Chronicles of a Red Headed Stranger

Jack In The Box, You Now Suck

2008-01-17T18:54:00.000-08:00

***FYI - this is from a while back. Don't know why I didn't publish it.***

When we moved down here we knew we were going to lose some of the best that the Valley had to offer. In the Homeland, the shopping isn't so great, there isn't much in the way of a music scene and the dining left something to desire. Don't get me wrong - there are some really good restaurants around here. But some aren't as good as what we could find in the Valley and occasionally the missus and I found ourselves longing for some of the good food we could find with ease up there. That even included Jack in the Box and their most delicious of delicious sandwiches, the Bruschetta Chicken Ciabatta.

So, when the powers that be decided to bestow the Homeland with a Jack in the Box of our own, the missus and I were ecstatic! Finally, something we missed was available to us! After it was built and opened, we waited a month for the lines around the building to die down. Hell, if we waited this long, what was another month? And when the day finally arrived that we could march through the doors and order the Brushetta Chicken Ciabatta, we did. As a matter of fact, I ordered two. And they were delicious. They tasted almost better than what we remembered.

This week, hungry, tired and halfway home, we decided to turn around, head back into town and order a couple of our beloved sandwiches. Spending almost half an hour on slick roads to make it there, we reasoned Jack in the Box was the one thing that would make it better. Only it didn't. After I placed my order and they took my money, I was informed they didn't have any bruschetta mix left. So we went somewhere else for dinner. Then, two days later, we found ourselves in town again sans girl child. So we decided to make up for the other night and treat ourselves to the deliciousness that was the Bruschetta Chicken Ciabatta. I placed my order and gave them the money. Only this time the girl at the counter looked at me like I was crazy. But she still took my money. After five minutes of waiting for the sandwich of the gods to arrive, I was met with a "We don't have that. You want a Chipolte Chicken Ciabatta instead?"

Hell no! This Chipotle Chicken Ciabatta is not the grilled chicken breast treat of yore! It's some sort of fried stuff! Where the hell did the Bruschetta Chicken Ciabatta go?

Needless to say, we grudgingly took our fried Jack Spicy Chickens on Ciabatta and ate them. There was no explanation as to why our big-headed friend ended the run of the best sandwich they ever made. And the poor greasy faced manager didn't give us any reasons either. Now, the one establishment of the Valley that we adored is just another fucking hamburger stand.

And their fries aren't even that good.

Even the Best Sometimes Really Sucked It Up

2008-01-16T18:44:00.000-08:00

I love Buck Owens, I really do. He penned some excellent tunes in his time and earned his way up the ladder. He got everything he deserved.

But still, that doesn't mean the guy didn't turn out a few turds now and then. Don't believe me? Try to see if you can dig up "Big Game Hunter" and "It's a Monster's Holiday".

Gawd.

You Know What's Hard?

2008-01-14T20:44:00.000-08:00

Getting hate mail.

Seriously, I was fishing for some vitriol and all I got was a whole lot of nothing.

You know what else is hard?

Having the friggin' floors torn up in your house while you have a sick little girl at home. She was a trooper, but I'm pretty certain she was sick of my shit at the end of the day.

You know what is also hard?

Trying to make up the hours you missed because you were trying to keep a sick kid happy while cleaning up dog puke.

What a wonderful day.

After New Hampshire

2008-01-11T13:29:00.000-08:00

I don't usually get into politics in public places. It's just not me. However, after watching and listening to the fallout of the New Hampshire primaries, I have to say something.

There's been a lot of talk about Hillary Clinton's crying episode and how it may have swayed female voters. Seriously, I can't believe people are saying this shit. How fucking sexist is that? Was it planned? Who knows. But in an age of supposed enlightenment, it shocks the shit out of me that any of these broadcasters and news agencies are even saying that. Is it true? Maybe. But maybe not. No one knows why the polls were all wrong. But saying that crying appealed to women voters and making such a big fucking deal out of it is ridiculous. Does anyone remember one of the arguments against the suffrage movement? It was that women were too emotional to make a wise decision. Thanks for taking us back to the late 1800's, American Media Complex.

I have also heard a lot of talk about how Obama could win so big in Iowa and then get beaten so soundly in New Hampshire by a candidate that came in third just a week earlier. Out of all the bullshit and spinning that I've heard, no one has talked about how perhaps in Iowa they favor someone who seems nice versus New Hampshire where maybe that isn't as important as experience or something else.

The more I listen to the national news, the more surprised I become at how vapid or insipid or, hell, I can't think of a good word, but it's disgusting. Obama's strength has less to do with his skin color and more to do with his message. The same can be said about Clinton's sex. Their physical attributes have affected their lives and their experiences and, I concede, their messages. The problem is our shallow media is focusing less on these messages and more on their skin color and sex.

Considering how far we've come, it's amazing how far backwards we're falling.

Back In The Saddle - Sorta'

2008-01-08T22:08:00.000-08:00

Wow. It's been awhile. Thanks for checking on me, dont. Sorry I didn't check back sooner.

Well, the reins were quickly pulled from my hands. Shit went sideways, naturally. That's what you get for thinking you have even an ounce of control.

But now it is January, and to be honest I've been looking forward to 08. 07 was the shits. It wasn't all bad, but there was enough to make me glad the cocksucker is done with. The last time I wrote a check (and this was back in October) I had to rewrite the son of a bitch because I put 08 on it. Now, it's here, and I'm not going to say anything stupid to jinx the whole damn thing.

Though I hated it, the last couple of months wrapped up nicely. Through one of my industry-related blogs I'm getting a small following and making friends. Got a raise and a new rig, which is good timing because the friggin' snow is drifting. Want fun? Get a corgi to go outside to take a piss and have her get high-centered in the snow. Now that is something worth watching!

However, some things don't change. I still hate Blogger. I still absolutely adore my little girl and am glad I have the missus with me. I swear, sometimes when I get down in this world of 1's and 0's they're the only ones that pull me out.

I've never made new year's resolutions, and I don't think I'll start. But if I were to try and change anything, I think I'd say screw it to work and try to start doing shit that actually makes me happy. I put in a lot of hours last year, and to be honest, I probably didn't need to. Fuck it or fight it, I'm still right here and you're still wherever you are.

Do I Have the Reins? Really?

2007-10-18T23:23:00.000-07:00

I don't know that I'm out of the woods yet, but I'm feeling better. Even with all the job stress and general bullshit that keeps dragging me down, at least tonight, I'm doing better.

Maybe it's the Scooby Doo with the girl. Maybe I've just gotten to the "who gives a fuck" barrier. Maybe it's the drinking. Hell, it's probably all three. But right now, looking down the barrel of a long and horrible next two months, knowing I'm going to be miserable and more tired than I am know and will probably lose all my PTO, I'm in a good mood.

Now let's ride this sonuvabitch as far as it will take me! Giddyup!

I Admit It

2007-10-15T23:51:00.000-07:00

I cannot deny this any longer. It's been eating at my guts for some time. It's who I am and if it means I'm some sort of monster or something else, so be it.

I think James Joyce is overrated.

Seriously overrated.

I tried to read Ulysses. It bored the shit out of me.

I tried reading the Dubliners and few of his other short stories. I wanted to gouge my eyes out just to prove I was still alive and was not in some sort of circle of Hell where you're forced to read overrated crap.

After reading a few short stories by William Faulkner, I decided to come clean. I enjoyed those immensely. So much I might actually try to track down a novel. That's right. A friggin' book. If not a novel, then a book of short stories. Something! I can't get enough tonight!

I no longer hate famous authors. I want to read again. Just not James fuckin' Joyce. Something tells me that will be my eternity.

Into the Time Machine And Back Out Again

2007-10-15T23:39:00.000-07:00

I feel less miserable than I did on Saturday. Coming off of a cold, I'm tired and my nose and head are filled with snot. It's late, and I probably shouldn't of had those two big glasses of gin and tonic.

Hungry, I shuffle into the kitchen and open the cupboard. The box of Booberry catches my attention and I pour myself a handful of chemical blueberry and marshmallow goodness. As I try to breath through the snot in my nose, the smell of the cereal mixes with the fog in my head. For a moment, I'm four years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor in my Sylvester the Cat pajamas watching the 19-inch television as the Scooby-Doo theme begins to play and the bats from the haunted house fill the colored screen.

For those few moments, I'm somewhere I haven't been in a long time. Somewhere that existed before the brutality of adulthood pushed its ugliness into the life of my brother and me. Me and him got along. Mom and dad fought, but not often. There wasn't much to be afraid of, other than not having our room clean enough to watch Saturday cartoons. Somewhere before we knew better or cared to know better - where you were more worried about your peter getting caught in the zipper or your mom hearing you say "bastard".

For those few moments, I felt innocent and naive and completely happy. As I snapped out of it, I was thankful I have the girl to share my Scooby-Doo addiction with and appreciation for horrible cereals with. And I guess to a degree, as I come to, I hoped that the innocence I remember stays with her for a long, long time. There's few thing more beautiful than her singing the Scooby-Doo theme song or Happy Birthday or saying "I want my daddy" in the middle of the night.

Nothing.

One Sunday A Long, Long Time Ago

2007-10-01T16:38:00.000-07:00

I was just sitting here, working, when all of a sudden the memory of her rushed over me. I haven't thought about her in a while; but I suppose over time that's the way things go.

We were walking through a neighborhood near my great-grandma's house. Though it was winter, there was no snow on the ground and the sun was shining. Maybe the pavement was wet, but hell, I can't remember. Like I said - it was a long time ago.

I was peddling Campfire candy and Jo was walking through the neighborhood with me. Her daddy was a Marine and they were getting ready to head over to Bangladesh. I remember hearing about how at her last day of school the class through a party for her and gave her presents. Maybe she told me about the Barbies and such as we walked through the streets, cold and hoping to unload all this candy for whatever cause it was for. All I know is it was Campfire candy. And yes, boys could be in Campfire.

Jo had big blue eyes and blond hair. She was a sweetheart. Really, she was a good, sweet kid. I remember one Christmas when she was around (obviously, her old man being in the military her family moved around a lot)and we hadn't seen each other in years, well, two or three, but when you're eight or nine it might as well be an eon as the world is still so new, but we were fast friends. I loved her. Everybody did.

Anyways, we were walking back to my great-grandma's house (which was her grandmother, making her my mom's cousin, but anyways this isn't a delving into my family tree) and Jo had this calculator. I remember her stopping me and saying, "I can make the numbers look like a rainbow."

I was instantly interested. Would they arch on the tiny little screen? She was older than me by a year so surely she knew something I didn't. "Really? How?"

She pushed her thumb against the little LCD screen and like oil in mud puddle greens and purples and blues quickly rushed onto the screen. There was no arch and there were no other colors like red and orange and yellow. But it was pretty.

I don't remember saying goodbye to her before her family left for Asia. I'm sure we did. And I didn't get to say goodbye to her before, well, I didn't get to tell her goodbye. And to say why seems unnecessarily cruel for whomever may stumble across this damn thing. But for some reason today, in the monotony of my everyday Monday, my mind drifted to her and that one sunny Sunday in what I'm guessing was February.

I didn't realize how much I missed her.

The Worst Week of My Life

2007-09-15T23:08:00.000-07:00

Even now last Tuesday seems like it was a month ago. One horrible month ago. The date was September 11th, the most hallowed of modern dates, and not just because of the hip hop throw down between Fifty Cent and Kanye West.

You never fully appreciate what you have until you get the horrible phone call, "Your wife wanted me to call and tell you that she and your daughter are on the way to the emergency room." There was more said, but to be honest I couldn't remember it. All I heard was my girl was headed to the ER. The missus had just taken her in because we thought the girl had a particularly bad cold bug that was messing with her breathing. By the time I made into town and to the hospital, a nurse in the room called me to tell me I needed to get there ASAP.

I walked in there she was, her little body heaving to catch each breath. The missus above her, holding the girl's arms down to keep the IVs in her little arms, her face red and streaked with tears. There were nurses and doctors everywhere, buzzing around to help keep my little girl breathing. I remember her being sick when she left and her breathing was getting more difficult, but nothing like this. Nothing. I made my way to her head to hold her little hand and she looked up at me with big, scared, blue eyes. If I couldn't comprehend this, there was no way in hell she was going to be able to. If I was scared, I can't imagine what she was feeling.

Shortly after I was holding her little hand and telling her everything was okay and to hang in there, a shortish, round nurse put her arm around my waist and told me, "You see that, DAD? Next time you see a child breathing like that you bring her in here IMMEDIATELY." God help me I was too worried about my daughter. I felt like shit when that cunt brazenly insinuated I was some fucking white trash okie drinking forties in the trailer park while my little girl was dying. Those may not have been her words. I can't guess her intentions. But I'm certain there's a special place in hell for people like her. Sometime after that, we were told she needed to be flown to a children's hospital up North. I was able to hold it together and be strong for her until I had to tell family she was being flown North. Meanwhile they were able to stabilize my girl and the missus and I were allowed to hold her and try to comfort her. I didn't see her or the missus on to the plane. I had to run home, pack and catch a plane at three to get North.

Whatever happened on the flight - whether it was the oxygen, the rest or the steroids kicking in, when I got to the children's hospital my girl looked good. Not good, but better than when I last saw her. She wanted chocolate milk. She didn't want much to do with me but was wanting her Gramma and her Auntie. Our little girl was feeling better. And over the next couple of days she'd get better. She's home now.

Even now, I can't get the image of her little body in that bed and the tears on the missus' face. I can't get rid of the feeling of helplessness. And I can't get the horrible feeling of what could have happened - it probably wouldn't have - but to come home and see our living room littered with her toys from the morning that our world stopped, I don't know. I don't know if I could go on or would want to go on. And I feel the missus is the same way. That little girl has taken over our lives and our hearts. We're thankful she was at that hospital for something as seemingly minor as croup, especially when you think about the kids there that have much worse going on. We're also thankful we get to be her parents.

Next On the Menu - Calf Nuts!

2007-09-10T21:12:00.000-07:00

I finally did it. Just like the commercials said to, just like Randy "Macho Man" Savage recommended, I snapped into a Slim Jim for the first time in my entire life.

And I'm pretty sure it'll be the last time.

A pepperoni stick sounded so good. I saw the Slim Jim, an extra large one (hey, I had an extra large hunger) flavored with Tabasco. "Interesting," I thought to myself. "Why the hell not?"

Why the hell not? Because these things are terrible. Yeah, it was spicy, that goes without saying. But edible is a stretch. In the packaging this thing was soft and greasy, and as I held it in my hands and ran it across the scanner I could hear that little voice in the back of my head saying, "That thing looks fucking nasty. It better taste good because it's gonna' knock at least three months off your fat ass life."

