PT Tremor 8/30/09

Here's the latest from the USGS about the Wednesday 9/30 Port Orchard tremor. Reading so much about earthquakes, tsunamis and other such happening in and around the "ring of fire" these last few days made for a bit of a jumpy heart at 8:10 this evening. 3+ pointer, Olympic pennisula. Read all about it and other various earthquakes around the globe in the site listed below. Great site. We're not alone. And one more thing: be prepared.

Salud!
http://neic.usgs.gov/neis/last_event_states/states_washington.html

The effect of the Samoan tsunami on the Washington coast:
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2009974794_webwashwave30m.html

10 things I do every day

It's all about discipline, buddy.

You take these things for granted as only a worker bee can, you just get up and strap on the feedbag and press your clothes and jump into your car and just do it, punch the clock, stand and take your customer's grief and boss's crap and you just do it, get up every morning and do it, not only because you want to get paid but because you truly love the work. You may not get to say that very often with conviction, especially if you've had a toxic kind of day, the kind of day where admin passes down assinine directive and a customer leaves a trail of biohazardous stuff on the carpets around the building and you find that your tire is flat and dog is sick and the roof is leaking and you end up late for work late and they say that it's okay but that look you get from your coworkers says it's not. Someday's you wonder if it would have been better to stay in bed.

To that I say "no".

It doesn't matter if you are gainfully employed or out of work you still have to get out of bed. You really no choice if you are true worker bee, if you truly value the benefits of getting out of bed and facing the day. It's more than just getting up just so can tell your mate or partner or spouse or internet pal that you did something meaningful with your day as they get up and take on the slog. It's just so you can feel good about using the most precious gift imaginable, and that's another day standing upright on God's green earth.

So, every day I have my things to do list that has nothing to do with projects. I know that someday soon the weather will change and the idea of sending out for Chinese food and staying in bed all day watching movies and sipping champagne with a lover will sound great, but for the moment it's all about me and the world and the things that need doing.

Every day I have ten things that I have to do in order to make that day worth while. Your list will be different than mine but my life right now is quite different than yours, different than I planned or could have even predicted...

Every day I get up at or around 8:00, hit the bathroom, brush my teeth and while I have a mouth full of brush and suds fill up the kettle, grind beans and turn on the heat. I let the cat in after my morning's brushing is done, restock his three bowls with dry, water and a spot of tuna. While my beans soak I fire up the computer and prepare for a morning's worth of internet work

Every day I spend one or more hours cruising the 'net for work. Somedays I get a hit that requires another hour or so filing an online application. Somedays I just look and that's okay, too.
Every day I do my US Navy S/S/S routine. Keeping the body clean and the face fresh and approachable is key maintaining a positive outlook and keeps me ready for whatever lurks outside the door.

Every day I do up a "things to do" list, even if that list is just for show. Well, hasn't been yet. Every day it carries over and plus it's a good tool for helping me see how much I've gotten done and out of the way

Every day I walk, even if the walk of the day is from the car to the market, the car parked way the hell out there. Some days I just couldn't take it if it wasn't for my walk. Most days I try to hit the Cedar Heights track around five. Not always possible but there it is.

Everyday I make contact with the world, be it on the net, on the phone or in person. Maintaining contact with friends has become so important and valuable to me that I can't even begin to tell you how important it has become. When you are surrounded by patrons and work mates you take this foregranted. For awhile there I lived so completely in my head that I got startled just hearing my voice spoken out loud.

Everyday I fire up one or two good meals. Not a boilie bag or a microwave dinner but something real, something that requires thought and preparation time. Cans, boxes and plastic bags cannot be considered dirty dishes, ever.

Every day I wait until six to have a glass of wine. No slacking there. I promised myself I would never go the "Frank Baez" route, the one that would allow for me to sit and booze the day away waiting for the phone to ring. Never, ever, period.

Every day I read up new recipes, try to listen to some new piece of music that I have never heard before and do my best to fit in a movie, never mind whether or not I've seen it before. Every day I do my best to stay informed and read three papers.It is important to maintain that info edge, to stay knowledgeable about what's hot and then stay abreast of the stories. Every day I do my best to share some piece of hot intell, either with friends face to face or with you here in this blog space.

