Heaven.
Day Seven: Sledding with a boogie board. Reaching face-flapping speeds. Broke up a fight between teenagers at top of sledding hill. Was I ever that big of a dumbass?
Day Eight: Sledding again. Snow down front of coat.
Day Nine: Sledding again. New distance and speed records set.
Day Ten: One movie and a Blazer game watched. Barely left shelter. Worked six hours at the store. Sold out of ice-scrapers.
Day Eleven: Didn’t leave house until 2:30pm. Getting cabin fever. Long for cross-country skis. Marshall Islands. A sunburn. Went to Starbucks inside Safeway just to get out. Everywhere else is closed. Deli is packed.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Published Poems
OK, so two poems, "Montana Trailor Life," and "Morning After Lightning on Kearny" of mine are in the newest edition of Four and Twenty Poetry.
Go and check it out. There is some other really good stuff there besides mine too!
Go and check it out. There is some other really good stuff there besides mine too!
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Stuck on the Max
Thursday, December 11, 2008
On Success
This is what my father tells me when he speaks of success:
“My boy,” he says, “do everything just a little better. Put a little more into everything and you’ll be great. Where is the difference between Dostoyevsky and the author of a gossip article? Is it in the single word? The single sentence? The single paragraph? Maybe old Dostoyevsky chooses a word that’s just a little, tiny, small and insignificant amount better than that hack writing for People. You look at the single word and you say, ‘well, damn, Dostoyevsky don’t have too much on this other guy.’ But that adds up, my boy, it all adds up.”
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Lost California
Outside, P took photos of Alex leaning against a wild-west mural and taking desperate drags on the dog-end of a last chance cigarette.
He looked like a desperado.
Like a movie poster.
Like a new suit in a shop window the day of the dance.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Smallest Hours
In the smallest hours, when all else is asleep, things seem the biggest. Like a balloon wrestled from a hand by the wind, suddenly things of great height and consequence are possible. Extraordinary ideas and fantasies march through the brain and the body responds with clenching and scheming.
Action! Action! Action!
Sometimes the things that come in the smallest hours are phantoms pumped up and away from reality and spread over the peace of the night with claws and teeth bared. There is nothing you can do that is worth anything, they hiss into ears and dreams, everyone else is better, more accomplished, and you have failed again. The body begins to sweat. Your paper for tomorrow is crap. You will not pass the class. Hands grab hold of sheet’s edge as if waiting in a boat for the storm to break. Your interview will be a disaster. You will be jobless, friendless and wifeless. Eyelids flutter in the wasteland between asleep and awake and the shapes of towels hung to dry look like villains holding knives. You will eat too much and then you will not look fabulous and you will not surprise anyone at the high school reunion.
Awake finally, with brain washed clean by morning, the struggles and doubts from the night before color the day in washed out grey’s.
Sometimes it is different though. Sometimes something purer in nature takes hold of these smallest hours and alights them to fly unabated through sweet skies of possibility, creativity and productivity. Minds snap to thought smartly and in line. You are on your way now, this is what you’ve been trying to get at this whole time. Bodies cease to grow weary and eyelids remain light. You’ve worked for hours now, can you believe it? For hours and no rest. Toes tap happily on the floor beneath. I’ll be the walking dead tomorrow and I don’t care. I don’t care at all.
It is after that the mornings seem the best. The smallest hours gave license to the deepest and best fantasies, and even if in the daytime the scheming seems silly and impossible, distance was covered and progress was made. Extraordinary ideas and fantasies had marched through the brain and the had body responded with clenching and scheming.
Action! Action! Action!
Action! Action! Action!
Sometimes the things that come in the smallest hours are phantoms pumped up and away from reality and spread over the peace of the night with claws and teeth bared. There is nothing you can do that is worth anything, they hiss into ears and dreams, everyone else is better, more accomplished, and you have failed again. The body begins to sweat. Your paper for tomorrow is crap. You will not pass the class. Hands grab hold of sheet’s edge as if waiting in a boat for the storm to break. Your interview will be a disaster. You will be jobless, friendless and wifeless. Eyelids flutter in the wasteland between asleep and awake and the shapes of towels hung to dry look like villains holding knives. You will eat too much and then you will not look fabulous and you will not surprise anyone at the high school reunion.
Awake finally, with brain washed clean by morning, the struggles and doubts from the night before color the day in washed out grey’s.
Sometimes it is different though. Sometimes something purer in nature takes hold of these smallest hours and alights them to fly unabated through sweet skies of possibility, creativity and productivity. Minds snap to thought smartly and in line. You are on your way now, this is what you’ve been trying to get at this whole time. Bodies cease to grow weary and eyelids remain light. You’ve worked for hours now, can you believe it? For hours and no rest. Toes tap happily on the floor beneath. I’ll be the walking dead tomorrow and I don’t care. I don’t care at all.
It is after that the mornings seem the best. The smallest hours gave license to the deepest and best fantasies, and even if in the daytime the scheming seems silly and impossible, distance was covered and progress was made. Extraordinary ideas and fantasies had marched through the brain and the had body responded with clenching and scheming.
Action! Action! Action!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Awkwardness
Things can get awkward in the retail business. This mostly comes because I try and be stupidly charming in the corniest of ways. Here are some of my favorites from the last few weeks.
“Hello ma’am, how are you doing?”
“Don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old yet.”
“No you’re definitely not. You’re a spring chicken.”
“I’m a chicken?”
“I didn’t say that. Who said chicken?”
“How are those jeans working for you, sir?”
“Um, they’re OK… let me ask you a question, are they OK in the butt?”
“Excuse me?”
“The butt, are they OK, in the, you know, well, hey, take a look. Are they OK in the butt?”
“It looks, it looks just great.”
“Really?”
Phone rings in the background.
“Oops, I got to take this.”
“Wow it’s really raining out there, ma’am.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Don’t get too wet.”
“OK… Good advise, kid…”
“Any time.”
“How’s life, ma’am?”
“Terrible, my husband ran off with another woman.”