But it didn't. And it wasn't just the flavor. It had the texture of a fucking rubber glove. I thought it was just the casing, so when I got to the last bite of this damn thing (don't ask me why I didn't just throw it out the window - I guess I'm just an optimist and that it would taste better with the next bite) I gently tore off the casing with my teeth and ate it. I was wrong. The casing was actually soft. There was something chewy and rubbery in this son of a bitch that was supposed to be meat. There was something chewy and rubbery in the goddammed Slim Jim. So help me, there was something unidentifiable and chewy in that damned mystery meat.

Have I learned anything from this experience? Yes. First, the Slim Jim is not for human consumption and in reality it's a cruel dog chew toy. Second, if it tastes like shit the first bite, you don't have to eat the whole damn thing to figure out you're eating a turd. And third, Randy "Macho Man" Savage is either one sick motherfucker or a lying bastard or both.

Remember This -

2007-09-07T12:15:00.001-07:00

what might be trivial to you might matter to someone else.

Also -

2007-09-05T23:31:00.001-07:00

Is Andy Borowitz funny? Really? I thought I understood satire, and I also thought it was supposed to be somewhat serious. I think Newsweek got screwed on this deal.

Happiness Is A New Notebook

2007-09-05T23:05:00.000-07:00

August came and went like a damn car wreck, rolling straight into September and threatening October. My months are already planned out. Freedom? Fuck it. I got a job.

I have my nice, new notebook with over a hundred blank pages in it. There's dividers in it, five of them, and it's college ruled. I love these notebooks. I wish I was going to scribble moronic short stories or dopey song lyrics into it - and perhaps I will - but for the most work it's going to represent my work life.

I started the Olds the other day. Damn it was old. History and burnt oil and gasoline and a touch of forgotteness filled its cabin. I love that car. There's nothing right about it. Nothing. I drove it less than a quarter of a mile and it is one of the few things I've done for myself lately that made me incredibly happy. For those few moments I forgot about looking down the barrel of the various guns bearing down on me and worried more about keeping it between the lines. The power windows and seats are fucked; the interior has been the victim of wet weather and rodents; the paint has been abused by the sun and the rain. But despite all of its shortcomings, in spite of the mold and the mildew, this damn thing makes me happy. It reminds me I have much more to happy about.

Now just to remember that.

I'll Be Around

2007-07-30T16:40:00.000-07:00

I was gonna' put up a post I started about a trip to St. Louis I had to take. Good-ish trip, ate at Waffle House, stayed across the street from a porn shop, blah blah blah. There's been a lot of shit I've been going to do. But I haven't done any of it.

And I don't think I'm going to.

I can't be assed into doing it.

I've been in a weird mood. When I'm around people, I feel fine and normal. Once alone, melancholy settles into the pit of my stomach. At first I feel like doing something, but then I just really don't feeling like doing anything.

I just read in a forum I go to a lot that one of our members died from bacterial meningitis. I didn't know him well, but in the forum at least I liked the hell out of him. Reading those words clobbered me like a widow-maker down on my head. I didn't realize how sad it would make me. But it did.

So Now We're Getting a Kitten

2007-07-21T21:53:00.000-07:00

Monday's are never good. Seeing her lying in the road meant not only was this Monday going to be shitty, so was the whole damn week.

And it was.

She was the best of cats we've ever had. Out of the four, she was the only we actually liked on a regular basis. She wasn't one of the ones pissing all over the carpets and spraying the couches. She was friendly and always had a tail-tingle to share when she was happy. But that morning, all of that came to an end. The missus, on her way to work and me, wrestling with the girl who was in no mood to go to daycare, were going about our lives as normal. Then I heard "Oh my god, oh my god, no!" I grabbed the girl and met the missus at the end of the driveway. In the middle of the road was our kitty.

Guilt swept over me. She dashed the door the night before when I was letting the dogs in. I called for her before I went to bed; she didn't come. I knew one of us would wake up in the middle of the night and let our poor, appreciative kitty in. No one woke up.

I've dug a few pet graves in my life. My first was a small hole for a gold fish when I was four or five. I watched mom plant an old siamese in the flower bed when her time came and went. In the valley, I dug a grave for an unfortunate stray as well as one of our beloved cats. There've been more before that; remembering all of them is tough. One of the toughest was for a cat I rescued in high school. Between the anguish and the sandstone, I chipped away at the ground for nearly two hours after soccer practice to dig a pitiful two foot hole.

I found a nice place near an apple tree and started to dig. At first I was pissed at her. Why did she have to dash the door? Why didn't she come in? Why did she happen to be crossing the road at that time? When I went to grab my coffee, I asked her why, like some dumb, soft-hearted, mush-brained child. Lying in the shade where I set her, I was just met with her dead, blank stare.

The deeper I dug, the more the realization she was gone came over me. Once in the whole, no matter how square the corners were and flat the sides, she wasn't coming back. I cried big hard tears, like I did last summer on my way home from work and when I had to leave the girl and the missus every Sunday. The whole reason we brought her home was because at the shelter she crawled on my shoulder and chose me. She wouldn't leave me alone. And when we finally got her home, she thanked us with loud purrs and tail tingles. We could frequently find her lounging on the arm of the couch, front legs splayed like a lazy panther. Plus, she was sweet. She would let us scratch her belly. And she was happy.

Sitting next to her in the shade, I reached out to pet her one last time. Her coat was still soft, but she wasn't there. Her stiff little body was empty of the big life that once filled it. I wept. I missed her. I miss her. But letting her lay there wasn't going to bring her back.

In the shop I found a long and wide box that wasn't too deep. It fit in the hole perfectly. From the closet I pulled an old towel to cover her with. Once I laid the shroud over her, I never pulled it back again. I affectionately scratched her ears, ignoring the macabre gesture that it was. She was still gone. We were already past the point of no return, but it didn't feel that way until I rested the box in the hole and covered it with a few pieces of scrap lumber. In my head I said some sort of prayer for her and cried some more. With the first shovelful of dirt, I knew sadness was going to fill the emptiness she left for a long time. Who knew something so small could be so big?

We miss her and will even after the kitten comes home. The girl still asks for her and the missus and I still hope every meow outside at night or shadow moving in the corners of our eyes is her. We miss her face and her meows and her purring and how she curled up at the end of the bed and sat in our laps for affection. We miss everything about her. We know she was just a cat and we know we've both shed more tears for her than for some people we've seen laid to rest. But we miss her. We miss her. We miss her.

Aftermath

2007-07-15T18:14:00.000-07:00

Smoke has been creating a haze since the storm two Fridays ago. Above, tardent bombers are making their way back to the base to reload and head out again. Perhaps these planes are dropping tardent on fires from other lightning storms, but it's been hazy since the Saturday before last.

One thing I've forgotten about the weather down here is its terrible beauty often comes with terrible consequences. I remember how that Friday felt; the air was thick and as each hour passed it seemed as if another layer of pressure was added on. We waited all day for it to come crashing down. And it did. First a little bit of rain fell, the drops big and heavy like the air it cut through. Thunder came only seconds after the flashes of lightning. Then came the storm. Wind and rain beat everything down. The lightning and thunder added the thrill of danger to sideways rain with some flashes interrupting the view between our house and the hay shed a quarter of a mile or so south of us. The reality of what this storm didn't occur to the missus and I until the hail came. Marble sized bits of ice beat on the shop and our deck and our house. We knew if it was hailing at our house, it had to of beat down my wife's crops as well. And the crops of her family. The thought of grain laying on its side and the potato plants beaten into the ground flashed through both of our heads.

The next day we surveyed the scene. Our little valley was no less for where. The violence of the storm left our trees in tact and the only damage was a little tin pulled off of hay shed. On the other side of the hill, south of our place, where the storm came through, was an entirely different story. Some fields were spared. The missus's family's fields were fine. But others were not so lucky. Some potato fields were damaged from the wind; a strawberry field we saw suffered the same. Towards the highway trees and telephone poles were snapped. Wheel lines littered the ditches and were wrapped around poles. And the there were several alfalfa fields were the second cutting had been stripped to the stems. I had never seen anything like it before. Acres and acres of nothing but the spindly stalks of what was left of an entire cutting of hay. Just stems.

Those damaged hay fields have been cut to try and get the next cutting ready and growing. Now only smoke and newspaper stories about the effects of losing these crops on various markets remind us the storm blew through. Life moves on - it has to. To sit and fret about what to do and the losses is counterproductive. Just pick up and move on.

Seriously -

2007-07-06T10:09:00.001-07:00

Who gives a fuck about Criss Angel?!?!?!!??!?!?!?! Are there really legions of fucking emo boy magic fans out there? Really? Put down the eyeliner and step away from the magic deck of cards. I'm so glad I have satellite so I don't have to look at this froot loop yelling "Mind Freeeeeeaaaak!" for his friggin' promos anymore. Holy shit. And God bless technology.

And Cameron Diaz - WTF?!?!?!? I suppose once upon a time she was 'cute', but c'mon! Pissing off Peruvians is one thing - but that starlett's star has done shone. Please gracefully exit stage left. There was too much of you in "Holiday", cluelessness is so 1997 and you're looking tired. Does anyone really think you're all that relevant? Stick to animation. I'm sick of your mug. And your beady little eyes.

As It Sets

2007-07-05T20:58:00.000-07:00

The clouds are pink and shedding their filtered light down to the Basin floor tonight, casting everything in a rose-ish hue. Dusk here is beautiful - something I had never forgotten but am enjoying more and more.

The fat mares are galloping across the pasture and with each hoof beat stirring up the earthy smells of dirt and grass. On the breeze blowing into my office, I can smell the dryness of the heat of the day mingling with the sagebrush and juniper and horse and grass and earth along with threat of tomorrow's rain. It feels timeless and I almost believe that if I were to die right now in this moment my spirit would be okay. I'd be okay. But I don't have to worry about that right now. It's just comforting to find the occasional moment where every once in a while I feel I can be at peace with the big slumber. The rest of the time I fear and loathe it.

As the sun falls behind the mountains and hills, the blueness of the sky competes with pinks and oranges and subtle purples of the clouds. It's almost as if Maxfield Parrish himself came and painted these romantic skies. It seems as if he paints almost every sunset of the summer.

I know I need to turn on the lights. My eye sight is poor enough as it is. But the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me not to. I need to relish these skies and this moment of tired peace. I know I will soon enough be moving around again. I almost welcome the solitude. Almost. While sometimes it feels like this life is just a personal narrative no one reads or hears, and the people around us are fixtures on some sort of stage we know nothing about, to be connected and understood is better than the inherent loneliness. I miss my family and my people and this place while I'm gone. Travel makes me appreciate all of these. Appreciate the gray of the brush and the lushness of the pastures and the drama of land not hidden by trees. It makes me appreciate the smells that cannot be replicated. It reminds me to love my girls.

The sun is down. The clouds look tired and a bit sullen. I turn on my lamp.

And Summer Is Already Gone

2007-07-02T06:00:00.000-07:00

One thing the missus never considered when we moved down here was that our weekends would be quickly ate up by a damn near every family event that could possibly be planned. We're not anti-family - not by a long shot. But when we lived up in the Valley, the expectation of us to make it to every anniversary party, family reunion or birthday party were slim to none. Especially when the girl came along.

But now, with fences needing built and a lawn needing serious mending (how can this lawn look so bad? Those people left empty bag after empty bag of fertilizer laying around! I'm pretty sure they had a grow operation. Seriously. How can they used so much fucking fert and have a lawn that's that weedy and patchy? WTF?) an empty weekend is looking more and more rare. And it's not like we don't want to see those people or continue with our anti-social ways. We just have shit we need to get done. Add to the fact it looks like I've got more travel ahead of me this summer, July and August are going to disappear way too quickly (I so wish I could have used a clever simile just there instead. Something like "so many thongs up the butt cracks of so many drunk beach hoochies". See, it's not great nor incredibly clever, but it would have nicely tied in with the summer thing. ).

So, as I see my summer quickly swallowed whole like so many hotdogs down the gullet of that little Japanese guy that always wins those hotdog eating contests (see, told you I'm not good at these), my eye turns towards September. So far, there's nothing planned and I don't have many travel plans. C'mon September.

It's Been A While . . . .

2007-06-28T23:34:00.000-07:00

. . . and I won't bore you with the details. ;)

I've been having a hard time thinking of anything positive to post lately, which, when you feel like that's what you need to do, makes it even harder. But I suppose that's just the way it is.

Spring in the homeland has been beautiful, but I wonder where the hell it went. It seems like the weeks are a steady march to the weekends which are a quick trip back the weekdays. I want things to slow down so I can catch my breath. But what you want and what you know aren't always the same things. So in the end we'll just tread water and do our damnedest to catch up when we can.

You ever pour a gin and tonic and pour too much gin? I know, too much gin never seems like a problem. Silly me! But right now, the warmth of the gin is overpowering the the ice and tonic. It's warmth sinks down my throat and into my chest. While it wasn't what I was wanting or craving, it feels good. I can smell the cool night air with the threat of rain on it and the warmth is even more welcomed.

Yesterday my brer brought over three mares and stud colt he's having cut on Tuesday. I forgot how stupid horses can be and the violent nature of, well, nature. Even in the society of horses there's a power struggle going on. They kick, nick and buck, chasing each other over the recently irrigated grass, all vying for position. The ones who were always picked on see this as their opportunity to gain rank on the other horses. The traditionally dominant fight back to maintain position. Then there's running and thundering around the pasture. I think they're beautiful. Brer thinks they're stupid. But I've always put on my pastorial glasses when looking at this life and all involved in it.

Being here again reminds me of where I thought I wanted to go and what I wanted to be. But the truth is, even if I had pursued those paths, they would have led to nowhere. Land is expensive. Equipment is expensive. Livestock is expensive. Though at times I crave the honesty of the work of that other life, I'm more thankful for weekends and evenings. I hate the travel that takes me away from home, but I also remember my old man. He more or less worked in the fields around our house. But he was never able to leave or take much time off. And though at times I hate the shit hole "Town" is, I have to remember one thing: There is no way in hell I would survive the city. I hated it too much.

So, in my late night ramble, I get nowhere. And that's fine. I think it's better than the dark places and shadows that have been sticking out in my mind lately. As much as I want to get those out there at times, somethings are best left alone. What is it they say about sleeping mutts or whatever?

Here's to rain on dirt and round about roads through nowhere.