And every day I write. Right now it's this little piece. Later on it'll be letters, or my novel, or posts to my friend Jane. Every day, every day, I write because writing is what got me here, got me to this place where I get to practice my ten things that I must do every day. Every day I ponder over the power of the written word and write out a piece of my mind for I know that for some it thrills, for some it brings a smile and for some, well, it scares the living shit out of them because, baby, my words you just can't corral. Just like time, just like the days that come and go out the window like shadows and the breeze.

Hey, let's make that eleven things. Every day, no matter what, count your blessings.

Salud!

Every day

Now this film looks scary!

Stumbling on articles about little movies like Paranormal Activity is one of the big reasons to keep the 'net up and running, that's for sure. Sure, the buzz about that flick would have reached this little burg eventually but it helps to have a cape waved in your face, matador style, in order to be aware and ready to catch little films like this when they come through town. In the case of this particular movie, if it comes through town. Paranormal Activity is in "limited release" at the moment, playing in larger metro areas awaiting a groundswell of interest to carry it forward. Or so they say. Sounds like a William Castle kind of gimmick to me. (Update 9/27: according to an article in today's LA Times the gimmick is working: it looks like it will be in wider release this coming October).

Will Paranormal Activity be a one trick pony (albiet a very scary pony!) the way The Blair Witch Project was? Or will it have legs and become a haunted house classic in the tradition of The Haunting, The Others or The Changling? After being scared witless watching Shiver alone the other night, I find myself craving another new and exciting frightfest, but something out in town, with an audience screaming all around me. Nothing quite like mass hysteria to get the old heart pumping in a truly meaningful way.

Yeah, just typing up those titles gave me a bit of the creeps right now and had me switching on the lights. Time to vote online to get that movie to come just a wee bit closer than Seattle. Take a look at that trailer and I bet it'll get you turning on your lights, too.

Salud!

Paranormal Activity Yahoo article and attached trailer:
http://movies.yahoo.com/feature/buzz-log-paranormal-activity.html

Nice article about the film's history found in the LA Times:

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/la-ca-paranormal20-2009sep20,0,1437340.story

Oh, yes, and while you're waiting..if you need a bit of tension and relatively gore free frights in your life try the little French horror film Ils (Them!) The lead up may be slow for some but it belies the tension that builds up in the second act...an act that is 77 minutes of sheer tension and pure psychological terror. A "61" on the Tomato Meter...here's a quote among many that I loved for it's brevity:

"It breezes by and slaps you with some ice water and then scurries right out of the room."
Full Review Comment
03/20/07

Scott Weinberg
Cinematical

Where did the money tree go?

Music, I never seem to get enough of it. Well, this is, until today.

This evening I was trolling the stacks of my local Goodwill when I decided, against all common sense and possiblity, to hit up their cd rack to see what kinds of new stuff they had in. I figured maybe I would find something truly great that would tempt me to break my budget. The Hot Dog King had just paid out a bit of cash to me for running him around town on some errands, so I had a touch of small change in my pocket, but money I had earmarked for gas and a bit of cilantro next door at Sav-a-Lot.

Well, I wandered over and sat down on the floor anyway thinking I would find a blues album I left behind a couple days before. Damn if they didn't restock the whole rack with some dead man's cd collection or some near equivilent. I sat there spellbound before the assembled titles, and with nobody breathing down my neck pulled nearly eighty (80!!) cd's off the rack that were hot, semi-hot or interesting enough for me to want to buy. Back in the day when I wielded charge cards with abandon that scenario would of had me sweating. It was all I could do not to pick up the entire stack and head over to the checkout counter to buy them all. For some reason, maybe sanity, I balked and set the stack back down in the rack and ignored them all. I heard a call from the overhead speakers saying that VHS movies were two for a buck that day and went that route, instead.

For me setting down those cd's was a realization that the freewheeling spending patterns of my past were done and that my days of using credit cards as a salve to sooth my emotional state were over. I left the store trying to figure out how I could have ever possibly justified that kind of purchase considering my employment status and couldn't find a way to winning that argument. It was clear to me that from there on out I could only buy something if I had the cash in my pocket to pay for it. The whole justification of buying a stack of music with credit because it was hot, new and novel to me was gone. I had no argument considering that that "money", if used in the form of credit today, would kill my budget later on.