“Wow. That’s… that’s terrible.”
“I know. That’s why I said terrible.”
“Well, you look like you’re getting through it OK.
“It’s hard to wake up most mornings.”
“Wow, yeah, I heard that… so… out for a little shopping therapy, I see, haha.”
“Yeah, my sister and I are going away for the weekend and we’re going to look fabulous. Her husband left her for someone else six months ago.”
“Runs in the family, hey?”
“What?”
“Um, nothing. So, you dating around now?”
“Yeah, but I read this book about dating and the book says no sex with new guys for a month. It’s like, God, a whole month, really?” Lady shakes her fist at the sky and laughs so hard she cries. A beat passes between us and the tears keep coming even after the smile fades away.
“Well, um, that’s going to be $86.50.”
“You take Discover?” she says and buries her face in a hankie.
“We certainly do.”
“Hey, do you have black jeans?” a man asks me.
“Yes, we do,” I say.
“You are NOT getting black jeans,” says his wife.
“OK,” says the man.
“Give him the boot cut jeans,” the wife says.
“OK,” I say.
“I don’t like boot cut,” the man says.
“They make your butt look good,” the wife says. “And I’m not letting you get black jeans, damn it. Don’t you hate black jeans?” she asks me.
“I, I, well, I’m not fond of them, but…” I stammer.
“See, everyone hates black jeans. Now go try the boot cut jeans on.”
“Yes, honey.”
“Sir, that’s a woman’s sweater.”
And on and on…
“Hello ma’am, how are you doing?”
“Don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old yet.”
“No you’re definitely not. You’re a spring chicken.”
“I’m a chicken?”
“I didn’t say that. Who said chicken?”
“How are those jeans working for you, sir?”
“Um, they’re OK… let me ask you a question, are they OK in the butt?”
“Excuse me?”
“The butt, are they OK, in the, you know, well, hey, take a look. Are they OK in the butt?”
“It looks, it looks just great.”
“Really?”
Phone rings in the background.
“Oops, I got to take this.”
“Wow it’s really raining out there, ma’am.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Don’t get too wet.”
“OK… Good advise, kid…”
“Any time.”
“How’s life, ma’am?”
“Terrible, my husband ran off with another woman.”
“Wow. That’s… that’s terrible.”
“I know. That’s why I said terrible.”
“Well, you look like you’re getting through it OK.
“It’s hard to wake up most mornings.”
“Wow, yeah, I heard that… so… out for a little shopping therapy, I see, haha.”
“Yeah, my sister and I are going away for the weekend and we’re going to look fabulous. Her husband left her for someone else six months ago.”
“Runs in the family, hey?”
“What?”
“Um, nothing. So, you dating around now?”
“Yeah, but I read this book about dating and the book says no sex with new guys for a month. It’s like, God, a whole month, really?” Lady shakes her fist at the sky and laughs so hard she cries. A beat passes between us and the tears keep coming even after the smile fades away.
“Well, um, that’s going to be $86.50.”
“You take Discover?” she says and buries her face in a hankie.
“We certainly do.”
“Hey, do you have black jeans?” a man asks me.
“Yes, we do,” I say.
“You are NOT getting black jeans,” says his wife.
“OK,” says the man.
“Give him the boot cut jeans,” the wife says.
“OK,” I say.
“I don’t like boot cut,” the man says.
“They make your butt look good,” the wife says. “And I’m not letting you get black jeans, damn it. Don’t you hate black jeans?” she asks me.
“I, I, well, I’m not fond of them, but…” I stammer.
“See, everyone hates black jeans. Now go try the boot cut jeans on.”
“Yes, honey.”
“Sir, that’s a woman’s sweater.”
And on and on…
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Lists, Oh Sweet Lists
Things That Excited Me From November:
1. Greg Oden playing three straight games. He’s looking huge, athletic and intimidating.
2. Eggnog hitting the supermarket shelves. I drink a glass a day. I figure it’s good for my health. It tastes so good I store it in the pouches of my cheeks so I can let it trickle down my throat throughout the day. All in all, it works out pretty well until about hour three when the natural warmth of my cheeks heats up the egg portion of the eggnog a little too much and rancidness starts to occur.
3. The cold, dark weather. I’ve complained before about the darkness, but in reality, the terrible weather has been fun so far. I never got to bundle up last year, aside from when I went into the frigid air-conditioning of the movie theater, so this is a treat.
4. The election being over and Obama winning. It takes a lot of worry off my plate. I don’t know what I would’ve done if McCain had been elected… Probably just not include it on my “Things That Excited Me From November,” list.
5. My work got published on two online zines. Whoop, whoop.
Things That Depressed Me From November
1. Anything to do with the financial crisis. Seriously, will any good news come from this thing? The Dow dropped close to 500 points yesterday and is seriously flirting with doing the limbo beneath 6,000 and no one seems to have a clue as to what to do. Not that I care specifically about the health of Caterpillar or any of the other industrial companies comprising the Dow, but when people lose jobs it gets me down cause I hope to have one of those in the future…
2. The cold, dark weather. Yeah, this one goes both ways. One of my favorite things from the summer to do was ride my bike around. When it is cold and dark I don’t do that as much. Sucks.
3. My feet. They are always cold. It is the curse of tall people to have poor circulation. It has been this way my whole life…
Well, I can’t think of a full five to fill out the rest of the “Things That Depressed Me From November” list so I guess it’s been a pretty good month… Well, the month isn’t over yet, so if anything comes up, I’ll update the list.
1. Greg Oden playing three straight games. He’s looking huge, athletic and intimidating.
2. Eggnog hitting the supermarket shelves. I drink a glass a day. I figure it’s good for my health. It tastes so good I store it in the pouches of my cheeks so I can let it trickle down my throat throughout the day. All in all, it works out pretty well until about hour three when the natural warmth of my cheeks heats up the egg portion of the eggnog a little too much and rancidness starts to occur.
3. The cold, dark weather. I’ve complained before about the darkness, but in reality, the terrible weather has been fun so far. I never got to bundle up last year, aside from when I went into the frigid air-conditioning of the movie theater, so this is a treat.