Hi

2007-06-08T07:55:00.001-07:00

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Late Saturday Night

2007-05-23T08:46:00.000-07:00

She surprised the hell out of me. "You have any music you want to listen to?" she asked. I know she generally dislikes the stuff I like. No Hank Sr. No DTB. No Rancid. Maybe some Johnny Cash, but I know the rest of the stuff I've bought or borrowed and burned onto my laptop weren't up her ally. I mumbled something about how she probably wouldn't like anything I have and perhaps we ought to listen to some of her stuff. I saw that I had taken her flowers and crushed them under my boots.

Then I remember something jP let me borrow and rip to my computer. Frog Holler. I turned the speakers and my machine up loud. We were painting and the girl was asleep, but that's on the other side of the house. Out of the speakers poured what country should of sound like instead of the pop-infused garbage it has become. "I like this," she said, genuinely. "This is what country used to sound like!"

We listened to both albums that were on my machine. It was the first time in a long time I felt like I had something good to share.

In Time

2007-05-18T17:05:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was little, like four or five, looking at my old man's hands in gruesome awe. His knuckles were constantly bloodied and battered, like a gutter fighter's. They always looked painful and I remember in my little brain wondering how a man could still work with his hands butchered the way they were. He wasn't missing fingers or anything horrible like that, but in my child's eyes I imagined he must of been incredible if those horrible cuts didn't bring tears to his eyes.

My old man had to. In his early twenties, he and my mom were making a home out of the two bedroom trailer they bought that sat under the rim of Tableland. The mill job he had evaporated, perhaps as precursor to what would occur later in the 80's, and this job kept the mortgage getting paid, food on the table and clothes on my and my brother's backs. Putting together wheel lines was one of the few jobs out there. I remember in the morning, calling him "ham" as slid the sliding glass door shut. For some reason that cracked me up. I don't understand why; I don't try to. It was just funny. Once in a while I'd put on his big, thick boots. The tops came up to my knees and the foot of the boots felt like something earthy and ancient. They were work boots. Those boots more than likely represented the toil of my grandparents and their grandparents and their grandparents.

I think back to those golden days like Cather does Nebraska in My Antonia. They seemed so simple and so happy. The old man didn't have a drinking problem and the biggest worries seemed when mom could get the stuff she put on layaway. My summer days were spent looking up at the blue skies and the clouds and running through the brush (well, as far as our mother would let us!) with my little toe-headed brother. We fast friends back then. I'd load my pockets with obsidian chips and thought the diatomite cliffs on the roads were hills of gold. If there was trouble on the horizon or blood beneath the carpet, I was too young to know or care. One thing I did realize, even then, as he looked down at me and shut the door, was that he was virtually a stranger to me.

When I was thirteen, my old man found me a job flood irrigating. I remember riding around in Tim the Irishman's pickup, him and my dad drinking beer, showing me the small ranch I'd be responsible for. I vaguely remember them asking me if I thought I could handle it; hell I didn't know if I could or not. It was only my second job ever. But I knew what was expected of me and said yes.

I had never set a dam in my entire life or cleared cut outs from a ditch. That spring, before school got out and after baseball practice, my old man showed me the ins and outs of flood irrigating. The dark May clouds let enough evening sun through as he taught me to read the land and how to get water to high spots. His old Chevy diesel pickup, a hand me down from his boss, ambled along the ditchbanks as we scared up ducks and black birds. We'd spend many hours talking politics and discussing this and that later on, but those days seemed like the first days I understood what he was about. He was no longer a stranger but a real, tangible person. I understood the pride he took in his labor and why he was afraid of me and my brother ending up as pasty, office-worker types.

Earlier today I set the dams for this place for the first time since we bought it. There's been enough rain to keep us from having to irrigate it, but now the greenness of the pasture is becoming accented with the white and tans of the dead grass and dry horse shit. Looking across the land, I read the checks and knew I had set my dam in the wrong place. A little shovel work bailed me out, but now I know better.

There's an honesty in this toil that I don't get from sitting at this computer. Even as I studied tom become a copywriter, there was a sort of pride of using my brain and wits to wrap around a product or service to get someone to emotionally connect with it to produce an action. Even in that, it seemed more like honest, hard work. This, this helping people get their stuff found, feels more like the regurgitation of knowledge than anything. There's work. And at times I do need to look at things creatively, but it's not like advertising. In the toil of the men in the fields, they earn their rest. Their backs hurt, their hands are calloused, their skin burnt red from the sun and bumpy from the mosquito bites and thistles. With this, not so much. There's tired and there's exhausted, but the body grows soft as do my hands.

These times seem less simple and less golden. But time and awareness tarnishes everything. I hope as the girl gets older and she comes with me to move the dams, to play in the flood waters, perhaps put on my huge-to-her irrigating boots, she looks back on them as golden times. I also hope she doesn't look at me as a stranger like I did at my old man as he left every morning to do whatever it was he needed to do to keep us in food and a home.

Sheeeeesh! Alright Already! ;)

2007-05-11T15:32:00.000-07:00

Well, umm, now I feel like the lights are on me and I'm standing on the stage alone, doing my best to try and figure out something witty to say after the guy before me got major yucks. Perhaps something poignant? No, I'm a fraud so it would sound even more hollow than it does. So I guess there's the truth, whatever that may be.

Life has been busy. And somewhere in the business I got that empty hollow feeling. I don't sleep well. And I don't get my ass out of bed in the mornings. But somehow I manage to keep up the very thin facade that I'm getting shit done. But really - I don't want to. I don't want to do a damn thing. I want to sit here, try to play guitar and watch the swallows swoop and dive around the yard. But I can't. I shouldn't. I don't.

When my old man sobered up, he told me something that was funny and sad all at once. It was along the lines of the worst part of sobering up was realizing he'd lost ten years of his life. Goddamm I don't want to do that. I felt like that after I graduated from college. Five years I felt were gone. But those five years were eventually parlayed into this, which is a helluva' lot closer to what I went to college for.

It's spring here in the homeland, which means incredible heat punctuated by thunder storms and the occasional sprinkling of snow. And I sit here, listening to the news, seeing what's going on around here, I realize this place, the people and all the bullshit, helped forge me into this thing that I am. Sometimes it's an angry thing wanting to take up arms against the giant, faceless enemy that can't be fought. Sometimes it's a smart ass thing sneering at those around him and at those who put down those around him. Sometimes it's just a thing trying to do whatever it is I do. But I do have the girl and the missus and family. And they're the water that extinguishes the fire in my gut that would burn everything down if it could.

There's been a lot of people I've missed lately. I miss Matty, who I hope will be out soon. I miss the tart, who I used to talk to a lot more. I miss Jim the Squid and the trips up to Whidby for Navy style beer drinking. I miss the Sunflower, whom I know I will never see again but think about all the time. I miss my brer, though he hasn't moved yet. And I guess to a certain degree I miss the person that I was that would pick up the phone and give old friends a call to say hello. But so much time passes and I feel ashamed. It's not as if I don't think about them, but I do miss them.

Being here again, though I may not sound that way, is lovely. The hills and mountains are larger than I remember. They're so dramatic. I guess that's the one thing I didn't like about the Valley. All the trees and undergrowth hid the geology and topography and the drama that time and the elements created. But as the missus pointed out, there was still drama, but more on a micro-level than on the macro.

I look at the hill out my office window and the pasture lands laid out in front of me. They're green and lush and calling me to grab a saddle and climb on the old mare I doctored on last winter and spring and go for a ride. Up through the pines and junipers, up over the ridge and into country I've never seen before. I want to go.

But I can't. I have a job I should be doing. Though I should be trying to catch up on billable hours, I feel I owe a bigger debt to the two people who still stop by. And I thank you both for that. "The Story of My Life" is playing over the speakers, and it's resonating more than it has for a while. I remember the first time I heard this song. It resonated with me then. "I think about what you're doin' now and when you're coming back." I think from time to time we all sit on the edge of our beds and ask ourselves that question.

It's almost four. Blogger says they're having an outage soon. Guess that's all for now. I'm still pissed at Blogger. But I guess, right now, saying hello is more important. Take care.

The End Is Near

2007-04-05T20:43:00.000-07:00

Alright, I've had about enough.

I've been waging my own personal pissing match against blogger (which doesn't affect them at all, but I'm one of those pissing in the wind type of people, so anyways) and trying to get them to take me off of the Admin for a blog. I've asked them in emails, saying if not I would take my business elsewhere. I've not been blogging, passing all these wonderful posts up that come to me as I drive through God's country, out of pride and will.

O! the posts I would've had! I would have shared with you the secret of life! You would now know some of my darkest secrets. I could have told you about giant golden eagles and bald eagles and swans and of all the wonders of the homeland! I would have regaled you with the misadventures of my life and of the craziness that it has become. And the splendid beauty - oh the spledid beauty I've seen in the simplest of objects.

But no.

My pride and Google/bloggers unhelpfulness have soured me on this. They keep pointing me to unhelpful FAQs and forums where, allegedly, some super-helpful person of the blogger staff (of the blogger staff!) is supposed to help answer questions and solve problems like mine. But to no avail. All I found was misinformation and more people like me wanting to have their permanent Admin status removed from a blog. Sounds like a reasonable request. But they these people act we're all asking for the fucking moon.

So, my pissing match goes on. Sort of. I read a blogger blog that's made me hopeful. They saved all their posts, started a WordPress blog and then uploaded them all to that. So, since blogger has shown me they could really give a flying fuck where I do my blogging, I guess it's off I go to WordPress.

And if it don't work out?

I don't know.

It IS a Small World

2007-01-30T13:57:00.000-08:00

Now that I work from home, my world has become incredibly small.

There's dogs and cats, but they suck at conversation.

People I normally chat with through IM and stuff have lives and junk.

It's kinda' good and bad. I don't get distracted by people, but I find myself getting distracted by anything online that can be read. I obsessively check my email, hoping for some shred of human contact. It's getting pretty sad.

It's only made worse by the fact I don't have any friends down here. Yeah, there's friends from highschool around. But for some reason I'm shy about calling them. Maybe I'm afraid they've changed. Maybe I'm more afraid I've changed.

The good news is I don't drink on the job, which I so could do. No one would notice the occasional beer. Hell, I could get totally shitfaced and have meetings naked and no one would be none the wiser. But I don't.

I still have my integrity.

What Is There To Say? He's Gone.

2007-01-30T09:17:00.000-08:00

I saw the news yesterday on MSN when I came back from lunch. There, next to his picture, were the words. I don't remember what they were exactly, but it summed it all up. He was dead.

They finally put Barbaro down after a bout of laminitis (where the hoof falls off). I remember when I was doctoring on the old mare (who is fine, by the way) and a bandage had gotten wet and tightened down on her leg, not only setting back the months of progress we had made on her injury, but also causing her whole fetlock to swell. I was so worried about laminitis at that point. The vet later assured me she was fine and was probably in no real danger. But still, the thought of having to put her down because of a mistake on my behalf was a little more than I could have dealt with at that time. But she's fine now, most of the hair is growing back and it looks like the western winds that blow through our little valley here are chapping the healing skin, serving as a reminder to me that it could have been a whole lot worse. But I was willing to put in the time to heal her wound, even when other people were telling me I may get to a point to where its fruitless and I needed to be done with the old girl.

Thinking of our boy Barbaro, its amazing when you think about the resources put into that four-year-old. His owners put up millions for his health care, which, as an investment you can understand, but even more, as people who love these monsters, is even more understandable. If he hadn't won the derby, there's a very good chance he would've been euthanized either on the track or led away from the spectator's view to do the grim task. But instead he was a winner. He did things his critics didn't think he could do, namely winning the Derby after a five week rest. Only one other horse in history had done that. He took the lead and led the other horses not by noses but by lengths. I remember watching the race. Barbaro was beautiful that day. What we all saw wasn't an example of a well-trained athlete doing what they're supposed to do but instead the will to go beyond adequate. To win like he did took tremendous heart.

They say when Barbaro shattered his leg that day at the Pimlico, the stands were filled with people sobbing. Perhaps it was because they were all too familiar with the grim realities of horse racing and of livestock in general. Since that day, flowers and treats and email poured into to the facilities that looked after Barbaro. George Nori, on Coast to Coast AM, was having positive thought vigils for Barbaro. It almost seemed a nation was brought together by the plight of this animal. And when signs of improvement were reported, those of us who cared shared the good news. We could see the heart that pushed him to win the Derby come through in his healing. Though he would never race again, we were heartened by the thoughts of him living out his life in a pasture, nickering at mares and living the charmed life of a stud. I think we all thought of him as the horse that could have won the Triple Crown. Though unknown and impossible to prove, it didn't manner. He could have done it. Remember Afleet Alex? Imagine if that horse would have had a different jockey the day of the Derby. Good chance he would have been the latest Triple Crown winner. Barbaro seemed to have that. A good jockey, a big heart and the Derby behind him.

I keep thinking about Barbaro. I regarded him as a hero - my only hero in fact. The great thing about having a horse as your hero is you never have to worry about them doing or saying something to leave you disappointed. I remember when I finally realized that about sports figures. They're human. They open their fat gobs and say something alienates you or do something that makes you embarrassed for them. Barbaro was pure. He represented what we all wish we had. He did more than what was expected of him. Even with the shattered leg, he wanted to keep going. He fought and bucked in the paddocks before being put in the gate. Barbaro had attitude and spirit and heart. If there was ever a model role model, that damn horse was it.

Looking across the cultural landscape of the United States, taking into consideration other public figures which represent what is best about us as a people, its pretty bleak. A generation of pop tarts is potentially turning our daughters into panty-less party girl hussy sluts. Our sons fair no better. Juiced up sluggers and thugs of all types are creeping into cultural acceptance and, to a certain degree, are being hailed as heroes. I'm all for low culture making its mark on the landscape. I love it. I eat it up like a diabetic needing a sugar fix. But the problem is the lives of these people aren't staying in the adult arena for adults to consume. For chrissakes - they make thongs for little girls. LITTLE GIRLS! All of this negative shit is creeping into all aspects of the lives of our future, making the longview seem pretty bleak. Their childhoods are being sold out for this rubbish. The person you voted for is just as bad as the one you didn't. The guy at the free throw line or gal in the business suit don't care about anyone but number one. Celebrity can be made by mediocrity. So, in light of that, why bother trying?

And perhaps this is why this horse stood out. Barbaro was a bright, shining moment amongst all of the negative, damaging garbage and darkness that fills our lives today. We have no one we can trust. But we could trust that this horse would give it his all.

So Long Secret Decoder Rings

2007-01-26T10:18:00.000-08:00

I realized something this morning while I poured the girl a tiny bowl of Cheerios which I knew instead of eating she'd throw to the dogs.

They don't put prizes in cereal anymore.

Sure, occasionally they'll put a CD with some sort of computer game sample in it or something. But the cereal box prize, as we knew it, is dead.