Money. Wow, so where did my money tree go? I've worked hard all my life and have always made good money, well, good for a librarian but due to bills and kids and a one paycheck household never really had a large overflow of cash to set aside. Right now I am waiting for my unemployment and retirement cash to arrive in order to make it past this crazy spot I'm in. It's strange, but also a sign of the times, to find myself in this situation, to be waiting for work to show up. Never had this problem before. Back in the day I would throw out a resume, land a job, easy peasy. In the past I always felt I was the "fair haired boy" to beat and would find a work without much of a struggle but I know that the world right now is filled with an awful lot of younger, even hungrier "fair haired boys" who will work for practically nothing and I'm up against all of them. Yeah, it's a much smaller pie for all of us to share these days, that's for sure.

I know, too, that I am not in as big of a hurry to do what I was doing before so maybe that gives me a leg up on the situation, I don't know for sure. What I do know is that reinvention of Accumulate Man is the key to my survival and that's where I am going with all this. It's not stuff that I'm searching for, so money is not the issue. Money always comes. Job satisfaction, organizational integrity, loyalty amoung colleagues, honesty between workers and management...all that...that's what I want this next go round, not more meaningless stuff to fill my burgeoning shelves with.

Yeah, there's gotta be something more to work, to life, than a mere paycheck, than a pile of loot at the end of a work week. That old spending pattern of mine says alot about my life, tells me that something major was missing. Looking around me, at my years of accumulation, I can tell that I wasn't hungry for music, or books or movies, or even novelty. I was hungry for...what? satisfaction? Yeah, I wanted more than anything to be satisfied with what I had, both at work and at home, and baby, you just can't buy that.

Maybe it took a stack of eighty this or that to fill the hole that work, that life, that relationships, wasn't filling. No matter, one thing is for certain and that is my ability, rather, my desire to walk into a store and blow two hundred and fifty bucks in credit on music is long gone. Know that at one time I would do that without blinking an eye, damn the costs. Say's an awful lot about where I've been, where I'm at and where I'm going. I am sure that I am not the only one in the country who feels this way about things like that these days. Sobering, eh?

So, hey, if you see that old money tree of mine go ahead and keep it. Peel me off a few leaves and send them along with your good wishes. I'm on my way to find the place where satifaction grows, maybe not on trees, but someplace deep down inside. Yeah, all will be well and good up the road. See you there, companeros. Affectionately, your old pal, Accumulate Man

Salud!

Zaftig by any other name

Great use of the color red in this painting, wouldn't you agree?

Salud!

"If you've got the money, honey, I've got the time"

Time. I've always felt it was a bit like the Bukowski title, something about the wild horses running, but, my case, not just away but over a cliff. I never felt completely in control of time, not in the way that some people seem to be. Sure, I have always been punctual, maybe not with time to spare but when the clock said to be someplace at 12:15, I was there. No messing around with that.

No, it's that other aspect of time, that use of time that says the horses, Whoa! , that slows them down, that turns them at the last minute from spilling over, willy nilly, tumble bumble, into the ravine. I want a way to brake time, to slow it down, to give me that much needed twentyfifth hour in a 24 hour day. I want somehow for my children to stop growing up so fast, for the calendar pages to stop falling so relentlessly, for the seasons to quit skipping by so quickly and just cool it for a bit, just learn to stroll and enjoy themselves in the way they never seemed to in the past.

I woke up the other morning at two thirty or so, thinking it was six. Something about that big hand in the distance made me think that the night had passed and that it was time for me to get up. Well, it must have been the cat or something but I did get up and he came in and then the night just passed oh so slowly after that. I have to wonder what the difference was right then and there about time, how time in that sense, in the dark warmth of my bed, could drag by with the speed of cold molasses, versus time when I'm at the beach or a park or in the city with my kids and I look down at my watch and see that it's eleven thirty and two minutes later I look down and find out that it's time for dinner. What the hell is the difference?

My take on it? The difference is novelty.

There's something about corralling four kids in a park, all with different needs and and issues trying to slow down time versus laying in your bed, with night sounds surrounding you, the darkness hiding secrets in the corners of your room, to give time a new twist. The other night I woke up in the back of my car in a sleeping bag in the middle of friend's field on the outskirts of Twisp. I had gone over the mountain to see an old friend of mine who had paintings to sell and we ended up at his friend's house to see them. This artist pal of my pal had a huge workshop where there was plenty of room to store my friends oversized works. After the drive and a couple of beers and a lengthy viewing of various art pieces I found that sleeping hard was my first desire, but then novelty took over at three and stood in sleep's place for a couple hours. It helped to change my whole perception of life as it stands right now, that's for sure.