4. The election being over and Obama winning. It takes a lot of worry off my plate. I don’t know what I would’ve done if McCain had been elected… Probably just not include it on my “Things That Excited Me From November,” list.
5. My work got published on two online zines. Whoop, whoop.
Things That Depressed Me From November
1. Anything to do with the financial crisis. Seriously, will any good news come from this thing? The Dow dropped close to 500 points yesterday and is seriously flirting with doing the limbo beneath 6,000 and no one seems to have a clue as to what to do. Not that I care specifically about the health of Caterpillar or any of the other industrial companies comprising the Dow, but when people lose jobs it gets me down cause I hope to have one of those in the future…
2. The cold, dark weather. Yeah, this one goes both ways. One of my favorite things from the summer to do was ride my bike around. When it is cold and dark I don’t do that as much. Sucks.
3. My feet. They are always cold. It is the curse of tall people to have poor circulation. It has been this way my whole life…
Well, I can’t think of a full five to fill out the rest of the “Things That Depressed Me From November” list so I guess it’s been a pretty good month… Well, the month isn’t over yet, so if anything comes up, I’ll update the list.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The End of the World
Have you heard that the world is ending? Our economy is in a (dare I say it aloud?) recession. It’s true, so get your money under your mattress, learn how to tie a tight bindle, and work on your timing so you can hop trains without losing legs. The stock market is pitching like a boat lost at sea and because of our global interconnectivity most other developed countries are following suit. (You're not safe either, China, this financial scourge doesn't play favorites.)
Listen up, Oregon, it's every man for himself!
Salmon-heads on the coast, pause your incessant casting, bronco riders in the east, quit your rodeoing, tree-huggers in the south, stop your Shakespeare and everyone listen up! The sky is falling, Chicken Liken, the sky is falling.
Of course the day-to-day is going to pass without fail so don’t get too worked up. I’m going to go to sleep tonight and I can almost guarantee I’ll wake up tomorrow. Even if the stock market goes poof and is gone from existence, I’ll wake up tomorrow. Even if the financial health of our country gets so low-down sickly that Warren Buffet is panhandling for spare change at freeway off-ramps, tomorrow will come.
Then what’s going to be left when our economy is crumbled away and we are at the GDP level of, let's say, Sweden?
I guess everything from before, right? But did people do stuff when the Dow was below 7,000? Did they even have wireless internet then? I guess if tomorrow is still going to come you might as well fill it with something good. Salmon-heads, pick up your poles; bronco riders, get back on your horses; and tree-huggers, hug your trees and recite your pretty words.
That is unless you have nothing to eat and there's begging to do, cause in that case, get to your begging - there's a recession going on these days, haven't you heard? I'll see you in car 18. I'll be the one they call Flap-Jack (I always wanted that nickname).
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Poems
OK, so a little more exciting news for me. Two of my poems have been accepted to an online magazine to be published in their December issue. While it isn’t that big of a deal, just a little something something, I’m excited about it.
It’s going on a journal called Four and Twenty Poetry.
The basic idea is that all of the poems have to be four lines or less and twenty words or less. Now I’m not sure if the four and the twenty were chosen because of the obvious drug connotations (I’ve seen nothing to support that connection on the site – just good poetry) but one never can tell...
And besides, just getting my stuff out there is good, right, right?
Anyway, when it goes into “print” online, I will update it right here.
It’s going on a journal called Four and Twenty Poetry.
The basic idea is that all of the poems have to be four lines or less and twenty words or less. Now I’m not sure if the four and the twenty were chosen because of the obvious drug connotations (I’ve seen nothing to support that connection on the site – just good poetry) but one never can tell...
And besides, just getting my stuff out there is good, right, right?
Anyway, when it goes into “print” online, I will update it right here.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Coffee and Words
I decided to step out of my world the other day. I got into my car and drove to the other side of town.
I’ll branch out, I said to myself, there are plenty of coffee shops in Portland and it’ll be a shame if I don’t ever visit more than a handful. So I left. I found a coffee shop off of Williams street and I sat down with a steaming cup of joe. I pulled out my computer and got to work, but I couldn’t help but overhear people talking next to me.
They were three authors in town for the recent Wordstock festival that Portland puts up every year. They spoke nonchalantly about their new books that were coming out, and complained in an off-the-cuff way all about their struggles to find an agent who really understands their artistic vision…
They talked about all the other authors they new, about how their friends got started, about how they themselves got started, about who they sent their first manuscripts off to and it all just seemed so impossibly possible. Like, on one given day, just because of whatever reason, it would all just fall in place.
Damn I wanted their life.
At least I know it’s out there… At least I know they drink coffee at the same place as I do.
Well, at least on days I’m feeling adventurous.
Monday, November 10, 2008
The Black Death
I’m just going to say it. I hate daylight savings time. I mean, screw this, right?
Daylight savings is like a payday loan. OK, fine, you get some cool, hard cash in your hand right now and you go out and get a new toaster with a timer on it, or better yet, some new clothes that get it right and get it tight for the next big date, but then you realize that the interest rates are something the devil dreamed up on a day he was feeling grumpy and you owe double whatever it was you took out in the first place and now your toaster is broken and your clothes are out of style so you ask your neighbor if he’s going to use the Maytag box he threw out last week because you need a house, goddamn it, after the bank repossessed your old one.
Longest sentence ever.
Anyway, the first day you realize you have an “extra” hour you’re stoked. At least I was. I laid around in bed for an inordinate amount of time, used up all the hot water in my monster-length shower (sorry Youlee) and still felt ahead of schedule.
Daylight savings is like a payday loan. OK, fine, you get some cool, hard cash in your hand right now and you go out and get a new toaster with a timer on it, or better yet, some new clothes that get it right and get it tight for the next big date, but then you realize that the interest rates are something the devil dreamed up on a day he was feeling grumpy and you owe double whatever it was you took out in the first place and now your toaster is broken and your clothes are out of style so you ask your neighbor if he’s going to use the Maytag box he threw out last week because you need a house, goddamn it, after the bank repossessed your old one.