They give you points you can use on their websites (like a one-year-old really gives a shit about that) to redeem something. Kinda' like when my brer was collecting Copenhagen can lids to get a pool table. At the time he was riding bulls so he'd scour the grand stands after the rodeo was over searching for a glint of the silver lid. I think all he ended up with was a Skoal clock.

Anyways, there was always something magical about digging your grubby little five year old hands into a fresh box of cereal, deserately searching for the crinkle of a plastic wrapper that told you you'd just found the cheap treasure your little heart desired. Then there would be the inevitable fight that would ensure with your sibling over who was the owner of it. Sure, eventually you'd take turns, with the only monkey wrench in the system being your father who was equally amused by the little plastic trinkets. But eventually he'd throw it to the wolves and you and your brother or sister could get back to fighting over whatever it was.

When I mentioned it to the missus, she asked me if it made me feel old. I told her no, only sad. Sad that the girl and her siblings would never get to experience the simple magic that was the prize in the cereal box.

Upon a little further reflection, I guess that's why I'm glad we came back to the homeland. Right now, things aren't 100%. But that comes with moving and new lives. But I wanted the girl to be around her family, and I wanted her to see this place. I wanted her to see it before it got all fucked up and was completely unrecognizable. There's still magic in the sunsets and the open, rolling hills. There's still mysteries in the junipers and the sage and in the distant purple and blue mountains. I don't ever expect her to love this place, this place with all its beauty as well as all of its warts, as much as I do. I just want to share it with her. The good and the bad of it all, I want to share it with her.

There's prizes in other places than cereal boxes.

" . . . . . Followin' Me"

2007-01-26T10:12:00.000-08:00

I feel the need to type something, but what I don't know.

Neko Case's South Tacoma Way is pouring from my headphones. I love that damn song. I love the sentiment, I love the twangy guitar and everything else. I want to be the guy she's singing to. Or I'd even settle to be JP. It must feel good to be so important that you're sang about and to. Even if you never existed, for the moments her breathy voice breathes life into you, you were important.

And maybe that's just it. We all want to be important. Or maybe I'm the only self-centered one that wants to matter. Or to have mattered.

No, that ain't it.

I think it's more we all want to be a part of something beautiful.

I should get better sleep.

Yeah, I'm a Wild Man

2007-01-25T11:50:00.000-08:00

I did something last night I don't think I've done in years.

I drove without my seatbelt on.

It would have felt more liberating if there hadn't been an annoying dummy light in the dash flashing "Put on your seatbelt, dumbass!"

Oh, how I yearn for the cars of old.

I Suppose There's A Reason the Place Is Mostly Populated By Scandinavians

2007-01-24T21:29:00.000-08:00

Well, I gotta' say this about Minneapolis - it makes the 24 degree weather here feel downright balmy.

Overall, a very nice city. But cold. The downtown area felt like a mix of the turn-of-the-century (and I don't mean to the 2000's) architecture with some newer stuff mixed in. And there seemed to be sculptures everywhere! Every business, every sidewalk, every open space that still didn't have snow or ice in it seemed to have some sort of outdoor piece of art. Which doesn't make sense when you consider the place is cold 11 months out of the year.

Ate at a pretty good Italian resteraunt downtown named Zelos, which came very highly recommended by one of our clients. I had the risotto, and, to be honest, it wasn't the best I ever had. It was a little soupy and the garlic seemed to overpower the other flavors of the dish. Perhaps if I had ordered a Morettis to go with it instead of a Pepsi, the lunch would've been a little more, well, a little more. But the people watching was good and made me decide that the people of Minneapolis have to be some of the toughest sunsuvbitches out there. Some of these people were literally walking around in t-shirts. Granted, they may have been dashing from their little cubicle into a resteraunt or shop to grab a quick something to sustain them through the bitter cold afternoon, but still. The high was 17. And for some reason it felt colder than the 17 degree weather we've been having here. Let me reiterate: the place if fucking cold. To dont, or anyone with a map of North America, that's a pretty obvious statement. But I thought I had started to acclimate to the cold weather here in the homeland. But no. I'm a weather pussy.

The Mall of America was pretty fascinating, but not for the usual reasons to me. Yeah, a roller coaster and a ferris wheel and a log ride and an aquarium (apparently the largest underground aquarium in the world and it costs 16 fucking dollars to go through) are all pretty neat to see. But the place didn't feel like this obnoxiously large and overbearing mecca to consumerism. To the contrary. Each floor and shop felt intimate and there was a good mix of mom and pop shops with chain stores and big box outlets to make you feel like you were somewhere positive. We went there for dinner and ate at Ruby Tuesdays, a place with ads that usually make me feel like vomitting. But I'm happy to report that, for a chain resteraunt, it was pretty good. I had the Buffalo chicken burger with a monster Blue Moon and both were delicious. I'm glad to see Minnesota isn't afraid to serve up craft brews, unlike Illinois. Can't say one way or the other about Georgia. I'll have to investigate that further on my next trip to the ATL.

Overall, I really like Minneapolis. It felt like a nice place, though it was cold. C0lder than a well-diggers ass in January. The people seemed nice enough. Not friendly like Southerners are stereotyped as being, but warm enough to make you feel welcome if you actually had a chance to stop and talk to somebody.

And I can't believe I had to travel all the way to Minnesota to get my first glimpse of the Mississippi.

The RHS USA Tour 2007 Coming to:

2007-01-15T06:10:00.000-08:00

Minneapolis!!!

Alright, dont, anything that is a must see if you're in town for one night?

My traveling companian is stoked to see the Mall of America. Specifically the Hooters in the Mall of America. I told him if we go there we can't expense it.

Add This to the List . . . .

2007-01-08T22:27:00.000-08:00

. . . . . of commercials I hate: any of the new Citi-bank commercials. They irritate the shit out of me. Are we supposed to believe some schmuck is really going to schlep his family to the Amazon to meet "long lost relatives"? Of course not, but it's not even done in a way that's clever or funny. Or travel to Florida via crop duster? Could be good, but it's not. I hate those commercials with a blinding passion. And I've never been a fan of their viking raider ones either. I'm guessing they're supposed to appeal to hacks like Andy Borowitz. Perhaps that dipshit is the one who's writing them. Maybe him and Mike Brubigula are having a good laugh about them.

I could've been a good hack too.

Assholes.

I'm Okay, Really

2007-01-08T21:12:00.000-08:00

I don't what it is, but this year I've been sicker than shit. Like almost every week since mid-November. And now the missus is worried that I haven't been my old self lately.

Maybe I haven't. I haven't noticed, to be honest.

Yeah, I'm tired all the time and the laugh comes slower. I haven't been down, but I haven't been up either. It just seems like everytime I think a fight is over there's some other prick standing in line. If it isn't the fucking government (local this time) it's some other son of a bitch waiting to fuck you over or get away with whatever they can. And all I can say is listen up motherfuckers. This shit is gonna' come to an end.

But she is right about some things. Last week I got sicker than shit again. And no I don't really care for two of the three beverages I enjoy regularly - beer and coffee. I do enjoy gin, but not regularly.

Perhaps it's just the way of living in a constant run and stop that's getting to me. Maybe I am down. Or maybe I need to just take a long rest somewhere where no one can find me. Perhaps it's just paranoia taking its toll. Always looking over your shoulder will give you a sore neck, you know. And just because you're paranoid doesn't mean you're wrong.

So I guess, for now, I'll keep the reins slack and keep moving forward. After all, there's always tomorrow and if it's fucked the day after that.

How I Blew My Five Free iTunes Downloads from Avis

2007-01-05T00:45:00.000-08:00

Yup, I got free five iTunes downloads from Avis from my adventure in Atlanta. And no, I don't own an iPod (long story).

1. American Pie, by Don McLean
2. Nothing Better, by The Postal Service
3. The Sporting Life, by the Decemberists (and no, I'm not some college-student-wannabe trying to relive my university glory days by listening to college radio indy geek rock to maintain some sort of sad semblance of hipster street cred. I just really like that damn song! And when a friend lent me the album, it was truly the only song I liked on it. God bless single song downloads!)
4. Somewhere Over the Rainbow, by Israel Kamakw . . . . . . let's just call him IZ.
5. Cum On Feel the Noize, by Quiet Riot (interesting, did you know Apple sanitizes that title? Wussies.)

C'mon January! Oh, Umm . . . . .

2007-01-05T00:32:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a while. You might see a flurry of posts of wit and inspiration you'll think, "Wow! This guy should be given that hack Andy Borowitz's job at Newsweek!" or you'll be so sorely disappointed you'll have wished I'd kept my hands busy and my mouth the fuck shut. Or this may be the last post for a month or two. It's been that kind of winter.

But I do thank you all for your comments! =) It was nice to see them all.

Something the Missus Didn't Want to Hear the Girl Being Told While I Changed Her Diaper . . . .

2007-01-05T00:29:00.000-08:00

"Honey, when the government puts the heel of its jackboot on your throat you need to be strong and take up arms against the tyrants."

Another Late Night

2006-12-18T21:49:00.000-08:00

There's something about working late that makes me, I don't know, somewhat reflective, a little nostalgic and a little wanting to bare my soul to all you faceless readers out there. Well, those of you not posting pics and what not.

But I'll save you the soul-searching. And the confessional. But the nostalgia, well, if you keep reading then you fucked yourself over and can't blame me.

Being down here again is kind of weird. Outside the big town, not much has changed. And now we live right off the road I used to go barrelling over on my way to pick up the missus. It's just as I remember it, perhaps a little better. I feel like I'm seeing so much with fresh eyes. The hills are bigger than I remember and the land deeper. Instead of some areas being pressed between the hills and the highway, they seem to be opening their arms to me.

I know I've changed somewhere along the way. When and how, I'm not so sure. But somethings, thankfully, haven't. Like the wide open spaces. Or coming off the hill and looking at the ridges and bluffs down in California. I don't know if all people feel this way after their homecoming. Maybe it's being a descendant of homesteaders that make me feel this way. Maybe after being the fourth generation to live in this country and born in it, there's something deeper inside that pre-disposes me to loving this dirt and sagebrush and junipers and rocks. Or, maybe it's simply where I fell in love.

I don't know what it is, and to a degree I hope I never find out.

What, Me a Dumbass? I Feel I Need to Clarify . . . . .

2006-12-18T21:26:00.000-08:00

Okay, if you've read this lately you know I went to Atlanta. Whoopee. And with any luck, you may have read this comment:

" This is, by the way, Jamie's Cubicle Neighbor:

Oh, sweetie. You're so precious. Not from a big city, are ya?
Please, for your own sake, take your beginner's luck and run. Next time, say "No," don't make eye contact, and get in your damn car ASAP. Don't look nervous, though, attitude is everything, and fear can be fatal. Not to scare you or anything.

Ministry? Seriously?

Let me clarify: I'm not saying you're a dumbass. Just naive. I was once a small-town gal from South Carolina - then I moved to New Jersey.

Don't go to New Jersey anytime soon. Or, ask me before you do."

Okay, so now you know I don't know cities. But is Atlanta really that bad? Or am I just that naive?

And after circling Newark for 45 minutes and looking down on New Jersey, I so wanted to go see it. But maybe I'd just better be glad to not have had my ass handed to me. Or I look like such an incredible badass people don't want to fuck with me.

To think, for a little while I felt like Anthony Bourdain. A shorter, fatter version. And with a Carhart jacket instead of a leather one.

Ugh.

2006-12-10T22:35:00.001-08:00

I'm so sick of being sick it isn't even funny anymore.

And I hate those fucking Citi-bank commercials. If I ever get the opportunity to meet the creative team who developed them and the moron who greenlighted them, I'm gonna' serve them all a shovel up alongside their fucking heads.

Assholes. Very rarely does a commercial come along that makes me want to change the channel. But then there's that little gem. Those assholes. Fucking hacks.

24 Hours in ATL

2006-11-30T21:09:00.000-08:00

Well, maybe it's been more like 26 or even 27, but who's counting?

Had a good meeting with our clients. I even upsold something, and I'm not a damn salesman! And I saw a revolving door try to eat a security guard.

Anyways, I bucked up and went to the Gladys Knight Chicken and Waffle house. Gotta' be completely honest - it was pretty damn good! I order the chicken waffle (was chicken and red onions and peppers in a waffle, sounded interesting) but instead ended up with a chicken omlet. The waiter offered to get me the waffle, but he was looking all nervous and junk and I had a feeling between my first waiter's height, my inability to annunciate worth a shit and the fact I have constant ringing in my ears with it filled with snot (still) and may not have heard him right when he double checked the order, I figured, what the hell, go with it. And I'm glad I did. The omlet part was only okay. But the chicken and onions and peppers inside? Fucking fantastic! BTW, jamie, there were finely-dressed people in suits. I was in an old Carhart jacket and my swassest t-shirt (yeah, like Sir Mix-A-Lot swass!) and looked like an under-dressed honkey. Oh well. I am what I am. Since I was being brave and going with omlets (I'm really not a big fan, but damn the chicken in it was sooooooooo delicious!) when the waiter asked me if I wanted dessert, I said sure. Between the monster Cokes and the omlet, I was pretty damn full, but figured what the hell. So I asked him what he recommended. He smiled and said the sweet potato cheesecake. And it was also delicious! A little salty (not gross, but still), but it was damn good! So would I recommend this place? Hell yeah. Plus one of the hostesses was from Oregon. She had no idea where I was from, but I knew where she was from. I'll be back. But it wasn't the place I was expecting. And I wish I had another clean button-up shirt to wear there. Next time I'll know.

Outside the place I ended up talking to this Puerto Rican guy who was pretty nice. A hustler? Perhaps. He seemed like a decent guy and I ended up bullshitting with him for 20 minutes or so. And I gave him some cash. But he might of saved my white ass from getting "cracker-jacked" (that term cracks me up!). Anyways, turns out he's quasi-homeless or something and had/has a ministry and God told him to come to Atlanta. So he did. Now here's the crazy part. He's doing a helluva' good job being the pious guy (which is why I suspect he's half hustler) and talking about God and ministry and stuff, he asks me if I'm looking for the strip clubs. And which one to go to if I want a lap dance. Now this is a church I could get into! But I'm not the biggest fans of strip clubs (perhaps I'll post about that some other time) so I said thanks but no thanks. But still! That shit cracked me up! After visiting with him, and he warning me where not to go, and me being an out of towner and not knowing where to go, I decided I'd better just head back to the hotel.

The funny thing is that I saw the news last night. Shit does not sound good. But it's so hard to believe because everyone here is so nice. Everyone. Maybe it's because I have dopey-ass out of towner tattooed on my forehead. I dunno. At any rate, I like your town, Jamie. Good people here. And I think next time I'll try finding Cartoon Network and go to the History Center. And to Gladys Knight's Chicken and Waffles place.