There is nothing quite like waking up in a completely strange place and not really knowing where you are, who around you are friends and how close help could be found in an emergency. See, that's novelty speaking. I was safe in three season bag in the back of my wagon. I had friends close by and there was nothing to worry about. I had the whole universe spinning overhead in all it's magnificence and all I could do at the moment was worry. But once I let worry pass it was all okay. The night tripped by slowly, not too much different than it did for me in my bed the other night. The big difference between waking up in the middle of a field in Twisp instead of my bed was that I was in the midst of an adventure. When I woke up in my bed and stumbled out of it to let in the cat I missed out on working the novelty aspect of the night. I could have slapped on some Dixieland and started writing. Instead I struggled to go back to sleep. What a waste of an adventure.

Right now I don't need a clock to know what time it is. Outside of hustling for work online and working on projects around the house I don't need a watch to remind me what time it is. Right now I could reinvent time if I wanted to, but discipline keeps messing with that. I want to stay in bed some days, sleep in past eight but I find that that's impossible to do. I want to goof off something badly but when I do I fret thinking I've pissed away the best part of a day. I figure if I'm not breaking a sweat I'm squandering time, but then, I think of my drive the other day to and fro and up and over the mountains to the Methow and think, man, I need more of that. Less structure, more goofing, more enlightenment, more joy, more laughter, more adventure.

But big adventures take capital. Right now I'm all spent out. My bills are paid, my utilities doubled up and my larder relatively full. I have books and movies out the wazoo so going out and hitting second hands will just have to wait awhile. I have tools enough and supplies enough to get most jobs on my things to do list done around here, but the bathroom and tile projects will just have to wait till my ship comes in. I have time right now to write, and so my novel is underway and that's grand, too. I have unimpeded time to walk or lift weights or whatever, so long as it's close to home. I suppose that's the rub. It's hard to slow down time in your neighborhood when you've been there awhile and feel like you've seen it all. But one thing I discovered last winter when I was without a car and that's once you get close to the ground everything changes.

Now that I am "in-between positions" life has gone and done that...changed up and made everything different. Right now life is one big novelty store. And I suppose that's what I crave the most: to be able to wander around awhile, pick up this and that and apply it to my life, change my life, myself, into something new and completely different. I want new, not so much new as in consumer goods but new for me. I want to reinvent the man who found his way here so that he doesn't have to leave the same man and make the same mistakes again. I have the time right now to reinvent myself in a way that I've never had before. I have no partner, lover, wife around to make lists for me or place demands on me. My children are five hundred miles away so I don't have to meet their needs for the moment. I have no work clock or organizational expectations to face and bow before so that part is good, too. I have well meaning friends who remind that times are hard and my wait time for employment could be awhile. Maybe that's what I've been needing. A good long wait. Like waiting in a station for a train to come. The adventure is before me and all it requires is a bit of patience and a lot of imagination.

Time off. I have to admit that I found that sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for. In the midst of a hellish summer reading club day I told a coworker that I really wished for a summer without summer reading. As fundamental as it is for our business it felt forced right then and there, all too much paper work, all too much noise. I felt that all that hub-bub got in the way of the joy, the thrill, the novelty of kids reading something new and exciting for the sake of reading new and exciting. Well, days later I got my wish. I didn't have to do any more summer reading club stuff and I had plenty of time off. And you know, that part, making that wish and having it happen, was not only scary but grand. I look back at that moment and think, wow, I really have some serious chops going for myself. Look what I made happen. Now I just need to apply that wishful thinking to the rest of my life and make great things happen.

And so I will.

Salud!

A taste for something foreign

Having a video store membership is really quite old fashioned in a world that has to up to your door movie delivery, but I like the staff at my local Hollywood Video store and I like their easy to use Power Play program. It may not have quite the price break as Netflix or have the convenience of delivery like other services do but I like the ease of use of movie selection in real time. I like wandering in the stacks, enjoy the slow pace of picking up this box or another and reading the descriptions on the back. There is something thrilling about that completely analog experience of reading and walking and musing in real time, in a real brick and mortal store that I just can't get from online shopping. I can't see doing business any other way.