Longest sentence ever.
Anyway, the first day you realize you have an “extra” hour you’re stoked. At least I was. I laid around in bed for an inordinate amount of time, used up all the hot water in my monster-length shower (sorry Youlee) and still felt ahead of schedule.
It didn’t take long to realize my interest rate on daylight savings was ridiculous.
The Black Death started to rain down. At least, that’s the term my friend Hump has taken to calling it. The fact that it gets dark at five in the afternoon everyday seems like to big a price to pay for that measly “extra” hour.
It feels like I have an hour of light every day before the sky darkens, heavy with rain, to brood all night long. I have the vague feeling I haven’t been fully awake in days.
The Black Death started to rain down. At least, that’s the term my friend Hump has taken to calling it. The fact that it gets dark at five in the afternoon everyday seems like to big a price to pay for that measly “extra” hour.
It feels like I have an hour of light every day before the sky darkens, heavy with rain, to brood all night long. I have the vague feeling I haven’t been fully awake in days.
This whole thing does have logic behind it. Good old Ben Franklin wanted to fire cannons and ring church bells at daybreak so as to save people money on buying candles. The modern idea is not that different. If we have an hour more in the day, theoretically, we will get more stuff done and our economy will be stimulated… Also, traffic accidents go down when there is an extra hour of daylight.
Still I don’t know if it’s worth it…
Yesterday the sun went down before I was finished with lunch. It feels like the End of Days.
Still I don’t know if it’s worth it…
Yesterday the sun went down before I was finished with lunch. It feels like the End of Days.
Damn this daylight savings.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Check Me Out
Hey, check out some travel writing of mine that has just been published on the site www.pology.com! Mine is the one on the Marshall Islands!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Cautious Optimism
Last night was a happy night. I watched the election results come in at the Lompoc bar. Obama was declared the winner right around eight. The mood brimmed with electricity. Glasses clinked and fireworks streaked the night sky.
Yes we can.
Yes we did.
I want to look at this with the blind optimism I see so clearly painted on the faces of my peers. People who say they are now proud to call this country their own. On my walk home I passed people shouting from car windows and others banging pans on street corners. I passed my roommate, and he was crying from joy. I want to look at this moment in that same light, that same joy, but I’m having some trouble.
In Senator McCain’s concession speech his distraught throng of supporters jeered and booed the mere mention of President Elect Obama’s name (damn that feels good to type). McCain showed his class and poise in quieting the mindless booing and praising Obama and the history changing importance of his victory.
As the camera panned through the distraught faces of McCain supporters I saw written out in their expressions disappointment. For them this wasn’t a turn for the better. For them it was a backslide.
These were the same people who praised President George W. Bush when he was elected to the White House. A young, relatively inexperienced politician who promised change in Washington; who promised to go across the aisle to get it done. Remember, he was going to be the Uniter, not the Divider. After all, the way I understand it, he’d gotten things done in Texas without a big majority of Republican support in the state.
We all saw how things turned out. Here we are, muddling through a huge economic downturn and trudging knee-deep through two foreign wars and a brighter future is a hard climb away.
That hope that so many Republicans had at the beginning of President Bush’s term has turned into a landslide victory for the Democrats. Lets try and look at this from where we want to be. This can be the way a better future begins, but only if we are smart. Even the most promising beginnings can rot, degrade and spiral downward without careful vigilance.
The year 2009 is a year of new beginnings – blank page for us to write on. Let us wield our pen with care, with prudence and with compassion. The future will come, no matter if it be good or bad, and this moment in time will one day be a history lesson. It is up to us to make that lesson pivotal, life-changing and hope fulfilling.
Yes we can.
Yes we will.
Yes we can.
Yes we did.
I want to look at this with the blind optimism I see so clearly painted on the faces of my peers. People who say they are now proud to call this country their own. On my walk home I passed people shouting from car windows and others banging pans on street corners. I passed my roommate, and he was crying from joy. I want to look at this moment in that same light, that same joy, but I’m having some trouble.
In Senator McCain’s concession speech his distraught throng of supporters jeered and booed the mere mention of President Elect Obama’s name (damn that feels good to type). McCain showed his class and poise in quieting the mindless booing and praising Obama and the history changing importance of his victory.
As the camera panned through the distraught faces of McCain supporters I saw written out in their expressions disappointment. For them this wasn’t a turn for the better. For them it was a backslide.
These were the same people who praised President George W. Bush when he was elected to the White House. A young, relatively inexperienced politician who promised change in Washington; who promised to go across the aisle to get it done. Remember, he was going to be the Uniter, not the Divider. After all, the way I understand it, he’d gotten things done in Texas without a big majority of Republican support in the state.
We all saw how things turned out. Here we are, muddling through a huge economic downturn and trudging knee-deep through two foreign wars and a brighter future is a hard climb away.
That hope that so many Republicans had at the beginning of President Bush’s term has turned into a landslide victory for the Democrats. Lets try and look at this from where we want to be. This can be the way a better future begins, but only if we are smart. Even the most promising beginnings can rot, degrade and spiral downward without careful vigilance.
The year 2009 is a year of new beginnings – blank page for us to write on. Let us wield our pen with care, with prudence and with compassion. The future will come, no matter if it be good or bad, and this moment in time will one day be a history lesson. It is up to us to make that lesson pivotal, life-changing and hope fulfilling.
Yes we can.
Yes we will.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
With the Election Two Days Away...
I find myself thinking of the two candidates playing pool in an empty bar. Crooked ceiling fans brush up lonely cigarette smoke.
“Well, Barak, I gotta say, you put up more of a fight than I would have figured. You’re a pretty good talker, there friend.”
“Well, John, growing up in Indonesia will do that to you. You need to talk good.”
“How so?”
“I meant to say community organizer. I meant to say, being a community organizer will, uh, hone your skills on oration. Communication. You need to speak well.”