10 Observations of Atlanta/Georgia After Being Here for Five Hours

2006-11-29T20:54:00.000-08:00

There are a lot of places to eat waffles.

The streets could be marked a little better.

The beer selection is better than Illinois, but not as good as my beloved Oregon.

The Mexican radio station is muy bien!

It's slicker than shit when it rains.

No toll roads are a damn good thing (you payin' attention, Illinois and Indiana?).

Though ATL is home of Cartoon Network, it doesn't come in worth a shit in my hotel room.

Did I see a snowflake flag while zooming around lost? Just seems odd in a place that isn't known for snowmobiling and skiing. But what the hell do I know? I've only been here for five hours!

No offense, O'Hare is a nicer airport. But I like it better than Newark!

Hey! There are fewer Starbucks here than in Seattle and NYC! Hooray!

Goddammit! When Did This Happen!

2006-11-27T21:27:00.000-08:00

Some how in the last thirteen years of being away from the homeland, I became a Valley Person.

I don't think you quite grasp the consquenses of this. See, around here where you're from is your identity (hence the reason I couldn't move right over the border without having to live with California plates on my car. It's bad enough the missus put a damn "Tree Cheers for the Aboretum!" bumper sticker on it. It's so Valley it ain't even funny. Well, maybe it is, when you think about some log truck driver reading my bumper and riding my ass. I swear, if some asshole decides he's gonna' pick a fight with me over that goddamm bumper sticker, I'm gonna' shove a dictionary up his ass and tell him to look the fucking word up) and there are certain types of people who are appreciated than others. Living right on the border means you can't necessarily judge a car by its license plate. And the same with some bumper stickers. But outside of Californians, the most loathed people are Valley people.

Yes, the beloved green land of rolling hills and gray skies that I used to affectionately write about loving and missing once I moved back here. And I do love the land over there. But a large majority of the people I could do without. Which makes it all that more painful to realize I somehow became one of them.

It's not in the most obvious ways. I don't have a "Nader" sticker on my car (which most people with Arborteum stickers do) and I don't wear Patagonia fleeces. But little shit, like being amazed that stores close at seven in the small towns or at nine in the large ones, or not carrying cash because I have a debit card, or waiting to the last possible moment to put studs on my car, shit like that is stuff I've grown used to not dealing with and is making me more like my Valley bretheren.

Please make no mistake - there's no shortage of rednecks or hicks or hillbillies in the Valley. As a matter of fact, I've never seen such an assortment. But they still have this sensibility that has them adapted to the rainy season and warmer weather and open 'til midnightedness that you only have on that side of the hill. Over here, not so much.

I have to buy snowboots. Hell, I don't know the last time I had real for real snowboots. I hated the snow (and after the last two days I'm remembering why) and there was no way I was going skiing or anywhere in the mountains that had to do with snow. I have to buy a new ice scraper. I only used my old one in September when it was too cold and clear to snow but just right for frost. And I have to run to the bank (yeah, it's not open after five or on the weekends at all) and get some more cash.

*sigh* Well, I suppose there are worse things in life than becoming a Valley person. It's just sad to think all these years the one thing I felt made me different than all those assholes up there was where I came from. Now I suppse that's what's making me different than all these assholes down here.

Yeah, Another Post About the Awesomeness of DBT

2006-11-20T10:33:00.000-08:00

Splurged on CD last night. One I've wanted for a while, well, since it was released. The Drive By Truckers "A Blessing and A Curse". If you haven't listened to them yet, you really ought to. Yeah, someone might try to classify it on ya and make it to where you might not want to listen to it. I've heard them called alt country, alternative, adult alternative, Southern rock, rock - think of something you'd call a band from the south that has twang mixed with the sound pouring from a flying V and you get the picture. All you need to know is they produce great fucking music. Bar none. They've got to be one of the best bands to come out in a helluva' long time.

Anyways, after dropping the girl off, I was listening to a song Patterson Hood wrote called "World of Pain". In it was this lyric/chunk of philosophy:

"To love is to feel pain" there ain't no way around it
The very nature of love is to grieve when it is over
The secret to a happy ending is knowing when to role the credits
Better role them now before something else goes wrong
No, it's a wonderful world, if you can put aside the sadness
And hang on to every ounce of beauty upon you
Better take the time to know it there ain't no way around it
If you feel anything at all

Go check them out. Drive By Truckers: Best Fucking Band Around. Period.

Right Now . . . . .

2006-11-14T00:09:00.000-08:00

I wish I were drinking a beer. Or at least had a nice beer buzz.

I wish I had a smoke. For some reason a cigarette sounds good. Maybe it's because the rain is killing the snow.

I wish I had gotten regular coffee instead of the super sweet fake-ass crappacino mucka bullshit I got.

I could go for a V8 as well.

I wish the fucking VPN worked with my satellite broadband. If it did I wouldn't be sitting here babysitting a fucking report.

I wish I had brought a sketch pad and some pencils.

I wonder where the Sunflower is and if she's happy. I hope so.

I also wonder how Joelemite is doing. Crazy fucker.

I hate these fucking reports!!!!!! ARRGGHGGHGH!!!!!!!! If I had a gun . . . . . . I'd have to buy a new fucking computer.

I wonder how far out I have to make an appointment with Jeff Gogue? The guy's a fucking prophet for his craft.

I'm tired.

I wish I knew how to weld.

I wish I had time and money to dump into the Olds.

I wonder if I should dump the Olds and get a pickup? I need a fucking pickup. I'm so sick of having to borrow them. Especially when I have to be grateful to drive some POS with touchy brakes and windows that don't roll up. I hate fucking borrowing shit.

I wonder if I should have majored in art instead of advertising? Probably would still be a parts driver if I did.

I hope it's not slick out.

I wanna' hear Janie Jones over and over.

I wonder when they're gonna' cut me loose.

I hope they don't.

Speaking of the Clash . . . . . .

2006-11-13T23:57:00.000-08:00

I really like the "London Calling" album. Out of the three I have, I think it's my favorite. Of course, if I were to pick a favorite song, it'd either have to be the Card Cheat, Janie Jones or Guns of Brixton.

It's funny though. Whenever someone asks me, I always tell them I hate '80's music. Then I start listening to this shit or Husker Du or the Replacements or some other band like that. Sure, they're not hair metal or any of that other poppy-bullshit. But they are something that spurred the movement in music today. And they are a product of their era.

This stupid-ass post is proof I need more meds and more sleep.

Thank you. Can I make a ten cuppa?

I Dunno . . . . .

2006-11-13T23:47:00.000-08:00

You ever sit down in front of your computer, feel like writing something but all that comes to your head is shit?

The Card Cheat is playing in my earphones. I love this damn song. I can almost see it being a graphic novel about a time traveler. I've more or less written it in my head. If only I could get motivated to do more than just think about it.

And I bitch about that about myself all the time - my lack of follow through. Maybe it's because I'm lazy. Maybe it's because I don't know how to end it so I never begin it. Or maybe it's because I realize, honestly realize, that I'm a hack. If I never produce anything, no one will ever now how big of a hack I am.

I'm good at my job. But I'm not great. I've made myself valuable, but not so valuable they didn't want to hire a boss for me. I wanted help, I got supervision. And why? It boils down to that for all my try and pluck, I'm a hack. Perhaps if I took some classes about html and junk I'd be worth more, but we get to the lack of follow through again.

Please don't mistake this for some sort of pity party. I think it's good to realize one's faults. I'd hate to think I was great and find out I was just a hack. Instead of going down, I can only go up. Assuming I get the follow-through thing handled.

Note from the Homeland

2006-11-03T13:19:00.000-08:00

Well, though life still feels all disconnected and I feel like I'm living in a floating world of sorts, all in all life is pretty good. I'm back where I (probably) belong, and, save a bum ankle, all are healthy and mostly happy.

Looks like there'll be more travel in my future as well: Atlanta. I gotta' admit, it's another city I've never had much interest in seeing, but it should be fun. Well, as fun as a flight and a night with a meeting can be. I've always wanted to see parts of the South, but the rural South. I guess urban areas are okay. But still, a city is a city, is it not? Please feel correct me if I'm wrong. And if there is something non-touristy that is a must-see while I'm in the ATL, DEFINITELY let me know. That's the stuff I really want to see.

It's supposed to snow any day now. I'm not all that eager for it; I have about 300 feet of fence to build before winter can start. I guess that's just the way it is. I just hope the ground doesn't freeze. Though snow is in the forecast, rain is here. And I love how it smells here when it rains. The wet juniper and sagebrush mix with the smell of loam and wafts off the hills in the most deliciously earthy scent. It smells so old and so familiar. The smell of wet firs and tall grass never smelled like home. This does, as does the smell of alfalfa at night and dry, stubborn heat. All of it familiar and ancient and welcoming.

Know Who Rocks?

2006-11-02T16:47:00.000-08:00

Motorhead!!!!! They're so wrong they're right.

I Can Do More than Bitch

2006-10-27T15:23:00.000-07:00

Well, all is well in the homeland. One house bought, the other sold - all is well. It's nice to not be living with the in-laws again, though I can't complain about their hospitality. They took the missus and the girl in for three months, which was then followed by a month of me, four cats and two dogs running around as well. But all in all, things are good now.

It's funny, we all worried me and my father-in-law would have problems. But honestly, we didn't have any. Regardless of my posts, my not a very aggressive person and he was a perfect gentleman. If anything I think we both came away with a better understanding of each other.

The new house is nice. It's not a friggin' mansion by any means, and we have to keep cleaning up crap left by the previous owners, but it's nice to have a place we can call home. Now that we got paid, we're going to convert the garage to bedrooms and open up the infamous "cat room". A cat room you ask? What's a cat room? Quite simply, it's a closed off sunroom that housed 18+ cats. Yes, 18 as in one eight, 9+9. Eighteen.

Did I mention I have a shop now? And this place is one acre larger than the previous? With room for the horses and a small field we can hay?

Yeah, we like it. At night the dogs go berserk over the coyotes. And the missus saw a bobcat on the way to work the other morning. We see herons and hawks and owls everywhere. It's funny though. Up in the valley, at our old place there was roadkill all the time. Same here. But the difference is the roadkill up there was usually cats, possums and raccoons. Down here it's primarily deer. Lots and lots of dead deer. Though the other day I almost turned a coyote into an insurance claim. Stupid dogs.

The cold, dark nights are the same as they always were, as are the millions of stars we can see versus just the thousands in the valley. But with cold, clear nights come sunny, below-freezing mornings. I'm not surprised by them. I just need to work at re-adjusting to them.

It's good to be home.

10 Things I Learned This Summer

2006-10-12T16:40:00.001-07:00

By the RHS, Grade 24

1. When you have no TV, you listen to a lot of late night talk radio.

2. Nobody ever calls Coast to Coast AM and says, "George, you guest is full of shit."

3. In all things, stick it to them before they stick it to you.

4. You can kill flies easier if you spray them with glass cleaner and then smash them.

5. Lonliness not a cheater make. You have to want to.

6. Fuck them before they fuck you over.

7. If you sell a car (or pickup in this case) cheap for mechanical reasons, sure as shit the guy who comes to buy it will easily fix it in your driveway and make you look like a complete dumbass.

8. The only people you owe a DAMN thing to are your family and your closest friends. Fuck the rest of 'em.

9. If the deal goes bad, the deal goes bad. Don't wait for them. Move on. (see lesson 6. and lesson 8.)

10. You can count on your family. Even those you don't think you can.

In 3's? I Sure As Hell Hope So.

2006-10-02T10:43:00.001-07:00

Aye. Will this shit ever end?

Friday was suppposed to be happy. The missus and I were going to sign our lives away on yet another piece property. I had been joking that I was now a land baron.

But guess what?

The fucking mortgage guy fucked up the paperwork. We couldn't close on Friday. And now I look just like that sonofabitch that's been fucking with my life. DAMMIT!!!!! When will this shit end?

The missus is worried we've done something bad. But thinking about it, if bad things happen in 3's, then that should be the end of it.

First was the fucker not giving the appraiser the earnest money agreement. He's such a fuck. A fucking conniving sack of fuckshit.

Second could be one of two things or the combination of both. Either way it boils down to them not being able to get their fucking shit together for the mortgage and having it fall apart in the final hour.

So, then this would be the third, right?

To top it off, I got to spend my morning cleaning cat piss off my monitor. The fucking cat (who knows which one it was) also managed to piss on my nice, comfy, expensive (expensive to me!) headphones.

Fucking shit.

Lead with the Chin

2006-09-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

Well, guess what? The deal fell through. After all summer of dealing with these people, being apart from my girls, then finding out the fucking weasel didn't give the appraiser the earnest money agreement the first go round and has been lying since; after all the bullshit; after all the frustration and other emotions, the house ain't sold.

I'm sick of this shit. I'm sick of those people. The missus isn't mad at them - just frustrated at the situation. She says it isn't their fault the loan didn't go through. She doesn't trust them, but she doesn't hold any ill-feelings against them.

Me, I do. I hate them. Or at least him. His bullshit kept me from my family. His lying kept us from moving on. He took from me something that I can never get back. There will never be "even". Kicking out the teeth he lied through won't get me anything. Burning down the barn they're building won't get me anything. I lost my little girl's first summer. I missed kisses and more firsts than I like to think about. There is nothing he or I or anyone else can do to make that right. I missed time with my wife. I missed cuddling and making love and late night conversations about nothing. There is nothing that sonuvabitch can do to make that right either.

They had all fucking summer to get their shit grouped. It ain't my fault they can't get their fucking house in order. It ain't my fault they aren't trustworthy enough to qualify for a loan. But because we tried working with them, we got fucked. FUCKED! I just want to move on! I'm sick of his lying and his bullshit!

I hope nothing good ever happens to him again. Unfortunately, that will only hurt their little boy, which I don't want.

I don't care what his wife says about him being a good person; to me, he will always be a fucking liar and a thief.

Dammit. Fuckit.

2006-09-19T17:07:00.000-07:00

It's been a shitty week so far. Just bad stuff all around and I try not to let it get me down, try to let old resentments go, and here they are again, bobbing around in my head again like, like, like a turd you can't flush.

the worst of it is that I can see how one person's actions has led to this. I hate him. I know it's a powerful word. But it's true. I despise him. I hate him for all he has robbed me of; though I hate myself for buying his lies and hanging around that place, alone and lonely. I hope he enjoyed having his family around. And I hope they find out what a son of a bitch he is.

and I'm sorry, Casper.