Foreign films have been my latest film genre kick. I don't attend flicks in movie houses too often but I do love it when I find quality foreign films out in town to buy or borrow. I find non-Hollywood titles second hand every now and again, which is great as it helps to pad out my film collection with stuff that is just far and away from what the bean counters and the franchise operators in Hollywood consider entertainment.

For instance today I found a copy of Once Upon a Time In China Pt III directed by Tsu Hark at Goodwill for fifty cents, which is fine since I saw the first part and know that I'll someday stumble upon the second. I also came across a copy of Wages of Sin the other day, too. I can only wish that it was the latest Criterion print but it wasn't. Rather, it was produced by some long lost transfer house who stumbled upon the rights to print it. They did, but badly, with the subtitles printed directly into the movie in some washed out typeface the color of the film. There were more passages than not where I had to fake out what was happening on the screen and just pretend I knew the language being spoken. All the same it was a grand time. A classic is a classic no matter what the quality of the print.

My local video house has a wide variety of international films to choose from, which is surprising considering how slowly they move. Today I dropped off two catalog titles at Hollywood, District B13 and Dynamite Warrior. I can only wish the latter was worth recommending. Pity, as the trailer looked great and the promise of an action packed martial arts film was what I was craving last night. Great idea, though. A sort of revenge flick set in some Thai kind of wild west setting, with big lumbering water buffalos standing in for steers. Truly a kooky kind of cowboy action film, but only for those who have die hard tastes for the genre.

But the Luc Besson produced District B13 more than made up for the lack in the other film. Fast paced contemporary crime film set in a somewhat futuristic walled in ghetto in Paris where the criminals run the show and the cops stand back and let them do their thing. Once the criminals get ahold of a nuclear device the film switches gears and turns into one of those strange kind of buddy films, the one where the maverick cop and the gangster with a conscious get together to save the world, or, in this case, Paris. Grand stunt work, totally jaw dropping action. Highly recommended.

Today I picked up a Spanish film that, even as I write this, continues to produce shivers. Funny, as that is the English language title: Shiver. Incredibly scary in that non-slasher, not a zombie in the house kind of way. The film centers around a boy who has an extreme reaction to sunlight who is moved up the mountains by his mother to a little village where some strange and wicked kind of stuff is happening in the woods. All too many moments of what I would consider extreme psychological terror to recommend this to just anyone. You have to have a strong desire to be scarred out of your wits in order to watch this one. Highly recommended for those late night date nights where you want your sweetie to dig her nails into your arm.

Lastly I picked up a copy of Schultze Gets the Blues. World wide winner of 10 International Film awards. Haven't watched it yet but idea of a German protagonist heading off to Louisiana to adapt his polka playing skills to Zydeco music sounds pretty wonderful to me. I'll let you know if it deserved all those awards or not.

Oh, and speaking of foreign, be sure to attend the fundraiser at the Historic Orchard this Tuesday if you can. Twelve bucks gets you in the door to see Like Water For Chocolate plus a small drink and popcorn. Proceeds go to the Immigrant Assistance Center to help buy books for immigrant children. I'll be learning how to work their film projectors that evening, maybe I'll see you there. And if not, well, maybe I'll see you in the aisles of my local Hollywood Video store!

Salud!

The big score

Anglo-Saxon treasure. Who would have thought?

Buried treasure. Show me a boy with a shovel and you know that pirate gold is there in the back of his mind. Dig deep enough, or just dig enough holes and something will turn up.

I think it's something we all dream of finding. Long lost valuables from some ancient civilization or some badman's loot secreted away that will somehow bring us instant fame and fortune. In Mr Herbert's case, found in the story pasted below, he was just wandering around a friend's farm with a metal detector when he stumbled upon on of the grandest finds of ancient loot found in modern times. How many times have you seen retirees and such wandering around beaches and parks with those detector things strapped around their necks and wondered if it was worth your time and effort to do the same? I know that they can't be making much. Pocket change, lost rings, old bullets, a piece of iron pipe and the occasional watch. It certainly can't be counted as exercise. I know that they can be breaking a sweat, unless the lugging of that device is a heavier and more perspiration inducing workout than I imagine to be.