“Did anyone hear that?” John asks the empty bar, pool stick held loosely in-hand. “Anyone at all? We gonna get this up on the Youtube?”
The bar is empty and John sits down heavily in his stool. He looks down into his beer.
“Damn,” he whispers, “it’s lost.”
“Listen, John, I just want to tell you a story about me and my daughters sitting around the dinner table. Michelle and I had just talked about the bills and…”
“Save it Barak, it’s too late. I know I’ve lost. Guess this was my last shot, huh? Nobody’s gonna wanna vote for me the next time around, huh? A president over the age of eighty… No way Jose. These kids can’t look past their Facebook and radios.”
“Ipods, John, Ipods.”
“No, you pod, Barak. I really love this country. Could’ve done something for it. Could’ve made it better.”
“John, let me buy you a drink.”
“Sure thing, Barak, sure thing.”
“Say John?”
“Yes?”
“Think I could take Cheney if it came down to it?”
“Not a chance, son, but his shutdown sequence should be enacted soon…”
Barak lines up the eight ball, back corner pocket, and sinks it coolly before heading to the bar for another round.
“Well, Barak, I gotta say, you put up more of a fight than I would have figured. You’re a pretty good talker, there friend.”
“Well, John, growing up in Indonesia will do that to you. You need to talk good.”
“How so?”
“I meant to say community organizer. I meant to say, being a community organizer will, uh, hone your skills on oration. Communication. You need to speak well.”
“Did anyone hear that?” John asks the empty bar, pool stick held loosely in-hand. “Anyone at all? We gonna get this up on the Youtube?”
The bar is empty and John sits down heavily in his stool. He looks down into his beer.
“Damn,” he whispers, “it’s lost.”
“Listen, John, I just want to tell you a story about me and my daughters sitting around the dinner table. Michelle and I had just talked about the bills and…”
“Save it Barak, it’s too late. I know I’ve lost. Guess this was my last shot, huh? Nobody’s gonna wanna vote for me the next time around, huh? A president over the age of eighty… No way Jose. These kids can’t look past their Facebook and radios.”
“Ipods, John, Ipods.”
“No, you pod, Barak. I really love this country. Could’ve done something for it. Could’ve made it better.”
“John, let me buy you a drink.”
“Sure thing, Barak, sure thing.”
“Say John?”
“Yes?”
“Think I could take Cheney if it came down to it?”
“Not a chance, son, but his shutdown sequence should be enacted soon…”
Barak lines up the eight ball, back corner pocket, and sinks it coolly before heading to the bar for another round.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
A Table of Trouble
Want a table, my manager said. It is free.
Sure, I said.
It was a free table. It was big, wood looking and kind of handsome. Plus, did I mention it was free?
I got it into my van, and through the streets of Portland with the help of Poz. When we got to my house it became immediately clear that there was no way that the behemoth of a table was getting through my front door. Plus, I came to find out that the top was solid metal and weighed about 1,000,000 pounds. After accidently knocking a chunk out of Tom and Youlee's newly finished deck banister, i set to the task of taking the whole thing apart to reassemble it upstairs.
The whole thing was glued together as well as screwed.
So I knocked the pieces of table apart.
Now I am assembling it back together and the pieces aren't fitting together so well...
Damn free table.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Health Insurance
Do you have health insurance, the concerned aunt asked.
No, but I do take vitamins, the unemployed nephew answered.
What if something happens to you?
I work out.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
El Grito
Every year on September 16, thousands of Mexicans gather in front of the palace to shout with the President in an impressive display of national pride. I learned how to dance, shouted till I was horse and ate candy. All in all, a good night.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Safe and Sound
Made it safe and sound to my hostel here in Mexico City. Great place and there is electricity in the air as today is the Mexican fourth of July so to speak. Took about three hours to navigate the metro, but I made a friend named Jonathon who helped me on through. Now I just ate dinner and I am going to go out and explore the fiesta.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Pass the Noodles
There are seven of us at the table. We are all keyed into our screens. Everyone looks exhausted. This is the public library.
You see, it's impossible to spend all day in your house trying to write a book. I feel claustrophobic, I feel trapped in, and most of all, I feel like a loser. Outside I hear people opening front doors, making morning phone calls, and starting their cars up.It gets to me as I sit in my living room in sweats and a hoodie, computer on lap, feeling about as low-down as anything.
There is a solution, of course. It means getting up and doing my writing elsewhere for God's sake. The minute I get outside and onto my bike, a feeling of optimism sinks in. Look at me, off in the world, out to see and do things.
There's a problem. As I cannot afford to do my writing at a coffee shop, I go to a library. Problem with libraries is everyone is there. Everyone with a laptop clusters around the few banks of outlets like moths to flames and so here I sit, packed in with everyone else. Most of them are playing online games. Most of them haven't showered. The guy on my left is eating noodles under the table in between laughing at Youtube videos. The guy across from me is punching his mouse repeatedly as he saves Middle Earth and every now and again he pauses to push greasy hair back into his Nascar hat. None of them have shaved. All of them smell. And they're all male, in their early to late thirties.
Wait a second...
Here I am, my scruff getting longer by the day, my wallet lighter than the air around me, and last time I checked, I was a male.
Can you pass the noodles please?
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Are You On The List?
"Are you on the List?"
"I think I am."
"What's your name?"
"Tim Lane."
"OK. Stand back. No further. Stand there. Wait there."
There are people everywhere. The music is heavy. I breath a little quick from riding my bike. This guy is too small to be a bouncer. What is the world coming to now that this guy's a bouncer?
"Let me see some ID."
"Here."
"OK. Is he your plus one?"
"Yeah."
"OK. Go in."
Dancing and drinking. Lights everywhere. People in sun glasses in too-dark corners. Ladies in tight jeans. Men in tight jeans. Everyone is just too cool. I'm too cool.
"Ain't nothing but the hard life for us, huh Tim?"
"You go that right, Hump."
"We're on the List."
"We're on the Goddamned list!"
Stand in line, get a drink. Five choices. I'll take that one, and then I'll have that one later.