Back in the Homeland

2006-09-15T14:58:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm here. Not in my own home, yet, but hopefully come October I will be. The in-laws were kind enough not only to have the missus and the girl stay with them all summer, now they've welcomed me, two dogs, three cats, two horses and a bird. Good people they are. =)

It's nice to be here with my family. I know it isn't the place I left over ten years ago, but as much as things have changed so many things have remained the same. The same dirty little towns are much like they were ten years ago, save the fact there are a lot more Spanish-based signage. The same kinds of people are fighting the same kinds of battles, whether they be poverty, alcolohism, drug-abuse, domestic abuse or whatever, but hell, there's those troubles in the place we left. It's just I know it's down here and where it's at. Up there, it was more like the resteraunt with the nice front and the dirty kitchen. But I'm home. And I feel like I'm at home.

Being with my girls is a blessing in itself. I got to see the girl put together enough steps to qualify her first walk. I wake up every morning with the missus snuggled up to my back or on my chest. It's nice to know they've missed me as much as I've missed them. And being back here with them as quenched my thirst for gasoline and matches. I still dislike those people with the intensity of the flames I yearned to set, still think he's a son of a bitch, don't trust them as far as I can throw them and feel they owe me a summer. Lying does that. Lying and keeping me from my loved ones does that. Lying and keeping me somplace instead of enabling me to move on does that. All I can do is take their money and be thankful we're halfway done.

And after the check has cleared then maybe raise some hell.

The End Is Nigh . . . .

2006-09-01T10:33:00.000-07:00

or is it? We won't know until we actually have money in hand. Meanwhile I've decided to make the hard decision - to give up the Revelator (aka the Monster Zero aka the Jinx aka the Olds). And the old GMC. The missus said I could take the proceeds from both sales and buy something else. So now I'm eye-balling an old Ford pickup with a flathead 8 under the hood or getting a late 40's or early 50's coupe. Yeah, I'm dreaming. But right now that's all I've got.

I cannnot wait to get moved in. I'm so sick and fucking tired of living like this. This whole in-between land. It gets old. Everything is constantly shifting and there are people you have to depend on that you don't trust. Just know this - you can be honest with someone, and while they might act earnest, it's not the same as honest.

But I have learned a lot of lessons this summer. I'll have to get into more of those at another time. However, there's one that I know too well now - only do what's best for you and your kin. Fuck everyone else.

If You're Gonna' Fuck With Someone's Life Then It's Best to Keep Your Goddamm Mouth Shut About It.

2006-08-14T13:02:00.000-07:00

yeah, I'm pissed.

And the fucker this is aimed at won't ever read this.

That Better Not Be a Train

2006-08-09T18:17:00.000-07:00

First, an apology. I'm sorry for anyone who thought there was actually a horse being starved to death. It was just a straight-up analogy for running a business into the ground. On a high note, the old mare I've been vetting on since early December is almost healed up (finally!!!). It's funny- before she moved to our place I thought she was a doll. Then I thought she was a nag. Now, me and her have an understanding. But I guess after damn near nine months of me taking bandages on and off of her and dealing with the ups and downs of the whole damn situation, you'd build a bond. It's been a long time since she's tried kicking me while I tried to get her wrapped.

You know, I think there's finally a light at the end of this godforesaken tunnel. We finally came to terms with Mr. Shithead and his wife, so we might have a house sold. And we've found one!!! Similar acreage, nicer house and a shop set up with 220. Time for me to learn to weld!

I've got to keep looking ahead. I'm so damn lonely and tired and stressed and hormonal and overwhelmed I've got to keep pushing forward or I'll collapse. I've got too much on my plate. But I know if I make it through this week, there's only a mountain and a four hour drive between me and my girls (who are as stressed as I am but doing well, thank you for asking cant!). When I see the missus she hates for me to leave and the girl gives me all her attention. It's painful to think of how much I'm missing. I hate to think because of false-hearted buyers and the rest of the gamers and snakes out there I'm missing out on my girl and the missus. I've missed so goddammed much. Too much. Smiles, kisses, crawls, tears - the whole damn thing. I'll be damned if I miss anymore.

But I will. I'm a traveling business-type person now. Next week is NYC. Next month St. Paul (you know where that is, dont!), and then after that who knows where. Seattle. SoCal. Chicago. Miami. Who knows. I try not to think about it. It's what I do to help provide for my girls and keep them in insurance. I hope she understands later.

When the Field's Wide Open . . . .

2006-07-27T15:16:00.000-07:00

Does it make any fucking sense to starve a racehorse just because it hasn't been winning lately?

The Decline of Heroes

2006-07-21T13:11:00.000-07:00

Speaking of role models, if you're gonna' have an athlete be your role model keep it to horses, dogs or bulls.

They don't open up their stupid gobs and say stupid shit.

TGIFF

2006-07-21T13:07:00.000-07:00

What a crazy ass week. I'm so damn glad it's over.

I'm in a fucked up mood too. I'm tired, horny, lonely, a little pissy and not taking the shit I need to take seriously serious enough. It's the kind of mood that would have me lighting dumpsters and shit on fire just because I wanna' see that shit go up. So, I'm not in a bad mood, but as you can see in a fucked up mood.

But I'm getting on the road, driving the three plus hours over the hills to see my girls. For a day and a half I can forget about this shit, get my head straight and come back Monday (or Sunday night) ready to hit it hard. Well, harder than this. I'm just fucking tired.

And I need a positive role model.

And the Goal Is . . . . ?

2006-07-20T16:39:00.000-07:00

I think what it all boils down to is whether or not you're a man (or woman) of your word. I've been striving lately to do what I say I'll do. It's hard and sometimes I hate it. Sometimes after I've said I would do something, I really wish I could take it back. Hell, recently it would've netted me $2,500.

You only want to do what you think is right (name the band who sang that line for extra bonus points!) and if that's what you're trying to do, no one can fault you, right? Sometimes it doesn't seem that way, but I try to think it don't matter as long as I can sleep at night. But even doing the right thing leaves me tossing and turning into the wee hours of the morning.

I know all of this is headed somewhere. But I just have to figure out where. Perhaps that's the goal.

Oh! The Places You Will Go!

2006-07-20T07:40:00.000-07:00

Well, I can add another airport and, thanks to the dumbasses at MapQuest, two more states to the places I've been.

In this super short I'm-doing-this-so-I-don't-get-out-of-the-habit post, all I can say is if your first impression of Chicago is the neon-lit tunnel that takes you out to the cabs and busses, then it's fucking awesome. The oddly bent and twisted neon tubes, flashing on and off for a modern art-deco feel made me think this is a place for good times and not the gritty, hard-panned, fight for everything city I've imagined it to be. If only I could have spent more time there than I did and experience more than the airport and toll-roads. Maybe someday.

And now I've been in Illinois and Indiana. I can say Gary has to be one of the saddest places I've ever driven through. But it's still not as horrible as Rock Springs, Wyoming. That place is a bonafide shit hole and I'm pretty sure if I go to hell it's going to look like Rock Springs.

I Swear . . . .

2006-07-11T16:59:00.000-07:00

. . . . I'm gonna' kill a mutherfukker!

I'm gonna' get revenge on the mutherfukkers who are edited job related junk and then I'm gonna' burn down the place that fucked up the order of flowers that were supposed to go to the missus.

Fuck! You'd think I was asking for the fucking moon! Just deliver the damn flowers when I tell you to!

-edited job related junk (it really is a good company, I'm just a little frustrated right now. 12 hour days will do that to you)-

Oh- and don't get me started on this whole house-selling bullshit!

Breathe deep

Okay, I feel better for now. Where'r my smokes, gin and firearms?

Eight Years Ago, at a Fairgrounds Near the Homeland . . . .

2006-07-11T08:32:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversay of the day the missus and I stood together and told our friends, family and the rest of the world we promise to love each other forever and hell or highwater or any other force will not tear us apart.

Right now three and a half hours and a mountain range are between us.

So, It's Been A While . . . .

2006-07-10T20:57:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's been over a month since I last posted anything. And what a helluva' of a month it's been.

Backstory: A while ago my wife was offered a position in the family biz as corporate counsel (yeah, she's an attorney. Luckily I don't have anything she'd want if she ever got sick of my shit!) back in the homeland. We talked it over. With the girl and the lack of family, hell, let's face it, we're pretty fucking anti-social so there's not even many friends to lean on, the missus and I decided we oughtta' head back home. We want our girl to know her grandparents and, with any luck, her remaining great grandparents. And it is our homeland. Up here, we're nobody. Our family name means nothing. Sure, we're starting to establish ourselves. But there's still something to be said about going back to the land you loved and the people there, for better or worse.

So, things went swimmingly. My job told me I could work from home. Some bad shit went down with her job, so her boss basically told her she was done working for the firm at the end of the month. She had planned to stay through September. This is why you never, ever, give anyone more than two weeks notice. YOU WILL GET FUCKED.

As a result, she had to go to home to the biz sooner. With the girl, which makes sense. But I'm stuck up here in hippie hell all by myself trying to sell our house.

Honestly, so far it isn't too bad. I've been so busy with my new "promotion" and all the bullshit that I haven't been home for long during the last two weeks. But I still miss them horribly. I hate the empty house. I hate the car rides home without the girl. The beautiful sunsets are worthless without anyone to share them with.

So, there's the super-condensed version of the last three months. I'm stressed, tired and probably worst of all, lonely. But everytime I start to feel sorry for myself or think about the firsts I'm missing, I just have to remember at least there are firsts to miss. And it can always be worse.

If going home alone, to an empty house, is the worst thing that happens to me today I should consider myself lucky.

More bitching to ensue . . . .

Confession Time

2006-06-09T07:27:00.000-07:00

Since there are only really two people who read this thing, I feel fairly safe in confiding these things.

- I enjoy Golden Girls re-runs. Liked 'em when they were fresh, still like 'em now. And Betty White was so much hotter than Rue McClanahan.

- I regret not finishing my minor.

- I still think about an old friend I haven't spoken to or seen in over 10 years, yet every once in a while I Google her name, or her name as I knew it.

- I'm afraid of shit I can't control.

- When I'm stressed I'll buy a pack of smokes.

- I'm jealous of my brother, who can work on cars, tool leather, break horses and do anything else that catches his interest.

- I'm envious of people who can just throw it all away and carve their own path.

- I lie. Not a lot. But sometimes.

None

2006-06-06T08:11:00.000-07:00

You just get the feeling all this will wash away. Our comfort, our un-ending days of technology and promise, here forever, taken away in a furious storm of uncertainty and faith that will crush the infratstructure. No matter how hard you fight it, it will come and there will be nothing you can do to stop it. Though it's our fight, we'll take it individually, tackling our problems individually before taking arms to fight them together.

We've allowed the infrastructure to make us weak. Now they'll come in and finish the job.

A Wee Bit of Reflection

2006-05-31T13:56:00.000-07:00

You guys, I'm tired.

Everything feels all fucked up but right now, at this very moment, whether it's exhaustion or some other reason, I feel at peace. But I know it's not for long.

And no one ever said the right decision was the easiest one.

I get to do the artwork for another concert poster, which has me a little excited. Now only if there were a way to make some fucking money off of this stuff. It also has me excited with the thought of getting another tattoo. Actually, it'd just be adding to the one I already have. But still, something to look forward too.

After talking to my father-in-law last weekend, I've decided I need to be a little more lenient about how I go about dealing with co-workers and clients. Somewhere along the line I've turned into an asshole. Well, a bigger asshole.

I'm tired of pissing people off. Let me rephrase that. I'm tired of pissing off people I care about. I don't want them sad or mad. I just want them to understand.

But I guess understanding is what we all want.

That's Fucking Disgusting.

2006-05-25T07:41:00.000-07:00

So I work in a professional-ish office building, which means, for the most part, the people are clean and should do things like wash their hands. We're talking in theory. Honestly, in a lot of ways the bathroom at the Toyota dealership I worked at was cleaner. Or at least I didn't feel like I needed to wash my ass directly after taking a shit.

The new thing is someone is leaving little black pubic hairs on the toilet seat. I don't know how people can flush the toilet, look down and not think, "Gee, I wonder if I should brush those into the toilet real quickly?" No. They don't. Instead, it's probably more like' "Watch this! Someone is going to be carrying my DNA on their ass!" or "I OWN this toilet."

Yesterday, someone decided to leave ass lint on the back of the toilet too. That's just fucking disgusting. Why in the hell would you leave ass lint? Why not just piss all over the fucking toilet seat while you're at it?

Finally, there's some guy with his guts rotting out or something. Nice enough guy, however, everytime he takes a dump and you lift the seat to take a piss, it looks like someone detonated a diarrhea bomb in the toilet. Everyday, he does this. His asshole must be raw! I just wish he'd change his diet.

Now the goal is to change my schedule. I'm hoping to get it set so I don't have seat the throne until I get home. I'm trying to slowly push back an hour a week. I'm hoping at the end of five weeks I'll be able to wait until I get home. At least there, I know who is doing the disgusting stuff.

Burden

2006-05-24T15:57:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just stumble down the track and you know you're gonna' say something you regret and do something you regret and once that person's gone, they're gone. That's it. You're so pissed at them and you're tired of feeling sorry for them. You love them. But you're still angry and a little hurt.

Yet, you know all this time is short. You don't know how short. It just is and you can feel it in the core of your soul. And mayber you're wrong. You've been wrong before. Hell, you're wrong all the fucking time and why would this be any different, right?

There's that part of you that's about ready to wash your hand of the gahdamm thing and be done with all of it. But you don't. You know there'll be regret later. And you know when they're gone, they're gone.

Stop

2006-05-23T13:26:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I haven't been around. That doesn't mean I haven't been reading. ;)

I'm tired. Tired of it all. I'm tired of being pissed. Tired of feeling like I want to fight everybody. I'm tired of feeling like I'm fighting everybody. I just want to do things my way. I just want people to fucking take care of themselves.

I want to be like Barbaro. Ready to take on the world. Even when gimped, he's trying to run. They vet him and he's ready to get back to the business of sniffing mares and jumping and kicking. What a heart he must have! It can't all be instinct. It can't all be just nature. He's a fighter. He doesn't give up, get tired or get discouraged.

We should all be lucky to be him.

The Most Wonderful Time of Year

2006-05-05T14:39:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the day of the Kentucky Derby, one of the only three sporting events I actually make an effort to watch (the other two being the Preakness and the Belmont). I love watching those horses run. It's a thing of beauty; it's all they know so they give it their all. Remember Giacomo and Afleet Alex from last year? Giacomo was a long shot and won it while Afleet Alex ran an amazing race that was all heart. That animal went off the rail and back in. It was one of the most amazing things I ever say. Even right now I can see the horse's determination to win. Talk about your ifs; if only the jockey had sat that horse before Afleet Alex could have been a Triple Crown winner.