But what has to be more thrilling than hearing the sound of the beep when it hits metal is the call of the imagination, the drive to find the first piece of the long trail of treasure left behind by some unheralded outlaw or unsung pirate or other misguided soul. For every boy out there with a pick and wheelbarrow, there's a man like Mr Herbert prowling fields and meadows in search of big treasure. In Herbert's case he just didn't find an old horseshoe or pike head, he stumbled upon a hoard of loot that has become England's largest Anglo-Saxon treasure find ever.

I wonder if they'll let him keep a piece or two for his troubles? I'm sure that something that big can't be owned, it must belong to the people of England now. Well, I suppose if they don't let him keep anything that proposed seven figure return on his time investment will somehow smooth things over. With those kinds of proceeds he can buy a whole box of the museum's upcoming coffee table book and share it with friends. All those new found friends, treasure hunters all.

Salud!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090924/ap_on_re_eu/eu_britain_anglo_saxon_gold

No Tuna Town Tourism for my tomcat

My cat Guapo likes to start out his day with a pinch of cat nip and a spoonful of tuna. I don't know about other cats but he is a fairly finicky critter when it comes to his wet chow. He won't have anything to do with those fancy cans of cat food, and has consistantly turned his nose up to other kinds of canned fish like mackerel, sardines and salmon. But tuna? If I find that the cat is a bit overdue from his evening's outting all I have to do is lay my Swingaway to the top of a can of Bumble Bee and he magically appears by the back door. Good trick, good tuna.

Now, I have to admit I do not spoil my cat with high priced cans of albacore or the like. I have no idea what types of tuna parts are found in the kind of tuna I bring home but I am sure it is not sashimi grade. After reading the NY Times article posted below I guess I can say that I am getting off lucky and so is he, for tuna are highly overfished and because of that can be pretty pricey in some parts of the world. According to the article some fisherman in the little fishing town of Oma, Japan, feel that catching a tuna these days is like winning the lottery and can bring in thousands of dollars for one fish alone. I must remind Guapo of that the next time I hear a little attitude in his morning "meow". Attitude or not, that cat, gawd bless him, allows for a bit of that Vegas lottery magic to happen here in this house every day, all at sixty nine cents a can. Good for him, good for me.

Salud!

The Napa Valley of tuna towns:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/20/world/asia/20tuna.html?_r=1&hpw

Simple things, media style

Okay, know that my entertainment budget has been wacked hard, but this week I went out and about like I still had it all out in front. It about attitude, not about what you buy. This week I fell upon a really fantastic Thai film, Bang Rajan, a sort of Seven Samurai/Braveheart epic about a band of Siamese warriors back around 1765 that held off a superior Burmese force much to the distress of the Burmese. Great action flick, highest grossing film in Thai film history. Check it out! Otherwise I fell upon a copy of Wages of Fear today. How wonderful is that? Earlier this week there was this incredible stash of movies donated from some old codger (like me?) that put labels on all his films, when he had watched them, his ratings, all that. Grand. Had to buy a few. Desperate Hours with Bogie, Black Pearl with Tyrone Power and Maureen O'Hara and a breakthrough film for Robert Mitchum Blood on the Moon. Oh, and I also found a three album set of Spike Jones recordings. Pristine. All for the big price of a buck.

And, finally, cookbooks. Really, didn't have the budget for this at all but found a nice stack at Goodwill today, including Bernard Clayton's Small Breads,a nice University of Carolina Press book on Southern baking (Biscuits, Spoonbread and Sweet Potato Pie), two Chronicle pieces (always pretty those Chronicle books!) on holiday and chocolate baking and finally a nice compact title on tapas by that big box store favorite Parragon. Who can ever get enough tapa titles in their collection, now tell me?!

Okay, off the the kitchen. Taquitos tonight with refried beans, Monterrey Jack (that they used to use a real jack to make that cheese is a story in itself!) and a big mess of quacamole (Sav-a-lot two avocados for a buck, 15 (!!) limes for a buck and two heads of cilantro for a buck..go now!). Oh, and head over to Saars if you are up that way, they have a really grand South African wine(Golden Kaan label) in right now at three bucks a bottle. Truly great stuff.

It's a good life, my friends, no worries for now...

Salud!

It all feels so different now..thanks!

Time. It's amazing what a difference one week makes. Seven days ago life was pure hell, a week later it's a whole different world and time has become a completely new and interesting commodity for me to deal with than it was before. Strange, enticing and oh so very cool.