"No, no, no, you don't have to pay. I know your cousin."
"You sure?"
"Very."
"Nothing but the hard life for us, Hump."
"We're on the List."
To the dance floor. Move your feet. Look to the lights. The DJ is moving behind the table, dancing her fingers on the keyboard. She's the best in town, everyone says so. Everyone is sweating. Damn I should have worn a cooler shirt. I'm tired. I'm young. I should turn this town out. The artist's life?
"Let's get out of here."
"Let's roll."
Bike home alone. Streets pulsing until the neighborhoods. Everything is quiet there. Did you set the trash out? Breeze on my face. Night seems to breath.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Atonement
My coworker gave me an old issue of “The Believer” to read featuring an article by Ian McEwan. She had known that I was reading Atonement by Ian McEwan and I had complained to her that his writing style grated on me. For as long as I have been interested in writing, I have been told over and over again, to the point of saying it in my sleep, that a writer should show, not tell.
Instead of saying, “Jamie was sad,” you should write “Jamie’s watery eyes had trouble focusing on anything but the middle distance,” or something like that (but much less crappy). However, as I read through McEwan’s book I was struck by just how often he tells the reader exactly what is going on. Here is an example: “Briony felt suddenly ashamed at what she had selfishly begun…” He doesn’t show what this looks like. Did she study her fingernails? Did she toe the ground?
Regardless, I found the book enthralling, and I was as caught up in it as in any other book I have read – I just don’t quite understand why. How can he break the rules and have it all work so well?
Anyway, I complained of this all to my coworker and she brought in this issue of “The Believer,” and I read it and saw clearly that McEwan is an intelligent old chap.
I think that the part of his interview that stuck with me the most was that throughout his writing, he seems to be deliberate in everything he produces (whether that is a product of being able to look back on his work and imbue meaning on things post-writing is debatable). He knows exactly why he is doing the things he does. Telling rather than showing has a direct meaning for him. It has a specific goal. He is a man who has done his thinking on the subject. It is something very evident when he argues for literature being a “very elastic, mutable form that can allow us real moments of human investigation.”
He says that, “There’s something very intertwined about imagination and morals. That one of the great values of fiction was exactly this process of being able to enter other people’s minds.”
It is an interesting point to ponder. Are the ills of the world a result of lack of creativity?
And I ramble on and on…
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Painting
Well, sometimes you just sidestep into another avenue. For the past two weeks I have been bitten by the painting bug. Here is the result of it all. The three pictures document the progress from beginning to end. Check it out. It is entitled "Celebrity."
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Big dog
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Skyline
For the past two days I've ridden my bike up Lovejoy and along Skyline road for a few miles. The trees crowd in on each side of you for the entire assent. You start breathing really heavily about three miles in and by mile five you are huffing and puffing like a wolf with a pig problem. The trees keep shadows on you and the hot sun is less than it should be. Finally, at the steepest point of the climb, you see a sign that says Skyline Road, and the wonderful relative flatness it promises is a mere 500 feet away. You are now so tired that you are in the absolute lowest gear that your bike goes and if you look down at the road on either side, you see slugs inching along faster than you.
Then you break out onto Skyline. The trees part on either side and there is a view of the valley stretching on and on and on and you suddenly realize why all of the rich and elite have chosen to build their mansions up here on the winding hills. The world looks manageable from this high up. As you cruise along, with the miles peeling off, your breathing returns to normal. You pass bikers here and there on the road and you wave to each other. You all look ridiculous in your spandex and helmets, but you all feel phenomenal.
Then you are done and you rip back down the hills fast enough to peel your face off.
Then you break out onto Skyline. The trees part on either side and there is a view of the valley stretching on and on and on and you suddenly realize why all of the rich and elite have chosen to build their mansions up here on the winding hills. The world looks manageable from this high up. As you cruise along, with the miles peeling off, your breathing returns to normal. You pass bikers here and there on the road and you wave to each other. You all look ridiculous in your spandex and helmets, but you all feel phenomenal.
Then you are done and you rip back down the hills fast enough to peel your face off.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Progress
Well, I went over to James' house last night and we hammered out some of the details for www.scawymonstur.com and the site should be up in the next couple of weeks. You should all check it out. It is going to be some of the best stuff around.
Finished Huckleberry Finn. Mark Twain was on to something.
Finished Huckleberry Finn. Mark Twain was on to something.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Airport
So I took my girlfriend to the airport before five in the morning. I had all sorts of waking up blues. My joints felt like two pieces of sand paper rubbing together. My back was all bunched up and there was this pesky mosquito bite on my forearm. As we were pulling out of the parking spot I saw two people bringing some bags out to the curb.
"Need a ride?" I asked.
"Airport?"
"Yeah."
"How much?"
"Free."
"Really!"
"Yep."
"OK."
And that is how Tiffany and I met two Russian exchange students. One of them was getting his masters in teaching and the other was finishing up a internship. We got to the terminal and the girl put her thumbs up super high.
"You are so cool."
"Thanks."
Then I strapped Tiffany's bag on her back (double her size) and went home to go back to sleep.
"Need a ride?" I asked.
"Airport?"
"Yeah."
"How much?"
"Free."
"Really!"
"Yep."
"OK."
And that is how Tiffany and I met two Russian exchange students. One of them was getting his masters in teaching and the other was finishing up a internship. We got to the terminal and the girl put her thumbs up super high.
"You are so cool."
"Thanks."
Then I strapped Tiffany's bag on her back (double her size) and went home to go back to sleep.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
My Best Me
I woke up this morning and did my best Huck Finn. I roasted up the biggest slices of bacon that I’d ever seen with potatoes on the side all over a blazing campfire. I drank black coffee and squatted on my hams. I thought to myself, so this is what it was like before people were rushing all about. Back when sailing down the river meant reinventing yourself anew at a neighboring shore.
I can imagine at least.
I wake up some days and can’t really decide what it is I want most in the world.