I don't know a whole helluva' lot about horse racing. I just love to watch them run. A month ago I was stoked about Bluegrass Cat, but he just got a jockey this week. However, his trainer is one of those guys who consistently turns out great horses and the jockey has ran the derby before.

I'm also interested in Barbaro. Odds are looking pretty good for him. He's just a beautiful animal. Bob and John is another horse I'm watching. The odds have been slowly slipping, but there's a great jockey on him so it could be the one.

One of the prettiest horses in the whole damn thing is Steppenwolfer. He's a blue roan/gray beast that looks more refined than anything you'd see in the Louvre. I know my granma's going for him because she always bets the grays.

Sweetnorthersaint is a little guy that looks like he's built for speed. If he's not weighted down too much, his lean build might be the one you see taking the roses. From what I can tell this 10-1 shot is good in the mud, though it looks like it's not going to be all that sloppy. But still, you never can tell!

Though the Derby is exciting, I love the Preakness. There's so much at stake for the winner of the Derby that the drama is just overpowering. The dreams made after the winner crosses the line at the Derby are either furthered or shattered at the Preakness. What more could you ask for?

So you see the five I'm pulling for. I'm still trying to pick a favorite. Who you pickin'?

Cherry Blossom Snow

2006-04-26T15:45:00.000-07:00

I don't know, maybe it's the time of year or something but I've been thinking a lot about the people I was close to but have now drifted away from. It's funny that there are some people you think you'll always be in touch with and it kills you to go for an amount of time without hearing from them then to transition into this weirdo state where they still cross your mind all the time but you just don't give them a call. I'm missing some more than others, but I guess that's life. Maybe some day I'll be brave and write about them or better yet write them.

It's beautiful here today. The sky is an optimistic blue but there's still gray on the horizon to keep you in your place. There's a huge cherry tree in our pasture and the blossoms are still huge and white and clustered together like snowballs. The next few weeks are the most beautiful at our little house. The apple trees will start blossoming along with the pear trees and plum trees and cherry trees and when the wind hits the tired blossoms it'll snow petals. Our yard will be littered with apple blossom confetti. It's beautiful and sad all at once to see the petals on the spring breeze because you know you're living in a perfect moment that passes as quickly as the blossoms fade.

I feel an ending in my bones and in my chest. I guess I'm ready for it.

Keep 'Im Muzzled

2006-04-13T06:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, so the other day the missus, girl and I were going to the PC to get a few things for dinner. Just a few things we didn't have and missed on our big shopping excursion to the WinCo.

Right in front of the store are five parking spots, two labeled for senior citizens. Naturally, I didn't park there but next to the last senior's spot. While I'm getting the girl and the missus is getting out, this older guy, getting out of some sort of piece of shit station wagon, looks at us and says, "Looks like senior citizens are getting younger and younger!"

I smiled at him with an eat shit smile, but I always assume people are being assholes. At first the missus thought he was making a joke at himself, but when she gave a polite laugh he didn't smile. After the gimped-up motherfucker hobbled into the store, the missus asked me if I thought he was referring to where we parked. I answered yes.

The big question is why do people take it upon themselves to try "put" people in their places when they're so fucking wrong? Does he think he has a right to every fucking parking place close to the entrance of the store? Honestly, I gotta' tell ya pregnant women and women with newborns deserve those spots as much as some old bastard does. Does he know how to fucking read??!?!? The old folks spots are clearly labeled! Obviously he lost his fucking reader when he treking through five feet of snow to get to school. I do believe we should respect our elders, but when someone like that who isn't paying enough fucking attention to read the goddamm parking spots is going to try and "put me in my place", he better watch his fucking step. And learn to read. You're making my people look bad, you ignorant old fuck.

I guess I just get tired of people like that. In their own ways, they're self-righteous bullies. I've been bullied by people like that all my life and I'm fucking sick of it. I know I have an attack dog mentallity, and for the most part I do a good job of keeping it leashed. But that leash is gonna' snap.

Hell No, I Ain't Happy

2006-04-07T12:50:00.000-07:00

Ah fuck.

What a week. You ever just feel like you're fighting the whole damn time and you finally make some headway and then end up fighting again? I'm just tired of it. My big stress is more or less put to bed. I edit (read as write damn near every fucking article for) a magazine for a local cruise. The group that are organizing it are a great group of people. They work hard, want to have a good time and have big hearts. However, they're weren't happy with the fact I didn't make it to all the meetings they had (didn't know it was required). In the end there was a big fight and someone quit. It's just not worth it. They want me to do it next year but if some members feel I'm part of the problems they had in the past, it isn't good. And they need the person who quit. I'm sad it ended like that.

Then there's work. Everytime I feel like I'm gaining some ground something changes and I end up back at square one. Plans are being made without my involvement unintentionally, but it's getting old just the same. I'm sitting here scratching my head wondering if the promotion was worth it.

And I think I pissed off the missus but I don't know how and she's the last person I want to fight with.

I'm just tired. If my confidant were available I wouldn't be writing a tired, whiny-ass post. Life isn't horrible. I'm just tired of fighting, that's all. I want to go lay in the grass and take a nap in the sun or something.

Well, . . . .

2006-04-03T15:42:00.000-07:00

I'm tired you guys. Real tired. If I can make it through Thursday I'll be alright.

My fucking eyes hurt and my head hurts and I'm just fucking tired. If I were marching home I'd stop and sleep in the cold snow. But I'm not and there's no snow.

Long Time No Write!

2006-03-28T15:40:00.000-08:00

All right you all, look who's back!!!!! =)

Before I go any further, I have to give a big thanks to Samantha of the support crew. She's the one who did the leg work on this little adventure and got me back in bidness, so to speak.

So, I haven't just been a busy prick who doesn't write anymore. I've been a busy prick who hasn't had access to his blog! That's all.

Anyways, hope to catch you all sooner than later. And I guess by all, I mean both of you. You two have been checking in and making me feel loved and it's great. I know it might come off as sarcastic, but I mean it. Thank you.

Hey All

2006-02-22T07:34:00.000-08:00

When you see that someone you love or all the people you love, stop and tell them so. Give them hug or a kiss or both.

"Bob Dylan's Dream" Is Stuck in My Head, Ears

2006-02-21T06:25:00.000-08:00

I had a dream lastnight about the me and the missus and the tart and her boy and my brother and one of my cousins. Nothing interesting, except for the fact we were all together and I was trying to balance the excitement of the tart visiting with catching up with my brer and my cousin.

It's also hard to find anything to post about. There's lots. But I read a post by someone that was absolutely crushing and made me think about all the chaos in my life and how none of it matters. Not when it's the big stuff. The stuff that matters. I keep saying it. I just need to keep remembering it. This chaos will sort itself out and will be forgotten or laughed about over beers down the road. But what matters are things like the people in the dream I had. All this is tertiary.

I'm private, and I try to keep at least a somewhat modicum of anonymity and I try to pass that along. So peace and love to you. Nothing is easy- especially this. My heart goes out to you and your friend's family if you read this.

VD

2006-02-15T10:07:00.000-08:00

Coincidence Valentine's Day and venereal disease share common initials?

Anyways, it's never been a holiday really celebrated by the missus and me. The most traditional and romantic thing we do is order a heart shaped pizza. Our first VD I got her a brick of .22 shells and a bag of glass to break.

But this time it was different, though not intentionally so. I wanted to get her something special, just for being such a great mother and wife. She pointed out a piece of jewelry in the paper she liked, and it just so happens it's been a piece I've been wanting to get her for a while. So, after a couple of days (well, we went yesterday), the girl and I sneak down to the jewelry store, get for her and I dress the girl up in a frilly velvety frock to display her mom's new necklace.

Turns out it was a good surprise. Though it took her a while to figure out the girl had it on. And that it had diamonds.

Damn It

2006-02-15T06:31:00.000-08:00

I hate fasting. Probably a good thing I'm not Muslim.

It's only for 12 hours, but no coffee, beer, gin or food until after the blood test. Lovely. I feel sorry for the people around me. I'll be tired, cranky or goofy or all the above.

And there's friggin' candy everywhere.

What I'd do for coffee right now.

Almost There!

2006-02-10T12:48:00.000-08:00

I'm so close to getting my free iPod I can almost taste it! I have 3 for sure's and just need two more to go. I'm so excited. I know it's something stupid and I could better focus my energy on something else. But it's kind of fun and has given me something else to think about other than the other shit that keeps me awake at night.

Sometimes it's these little things that are fun to fill in the spaces of the day. Yeah, I could be obsessing about the Middle East or our educational system or where I'm going to be if I get shitcanned, but those are all issues so far out of my control it's not as much fun. Doesn't mean I don't give a damn. But will I get a free iPod or a free laptop for expressing my concerns to five people and then getting them to express their concerns? Hell no! Besides, there are so many better written, more well thought out political blogs than I could ever do. I mean, those people put effort into that shit and write daily about it and study it. Me, not so much. So I'll go after my free iPod instead.

I'm hoping for the 30GB Video iPod in black.

Best $12.50 I Ever Spent

2006-02-09T07:11:00.000-08:00

Alright, so Pedro sat for a month or two. I thought the radiator was totally shot and I was going to have to replace it. Turns out a little Stop Leak and clean radiator fluid were all I really needed. So now I can turn the JoeMobile back in and be done with that. I'll miss the CD player but not much else.

So anyways, apparently in this part of the world mold will grow on your car if it sits too long. It's fucking disgusting. Now, Pedro not only has the stink from the previous owner's dogs and cigars, plus the three years of not being cleaned by yours truly, but also the funk of mold and mildew. And I have to drive the girl around in this nasty SOB. What's a fella to do? Take it to the car bath.

You're probably scratching your head and saying, "No shit, Red. Take your car to the car wash. You're fucking genius." Bear with me. I come from a line of people that believe you wash your own car unless you're lazy. One problem- I hate washing cars. I love driving them. But washing them sucks. I hate it.

So I take Pedro, with 3 years of filth and a fresh coat of black mold to the car wash. So did a bunch of other people. But the end result was beautiful. They cleaned up most of the mold, scraped off the carbon build up on the paint and made him cleaner than he's been in, well, 3 years. It's beautiful. I'm never washing my car again. Ever. Why do it when these people will do it better than me?

God Bless Elite Car Bath.

Surprise Surprise Surprise

2006-02-04T17:10:00.000-08:00

What a delightfully gloomy Saturday. It's the kind of day where whenever you go outside you get soaked through your heavy canvas jacket, making it easy for the wind to get through the material and freeze you right to the bone. The clouds are just hanging dark and gray, threatening to dump even more rain into our already swollen rivers and ditches. The darkness of noon makes your little home seem like a dark little cave lit by the flashing blue fire of your television screen. It's the perfect day to spend huddled up under an old quilt your great grandmother patched together and watch whatever meaninglessness your satellite zaps onto your TV screen.

Where am I? At work.

I'm stressed. I knew balancing family and work would be tough, but throw in the aggravation of a paying side project and it's a situation perfect for overeating, over-drinking and chain smoking. Luckily I don't smoke and I've cut down on alcohol (down, not off). Guess who's going to gain 100 pounds in the next month?

In today's modern world where we've come to realize the importance of family and the whole "you can't take it with you" mindset, a few things surprise me. Like how even though I've arranged with my supervisors to pick up the girl early twice a week and I'm coming in an hour early to leave an hour early (which is within company policy) that I still kind of get a cold shoulder from some of the men on my team. What's even more surprising is they're from the supposedly insightful and kind "Generation Y" that Newsweek thought would be the saviour of the lazy, slacker "Generation X". Whatever. Those titles were stupid. And it's not like I don't get along with them- it's just when it's time for me to leave and I tell them goodbye for the day it isn't met with the usual "see ya laters" and other stuff. It's a quiet mumble and barely the acknowledgement of my exiting. I'm not expecting parades and tears; I'm just surprised that it's changed from what it was. And maybe it's because I was always the one telling them goodbye as they walked out the door on time while I stayed late.

The other thing that surprises me is how much of a failure you feel like you are. You don't feel like you're putting in the hours that are expected of you at work, yet you don't feel like you're giving the family the attention you feel they deserve. It's just like Christmas with divorced parents, but daily.

However, what's most surprising is how happy I am right now. Maybe I'm too tired to know. Maybe I just really could give a fucking shit and if I get sacked or whatever happens happens and I know it's not the end all be all. There's more important shit going on.

I'm finally learning my job doesn't define me.

I'm also learning that a little girl combined with the love of a good woman makes it even harder to get anything done.

Choices

2006-01-27T10:06:00.000-08:00

Ohh, damn I wish I had money and the ability to convince the missus we need more cars.

I love the Monster Zero. I do. It was the rig my brother rodeoed and worked in. The big black beast just floats down the road with the power and grace of a Cadillac of the same vintage. Plus, since it's an Olds, not everyone and their friggin' brother have one, unlike Cadillacs. Don't get me wrong- I love Cadillacs. But there is something to be said about standing out.

I even know what I want to do to the Monster. drop the ass end 5-6 inches, the front maybe 2 or 3, flat black for paint with a matching white top, scrape off the handles and get some new hubcaps. Just a mild, but mean, custom to match it's personality.

But then I read about a 1928 Ford coupe project someone is abandoning. They have a 283 ready for it and everything. The son of a bitch is already 80% finished. Price, they'd trade for a 56 Ford pickup (which I can scrape up a 51 with the original Flathead under the hood, if they'd take that). I already know what I'd do to it too. Either flat black or a real faded blue, skull or star on the doors and tool heavy leather for door panels. It'd be right on par with what they were doing back then, but I think the door panels I'd create would set it apart from the rest.

With the girl the last thing I should be doing is looking at another fucking car. But this is serious old school. they don't make these at all anymore. And I know the missus would prefer it the Monster. However, I still love the Monster. It's the perfect family cruiser and the monster engine and tranny could pull the piss out of a horse trailer.

Arrrggh!

The truth is I probably won't do a damn thing. But the fact whenever I see something from the pre-1959 era I want it and am almost willing to part with the Olds. Maybe that's a sign. After all, a car is just a car, no matter how fucking cool it is.

Here's to Keeping Your Mouth Shut

2006-01-25T12:38:00.000-08:00

Oy, life has been busy still. And it's going to get busier yet. But that's okay.

You ever feel like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders and you know something's changed and while you'll miss the weight and the feeling of it, the relief is better?

Something that had been bugging me for almost a year had been bothering me. Sometimes it was worse than others because it really changed how I saw myself and how, if I went with my heart versus my head, it could potentially re-arrange lives. I thought it out on long drives home and in the dark when I tried to sleep. At times I thought I had kicked the feelings and then they'd come back, making me yearn even more something I knew I couldn't have and would regret going after.