Last week at this time I was girding my armor, preparing for war, preparing for who knows what and tonight I am enjoying a late supper and thinking about the upcoming weekend instead. Last week I couldn't really consider going away for I thought my place was here, waiting, waiting for what I didn't know but but I spent my time here waiting for the inevitable all the same. I didn't wait on my hands, as you know, but worked hard every day, if anything just to burn off all the anxiety that went with along with all that pointless waiting. I still find myself getting up and getting into my work day by eight o'clock but now I'm working with a different sort of time element. The hour glass has turned, the sand is running and my time, my life, is once again my own, but now it has an edge to it, one that says to me that I'm not getting paid for waiting around anymore, that it's time to get my act together and rediscover myself. Life and all it's merciless variables are staring me in the face and the wolves, while not at the door, are in conference, wondering what to do with me this winter.

Oh hell, let 'em howl, been there, done that before.

Today I realized that while I want to play, take road trips, goof off, what I really need to do is start looking for the next square on the board. Today I spent more time online than I have in weeks, spent time writing friends, lining up activities, planning events, getting out applications, all that. Before, when I would wake up, I would check the news, drop an email or two, check the job boards, get on with my day. It was the life of the living dead. Now I am back with the living, talking to friends via the net, getting things lined up, making contacts, calling in old markers. It's a different use and appreciation of time and it's all very liberating.

Today I also realized that I while I need to keep to my program, maintain work discipline, all that, I also know that I can relax a bit, breathe deep, take walks, eat slower. I am already sleeping better, and my stomach has been less inclined to be filled with bile. I know, too, that I have to look at this time off as a gift, not just as a time to think about finding the "next job". I know that money worries will always a constant, but I know, too, that time off like this is something I will never get back again. Every day must count, even if some of that time is spent napping with the cat.

To that end I am thinking about a road trip to California to see new sites, old friends and long buried relations, with maybe swing up and around through New Mexico to see an old artist friend of mine. He wrote to me today and told me that he would be happy to illustrate my "great American novel", something else that I have finally started over the last few days. I know, too, that I need to get things to Boise, that I need to spend some serious time with my children. I've spent two hard months working on this house, two miserable months worrying about the unknown, two difficult months in a sort of purgatory and now it's time to find a new path, a new place, a new way to live, a new way to breathe. More than anything I need to learn how to appreciate time once again in a way that I couldn't before.

Baby, this is the only life we have and it took some hard lessons to figure that out.

I woke up this morning and stood on the porch, looked at the ruddy sunrise and thought, Red sky at morning, sailor take warning, all that, and all I could do was smile. Sure, we had a touch of rain today, but baby, it takes rain to make my flowers grow. Let it rain, I don't care, that's what windshield wipers and good stout jackets are for.

Time is once again my friend. Whether I end up in Eugene, Boise or Port Orchard or some point in-between it doesn't matter much to me anymore. I am living once again and to those that gave me that gift, thanks!

Salud!

Curiosity knocked me down

A nice NY Times blog piece on "unfettered inquiry":

http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/09/14/does-curiosity-kill-more-than-the-cat/

Read and heed.

Salud!

Pirates go BOOM!

Port Orchard has it's share of fun and interesting festivals and events throughout the year. Car shows, 4th of July fireworks, a Christmas tree lighting festival, this summer's celebration of Cedar Cove, all of which help to keep the locals busy and entertained all around the calendar. One of the more interesting events to come on the scene in recent years has been The Murder Mystery Weekend, which was turned into a wonderfully fun event once the pirate theme was tied into it. I can't remember whether or not the first one had that cool twist going for it, but the last three years has brought in a large number of variously costumed folk into town, and an equally large number of people who like to come by to play the murder mystery game, watch buccaneer antics and dream about donning pirate gear next year.

You have to have a certain amount of self confidence to walk about on the street in pirate finery when it's not Halloween. There is a particular, or maybe peculiar, gene or another that gets employed, that gets put to the test. It has nothing to do with being able to talk like Robert Newton, the famous star of Disney's Treasure Island, and it certainly has nothing to do with the authenticity of your costume (but it helps). No, it's more the ability to be able to live and breathe in those clothes in a way that says you do this every day. That is an old mind trick left over from my Ren Faire days, I am sure, but it gets me out the door and down the street and keeps me in character without having a speck of self conciousness about me. I just think it's alot of fun, and I'm sure, deep down inside, given the right opportunity, the right look and a little bit tomfoolery, there'd be a lot more adults who would get into it, too.