I rode to Pacific City with my dad yesterday and as we were cruising along with old red barns and rusted-out trucks stringing the side of the road like Christmas lights, I started thinking about what it would be like to be a doctor. What if, from the very get-go of things, I had said I wanted to be a doctor? Well, right about now, 25 years down the road, I’d be just in the thick of things doing my clinical. I’d have my whole life mapped out.
So, for a while there as I pedaled along, I did my best doctor. I thought about how it’d feel to walk around in a white lab coat, talk to my mom about interesting ER stories and introduce myself at parties as Dr Lane. It felt pretty good to play doctor.
Damn, why didn’t I choose to go into medicine?
Most everyone’s greatest fear, well at least one of the bigger ones, is to be tried and tested and found to be wanting – not good enough. (Unless you’re my friend Chuck, who for all intent and purpose seems to be afraid of nothing.)
I have enough rejection letters from magazines and publishers to wallpaper a spare room. Not a living room or a master bathroom, though, I’m not that kind of pathetic yet. However I could paper a spare bedroom. I know this because I did it one summer to give myself motivation.
All it did was to make it hard to get up every morning like every teacher who’d ever given me a poor grade was standing above me and wagging their finger no.
So I wonder sometimes: am I good enough for this?
I happen to be a bizarre mix of things. I can be incredibly insensitive to others and incredibly sensitive myself. I think that can be boiled down to two words: self-centered. It’s a hard line to walk because I’m either feeling sorry for something flippant I said to someone else, or I am feeling sorry for myself, or maybe just indifferent.
Don’t feel bad for me though – that would just feed the cycle.
I’ve got a friend who I don’t hear from in years and then I run into him at a bookstore randomly. He is usually walking along in this casually hurrying sort of way that would be absolutely impossible for anyone to pull of but he does it like most people put on or take off a hat. Anyway, his life is just sort of working at whatever sort of job he can get, selling clothes or something, with his English degree in his back pocket, and then he cruises off for months at a time to backpack and wrestle bears in Alaska.
Sometimes he seems happier in every moment than I have been in my entire life.
The guy drips confidence like Oregon precipitation and is the definition for what cool will be five years down the road. At which point he’ll be a professional surfer in Brazil.
After I saw him I did my best impression. I thought about camping up and down the coast and working jobs where I’d find them. I’d meet cool friends with names like Shoeless and Jaxon Love. I’d become non-boastingly good at the guitar and once in a while I’d send a post card to a friend.
It would be a good life, I suppose, but it wouldn’t be me.
I need to figure out how to do my best me…
I can imagine at least.
I wake up some days and can’t really decide what it is I want most in the world.
I rode to Pacific City with my dad yesterday and as we were cruising along with old red barns and rusted-out trucks stringing the side of the road like Christmas lights, I started thinking about what it would be like to be a doctor. What if, from the very get-go of things, I had said I wanted to be a doctor? Well, right about now, 25 years down the road, I’d be just in the thick of things doing my clinical. I’d have my whole life mapped out.
So, for a while there as I pedaled along, I did my best doctor. I thought about how it’d feel to walk around in a white lab coat, talk to my mom about interesting ER stories and introduce myself at parties as Dr Lane. It felt pretty good to play doctor.
Damn, why didn’t I choose to go into medicine?
Most everyone’s greatest fear, well at least one of the bigger ones, is to be tried and tested and found to be wanting – not good enough. (Unless you’re my friend Chuck, who for all intent and purpose seems to be afraid of nothing.)
I have enough rejection letters from magazines and publishers to wallpaper a spare room. Not a living room or a master bathroom, though, I’m not that kind of pathetic yet. However I could paper a spare bedroom. I know this because I did it one summer to give myself motivation.
All it did was to make it hard to get up every morning like every teacher who’d ever given me a poor grade was standing above me and wagging their finger no.
So I wonder sometimes: am I good enough for this?
I happen to be a bizarre mix of things. I can be incredibly insensitive to others and incredibly sensitive myself. I think that can be boiled down to two words: self-centered. It’s a hard line to walk because I’m either feeling sorry for something flippant I said to someone else, or I am feeling sorry for myself, or maybe just indifferent.
Don’t feel bad for me though – that would just feed the cycle.
I’ve got a friend who I don’t hear from in years and then I run into him at a bookstore randomly. He is usually walking along in this casually hurrying sort of way that would be absolutely impossible for anyone to pull of but he does it like most people put on or take off a hat. Anyway, his life is just sort of working at whatever sort of job he can get, selling clothes or something, with his English degree in his back pocket, and then he cruises off for months at a time to backpack and wrestle bears in Alaska.
Sometimes he seems happier in every moment than I have been in my entire life.
The guy drips confidence like Oregon precipitation and is the definition for what cool will be five years down the road. At which point he’ll be a professional surfer in Brazil.
After I saw him I did my best impression. I thought about camping up and down the coast and working jobs where I’d find them. I’d meet cool friends with names like Shoeless and Jaxon Love. I’d become non-boastingly good at the guitar and once in a while I’d send a post card to a friend.
It would be a good life, I suppose, but it wouldn’t be me.
I need to figure out how to do my best me…
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Disaster
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
A Bike Ride and Other Ramblings
I am so excited to go camping with my family. I remember way back when it used to be the highlight of my year. It still is, but this time it is the highlight of two years as I didn’t go last year.
James and Dan decided to go on the “Hottest Day of the Year” bike ride. When they woke up the sky was overcast and there was a slow drizzle hanging from the cloud-cover. They showed up an hour early. On the first climb of the 15-mile ride, people got off their bikes and started to walk them. They took turns listening to music on James’ iphone. Dan and James left the course half-way through to go to Fire on the Mountain and eat chicken wings and beer. At the end of the ride there is supposed to be a bit water gun fight but they came home instead because they were just too cold.
Way to go, boys.
Well, a few days into this whole devoting-my-life-to-writing thing I have been both stoked on the possibilities and disheartened by the obstacles. Oh well…
In related notes, Powell’s book store is awesome.
Poems are a better medium than I thought.
Dan Caccavano is a saint. (He lends me his computer until I can buy my own).