There were times the temptation to say something to someone was there and as torturous as it was I kept my mouth shut, all but actually saying what it was.

But I kept my mouth shut. I dealt with it as internally as possible. Then something happened that was completely out of my control and gave me an insight into things. That insight, as slight as it was, changed everything. Things are clearer. And that nagging feeling that dogged me for so damn long is gone. And because I thought more before I spoke I didn't wreck anything.

It feels good.

Things that make me smile

2006-01-25T10:14:00.000-08:00

Old ladies driving 77 Firebirds with the shaker hood. Watching the missus and the girl sleep. Big dents in fancy cars, especially European ones. Smiles from my girls. Watching corgis run. Really cloudy and warm days. Dark beer. The burburling of the Monster Zero's (formerly called The Jinx) 455.

Looking Back

2006-01-10T13:06:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I know most people do their reflective, introspective end of year stuff in December or January 1. But I've never done anything on time, so why start now?

You know, for a year that started off kind of so so, filled up the middle with an incredibly long down period, it ended pretty well. Or rather, at least November was good, and you all know why!

At any rate, it seems like it's one of those deals that I learned a bit about myself and bit about other people in general. Yeah, that's a pretty obvious statement. But looking back it seems like that's what I spent a lot of time doing, figuring shit out. I thought this growing up shit was easy and would be over with by now. Maybe it's good that it isn't.

The things I learned about other people are rather pessimistic. Like how it's all right if it's your guy pulling shit but if it's my guy pulling that shit then there'll be hell to pay. Or how if you don't do something that needs to be done you can't get in trouble for doing it whereas the guy who does will. But there's also good qualities, like the kindness of strangers and the loyalty of friends.

About myself? That you can't understand what people say about love until you've actually experienced that. The girl taught me that lesson. I've also learned that I'll never be happy working for someone else. Also I need to find a better way to cope with down cycles. Then there's the whole I have the potential to be like my old man. And I also need to just start doing instead of just wanting to do because I'll get nowhere on that plan.

So here's to 2006. May it be better than 2005 and may 2007 be better yet!

MIA

2006-01-06T17:54:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I know I haven't been around much lately and it's not for lack of want. But January is here and hopefully things will be a whole helluva' lot less crazy. At any rate I'm getting shit figured out so that has to be good, right?

To those who keep stopping by, thanks. =)

Me By Myself

2005-12-21T21:19:00.000-08:00

It's a quarter after 9 and I'm still at work.

I'm tired. I don't want to be here. But it's what you do to get the job done. It's what good employees do, right? It's what productive members of society do, right? Right?

It doesn't feel right. True, right now there's no one waiting for me at home (the missus and the girl are in the homeland). No hugs and kisses or how was your day's waiting for me when I walk through the door. Just the tired anticipation of a beer and the easiest dinner I can think of. The other night it was a PBR and three slices of cheese before I went to go finish a project for an amiga. Other nights it's been left overs- and good stuff too so don't feel sorry for me.

Looking at what I'm doing now and considering the way I am when I'm alone I've decided it's a good thing I'm not single. Instead of being here I might be in some city (really, any city) I hate working at a job I think I love (I'll make myself love it, dammit) putting in way too many hours because that's what my old man did and my grandfathers did and their fathers and grandfathers did. Only they did it in the woods and fields and the mills and not under the unnatural light in some building sitting on their ass helping a major corporation sell tons of stuff for the holiday season. In their breakneck existence there was some sort of honor that I don't feel in my job. They busted their asses for their family. I'm busting my ass too, but I don't have the callouses or the tired body at the end of the day to let me know I've earned the cold beer and the hot supper.

There would be nobody at home for me. Or to go see later. Instead I'd be pining for some girl out of state (or at the very least out of county) that I once knew and have idealized to the point that if and when I ever did meet her my expectations would be so incredibly high that I'd set myself up for disappointment. There would be no point to all the hours and overtime because there'd be nobody to share it with. Just an empty bed with a only a comforter and a sheet because I like to make the bed without really making it.

So this would be me all by myself. Goddamm I'm glad this is only temporary.

5 Movies I Hate Most

2005-12-06T13:08:00.000-08:00

5. Wolf. Yeah, sure, it has Jack Nicholson in it and crap, but honestly, between the animatronic wolves and the crappy writing, it sucked. It took a long time before I saw another movie that pissed me off and made me want my money and the time it sucked away from me back.

4. Mission to Mars. How can a movie with such a promising premise suck so horribly? This pile of shit not only featured Tim Robbins imitating a dead baby floating through space, but had such horribly geeky humor that even geeks were embarrassed by it. Then you get all the references of them being in the future and making fun of things that would have been from our present- yeah, we fucking get it. You're from the future. Your cars don't use gasoline like Gary Sinese's (sp?) Mustang does. Whoopee-fucking-doo. And then the only reason you sit through all the bullshit is to find out what happened at Mars- which doesn't come until the very end. And it turned out to be a total cop-out. What a turd.

Now, the top three get a little tricky. Who gets the worst film can change from day to day. In my opinion, they're all equally shitty and a total fucking waste of my time.

3. Crash. What do you get when you combine a lecture about modern race relations in the United States with horrible dialogue, directing so bad the actors seem to be over-acting and events so improbable that it warps the mind to try and figure out how all of this could have happened in only a couple of day's time? This piece of shit. Yeah, I get it. White people are horrible, judgemental assholes. Black people can be a little racist. Hispanics and Mid-Easterners though, they're alright. So why the fucking lecture? This script felt like it was written by some college student with majors in Sociololgy and the various Ethnic Studies majors offered at the local university. Anyway, I hated it. I've never felt like I sat through a three hour lecture instead of a movie until I watched this turd. And dear script writer, you might want to learn a little about believability and statistics!

2. Rosemary's Baby. With a movie that's referenced so much in pop culture how could it be so bad? Until Crash and Mulholland Drive, it was the single worst movie I had ever seen. It wasn't scary. It wasn't interesting. It was't erotic (was it supposed to be?). It was boring. It was horrible. And the only nudity was from Mia Farrow. Perhaps that's where the horror comes in. This movie is so bad that I sometimes forget that I've seen it. Sometimes someone will be describing it and I'll say, "That sounds interesting, what movie is that?" and then they'll tell me and I'll vomit because I know the movie is not that good. If you haven't seen it, I'll save you the time. The old people and her husband are trying to get her to have Satan's baby and she does. Save your time and money. Rosemary's Baby is a two plus hours pile shit you need not step in.

1. Mulholland Drive. Yeah, you already know I hate it. I referenced it already. I went into this movie high hopes. Maybe too high. Everyone kept saying it was sexy and cool and one of the best movies ever made. Maybe I got another David Lynch film with the same cast because it was boring, predictable and pretentious. We kept watching it thinking it would get better. What felt like 10 hours later we were disappointed. There were no surprises or plot twists. Hell, Raleigh, our dog even knew that it was all in this gal's head or whatever. Perhaps that's why he went in the other room, took a nap and licked where he once had balls- he thought it would be a better use of his time. The whole Hollywood navel-gazing thing to me is boring. I get how corrupt the place is and the sacrifices you all-knowing, super-sensitive Hollywood-director-types make. Boo-fucking-hoo. But sometimes your work is still crap. The shock value Lynch was trying for felt less shocking than it did manufactured. You could almost hear him thinking, "Hmm, you know what will shock people? Two girls fucking. Yeah, let's do that. Yeah, man, that's cutting edge." Maybe Lynch should have used that cutting edge to hack some time off this piece of shit. Sir, if you were going to make a movie that would screw with people's sense of time and place and still be edgy, you should of had Tarantino make the movie for you. This film felt just like that- a wanna-be Tarantino movie trying to show the seedier side of Hollywood with a dash of lesbianism for the sake of having two hot girls make out on film. As a matter of fact, I hate this movie so much if I ever see that cocksucker Lynch I'm going to demand $103.5o from him for wasting the missus' and my time plus the $3.50 I plunked down to watch this fucking wank-fest or I'll beat him within an inch of his life.

One Winter Night

2005-12-05T12:57:00.000-08:00

I don't miss living where it snows. I realize to the tart that might be sacrilige, but I don't care. It was always slick, cold and after the novelty of the first snow wore off and all you were left with was dry, crusty sheets of snow followed by feet of mud, there is nothing about it to love.

But one winter night I almost changed my mind. I must have been 15 years old, because I wasn't driving at the time. The sky unloaded a foot or so of snow while I was at basketball practice and my ride home, Danny, only had a little S-10 pickup. It did alright in the rest of the snow on the flatness of the road but our driveway imposed another problem. It was roughly half a mile long and as you turned off the road and to the ranch's access you had to climb a small hill with a fairly steep grade. Danny apologized as he dropped me off at the foot of the driveway, but we both knew there was no way in hell that little pickup would climb the 100 yards or so up the hill. I wasn't surprised; this was life when it snowed big. This was one of the reasons I hated snow.

The slick soles of my cowboy boots made it damn near impossible to climb that bit of hill. I would have probably been better off in my basketball shoes but I left them at the gym. My letterman's jacket felt thin compared to the thick winter blackness. If I could make it to one of the junipers that sat near the irrigation ditch I would be fine. From there I could walk through the brush where the snow wasn't packed down by my father's pickup and the tractor then turned into ice.

I fought way up the hill, trying not fall on my ass, drop my bookbag or slide to the bottom of the driveway. I realize it's not quite an epic battle, but at the time that hill was that was between me and a half mile walk to a wood stove and a warm dinner. I cursed the hill and the snow and winter and the coach for not cancelling practice. I remembered all the reasons I hated winter and snow and why I was moving to Arizona once I graduated from high school.

After I made it to the top of the hill I stopped to catch my breath. The coat that felt too thin now weighed on my shoulders like an old dog. I looked around. Through the thin clouds I could make out a silvery thumbnail sliver of the moon on its way to becoming bigger and brighter. Though just a sliver, it was just enough to light up the white around me. All of the white. The snow sat in heavy pillows on the juniper branches and brush to create a cloudlike wonderland in the dark. Nothing was as I remembered it. Every tree, rock and bush was buried while the fence posts struggled to stand taller than the white drifts. The silence was heavier than the snow and shushed the chained tires beating their way on the snow-packed road and muffling the cry of a mother cow calling for her calf. Everything felt heavy- the silence, the snow, my frozen toes in the toes of my boots- everything. In that moment I loved where I was at. It was just me and the snow and the silence and I was okay with that. I didn't want to walk home. I wanted to stay mounds of snow and live my life in the lumpy white dreamscape. It was okay to die at that moment. I couldn't imagine the snow being more perfect than that.

I'm Tired of this Shit

2005-12-02T18:37:00.000-08:00

Oy. I cannot wait for this month to be over with.

I'm sitting here, the last one left in the building, working away on some shit that should have been handled a whole helluva' lot earlier. But as fate would have it, wires got crossed, balls got dropped and here I am, putting in the OT. It'd be different if it were my fault, but I actually think I'm blameless this time.

And I guess it'd be different if I could think differently about what I'm doing. I'm not doing anything worthwhile or notable or I guess even honorable. It's just what I do for money. I like everyone I work with, yet this doesn't fulfill me. Perhaps I'd feel differently if I were making good money and enough to provide for the missus and the girl on my own. But I'm not. So, again I wonder where the hell all this is headed. I can see the fucking ceiling and I'm not happy about it.

I'm tired. I'm horny. I have more fucking blood work coming up on Tuesday and I already know what the doctor will tell me on Friday. And that nagging worry about what I was told about my palm and shit is bugging me again.

Donde' es el Oso Negro ginebra?

The World's Strongest Little Girl

2005-11-28T13:17:00.000-08:00

Well, for now it looks like what was bugging me on the inside is gone- emphasis on for now. I mean, I feel little twinges of it and today I'm unreasonable angry at everything, but it doesn't feel like before. I think I have the girl to thank.

It's a heavy burden to put on such tiny little shoulders, but holding her makes me happy. It makes me forget and not care about all the other bullshit out there. Yeah, I'm tired. But for some reason it doesn't seem like a bad thing when I'm watching her watch the world the only thing I really care about is doing right by her.

I just hope it continues on like this.

Happy Thanksgiving

2005-11-23T12:47:00.000-08:00

To all you all who stop by regularly and those who don't, Happy Thanksgiving!

Even if you don't do the holiday, I hope you have at least one thing in your life that you're thankful for. At least one. Life kicks you in the ass and even when it's dark and dreary and everything is fuck, just make sure you have that one thing and hold on to it for all it's worth. Even if it isn't much, just be glad you have it.

What are you thankful for?

Is This Considered Irony?

2005-11-18T13:26:00.000-08:00

So on TBS for the last week or two they've been advertising the hell out of some special they have called "Earth to America". Apparently they're having a bunch of comedians (I don't know how Leonardo DiCaprio fits into the comedian role but hey, maybe there'll be a surprise?) get together and telling jokes in support of (or I guess against) global warming, the environmental issue of the moment.

Please don't read into that I'm pro-global warming. I'm more of an anti-everything person.

But what is weird to me about this whole deal is it's taking place in Las Vegas. Yep, Sin City, where they're growing at epic proportions out into the surrounding grass lands, sucking up millions of gallons of water for water features in an area where water is rare and sucking up more electricity than probably any other city in the US, next to NYC or Los Angeles. How much global warmth do you think is generated by all those damn lights?

So why the hell is there a comedy show for the environment in a place that if anything is the epitomy of what not to do to the environment?

More Advice

2005-11-17T10:03:00.000-08:00

If you think it'll happen, it damn sure will. Don't mix that up with what you want to happen.

When sending out mailers on your direct mail campaign, make damn sure the people you're flooding the mailboxes of with your junk actually like you and your product/service.

A bare ass is sure to shit on you. A bare hoo-hoo is sure to piss on you. Watch yourself.

Never set your hat on the bed. It's bad luck.

Don't try to write comedy.

Don't pick up dry hitchhikers in the rain.

If you wouldn't talk to them at them at the grocery store don't talk to them at the doctor's waiting room either.

C'mon January

2005-11-15T10:13:00.000-08:00

I know all this will pass. But damn I'm tired. Been here since a quarter to six and I did get what I wanted accomplished. However, I'm starting to feel the five hours of sleep and all the caffeine has me jacked. I so could use some bourbon and a cigarette. Alas, I don't smoke and I think my employers would frown on a little something extra in my coffee.

And then there's the stress of the push and pull. I know I just need to bear down and ride it out. But in the end none of this shit will matter. All that matters is getting home on time nowadays. So I'll keep the early mornings for working while they sleep so I can see their pretty blue eyes when I get home.