James and Dan decided to go on the “Hottest Day of the Year” bike ride. When they woke up the sky was overcast and there was a slow drizzle hanging from the cloud-cover. They showed up an hour early. On the first climb of the 15-mile ride, people got off their bikes and started to walk them. They took turns listening to music on James’ iphone. Dan and James left the course half-way through to go to Fire on the Mountain and eat chicken wings and beer. At the end of the ride there is supposed to be a bit water gun fight but they came home instead because they were just too cold.
Way to go, boys.
Well, a few days into this whole devoting-my-life-to-writing thing I have been both stoked on the possibilities and disheartened by the obstacles. Oh well…
In related notes, Powell’s book store is awesome.
Poems are a better medium than I thought.
Dan Caccavano is a saint. (He lends me his computer until I can buy my own).
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Here We Go
OK, I have dropped out of school.
Well, I guess you could call it taking a year off...
Either way, I am not going back to the University of Portland in the Fall. I have decided to take a year and devote it to writing. Full on. Nothing else. Just me and writing. My friends have already given me the nickname of "Flunkie," or "Droppy." Well, actually only Dan calls me "Droppy," and I am almost certain that is not going to stick. It is all in good fun.
I am going to dive in. Splash in. Jump in. Whatever I want to call it, I am going for it.
My rational is this: I am a big fan of dreams. As corny as that sounds, I think that everyone should go for theirs. Later on, when I want to be a father, I know that I am going to tell my kids, "hey little tykes, you can do anything that you can put your mind to," and I will not be able to legitimately say that to my little guys if I know that I cannot say that I didn't give it an honest shot myself.
I have a few ideas of how I am going to try and get this done...
1. Write. (Sounds simple, I know, but sometimes I think that this can be the toughest part).
2. Read. (It has recently come to my attention that I don't take enough time to read literary magazines. Apparently I feel comfortable to send my stories off to places that I have never read. I need to change that).
3. Talk to other writers. (I need to know what is working for them, what is not working for them, and everything in between. I want to help people out when I enjoy their work, just like I would hope they'd help me.)
That is where I am going to start. Those three main avenues. We will see how this goes. I woke up giddy this morning.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Why I Love Mornings
6:00 am – Damn, I don’t want to get out of bed.
6:05 am – When they mean absolutely no absences, do you think they count Wednesday mornings?
6:09 am – OK, lets get moving.
6:22 am – Bike is jammed between the door and the wall because the door won’t open all the way due to Syd’s skateboard propped at the bottom of the stairs. This sucks.
6:32 am – Whew, Starbucks. One coffee, one bagel, one happy Tim.
6:33 am – Really? I left my homework at home?
6:36 am – Why’d I get coffee? I got to ride my bike back home with a coffee?
6:39 am – Man in wheelchair says, “What, you can’t hold the door open for a guy in a wheelchair?” I stand and stare at him. “Looks like you can unlock your bike just fine, why can’t you figure out how to hold a door open?” I stand and stare. I still say nothing. The man starts to shake his head slowly like all that is wrong with the world is bottled up inside of me. But I love people in wheelchairs I want to shout. Too late, he’s scooted away.
6:52 am – Back home. Door won’t open cause Syd has skateboard propped at bottom of stairs.
6:05 am – When they mean absolutely no absences, do you think they count Wednesday mornings?
6:09 am – OK, lets get moving.
6:22 am – Bike is jammed between the door and the wall because the door won’t open all the way due to Syd’s skateboard propped at the bottom of the stairs. This sucks.
6:32 am – Whew, Starbucks. One coffee, one bagel, one happy Tim.
6:33 am – Really? I left my homework at home?
6:36 am – Why’d I get coffee? I got to ride my bike back home with a coffee?
6:39 am – Man in wheelchair says, “What, you can’t hold the door open for a guy in a wheelchair?” I stand and stare at him. “Looks like you can unlock your bike just fine, why can’t you figure out how to hold a door open?” I stand and stare. I still say nothing. The man starts to shake his head slowly like all that is wrong with the world is bottled up inside of me. But I love people in wheelchairs I want to shout. Too late, he’s scooted away.
6:52 am – Back home. Door won’t open cause Syd has skateboard propped at bottom of stairs.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Back together
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
You and I
You...
you are nothing but a one-celled ameba,
and I...
I am a soaring eagle.
You...
you are just the kitchen spill,
and I...
I am the prime rib.
You...
you are a rusted tailpipe,
and I...
I am the Corvette.
You...
you are the glint in someone’s eye,
and I...
I am the whole sun.
You...
you are the ink underneath someone’s nails,
and I...
I am the masterpiece.
You...
you are the bad hair day,
and I...
I am the Oscar walk.
You...
you are the wrinkly shirt,
and I...
I am the Italian suit.
You...
you are a scraped knee,
and I...
I am the sweet lay-in.
You...
you are nothing,
and I...
I am something.
you are nothing but a one-celled ameba,
and I...
I am a soaring eagle.
You...
you are just the kitchen spill,
and I...
I am the prime rib.
You...
you are a rusted tailpipe,
and I...
I am the Corvette.
You...
you are the glint in someone’s eye,
and I...
I am the whole sun.
You...
you are the ink underneath someone’s nails,
and I...
I am the masterpiece.
You...
you are the bad hair day,
and I...
I am the Oscar walk.
You...
you are the wrinkly shirt,
and I...
I am the Italian suit.
You...
you are a scraped knee,
and I...
I am the sweet lay-in.
You...
you are nothing,
and I...
I am something.
“I love you.”
“You do?”“I love you, yes I do.”
“I love you too.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re not so bad.”
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Man, This Monday Sucks
Well, waking up this morning was hell. My feet hurt more than they have ever in my entire life. My left pinkie has lost all feeling for some reason and if I ever am still for more than a few minutes I drift into sleep. But I had to push through it all this morning and turn in a paper. My friend coffee was the only thing to get me through...
Do I regret it? No! I rode 200+ miles yesterday, what did you do?
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
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