One of this year's truly fun features was a pirate camp set up out by the Waterfront Park gazebo. Prior to the the B.O.O.M. Pirates being on the scene the most interesting part of the weekend was the pirate costume contest. This year we had not only that but a great "gentlemen (and ladies!) of fortune" reenactment troupe on hand who not only ran a tight ship but were also a lot of fun to watch and listen to. I suppose the term "listening" could be taken two ways, for while their lectures and tidbits on pirate lore were both solid and informative, it was the close up and in your ear explosive madness during their cannon shows that really dialed in your listening skills! Wow! They brought along a number of black powder cannons, miniatures, of course, but also a number of swivel guns and flintlock pistols and smoothbore muskets to shoot off as well. Twice a day for fifteen minutes or so you could get a taste of black powder shock and awe, a feel for the rush of seventeenth century warfare, play acting style. Sure, they were small guns, small arms but they were LOUD. After sitting there grooving on their show in the peaceful September sunlight I could only imagine what the noise and mayhem and cacaphony was like below decks on a ship of the line with all those larger, bigger and badder guns all going off at once, all letting loose during a well timed broadside, not only giving but receiving as well.

Well, back to present day Port Orchard. The event proved to be a enjoyable time all the way around. The "pirate market" was well attended and built in rather nicely into our regularly scheduled weekend Farmer's Market. There were a lot of downtown merchants tied into the event as well due to the scavenger hunt and the placing of mystery clues around town that went along with the murder mystery theme. The town once was truly able to tap into the local zeitgeist and found yet another way to let imagination and gawkery rule the day. Even if you couldn't find that gene in youself that allowed for you to don a tricorn and swagger about with a "arrgh, matey!" and "yo, ho, ho!" on your lips you could at least stoll about town, play the mystery game and indulge in a bit of voyeurism. It was always the thing that got me to Ren Faire, being able to stoll about in costume in that mix of participants and turkeys..er, turkey legs. Now it's something I can look forward to seeing happen here, too, even if it's just for a weekend, once a year. How grand.

Salud!

Couldn't quite get your fill of piratey activity this last weekend? Here's a list that'll have you chasing pirates all over the country! Oh, and there's a link to next weekend's Portland Pirate Festival in the mix as well!
http://www.piratefestivals.com/

Official B.O.O.M. Pirates site:
http://www.boompirates.com/

"Box of Rain"

"Haleakela Sunrise" by Walfrido (http://www.walfrido.com/)

Dedicated this morning to those still standing before the mast:

Box of Rain
Grateful Dead -

Words by Robert Hunter;
music by Phil Lesh

"Look out of any window
any morning, any evening, any day
Maybe the sun is shining
birds are winging or
rain is falling from a heavy sky -
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
this is all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago

Walk out of any doorway
feel your way, feel your way
like the day before
Maybe you'll find direction
around some corner
where it's been waiting to meet you -
What do you want me to do,
to watch for you while you're sleeping?
Well please don't be surprised
when you find me dreaming too

Look into any eyes
you find by you, you can see
clear through to another day
I know it's been seen before
through other eyes on other days
while going home --
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
It's all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago

Walk into splintered sunlight
Inch your way through dead dreams
to another land
Maybe you're tired and broken
Your tongue is twisted
with words half spoken
and thoughts unclear
What do you want me to do
to do for you to see you through

A box of rain will ease the pain
and love will see you through
Just a box of rain -
wind and water -
Believe it if you need it,
if you don't just pass it on
Sun and shower -
Wind and rain -
in and out the window
like a moth before a flame

It's just a box of rain
I don't know who put it there
Believe it if you need it
or leave it if you dare
But it's just a box of rain
or a ribbon for your hair

Such a long long time to be gone
and a short time to be there"

Be brave, Mi Amiga, and know that you have friends out here who care.

Salud!

Independence Day in the South of France

Mi Novia said that I must look at this time as one filled with gifts, and that I should remind myself daily of the power and complexity of those gifts, and to be sure to thank those who gave them to me. That's just good manners, much better manners than my betters practice, so let this note be a lesson onto them.

So, to that end, after my long period of house arrest, I just want to say "thank you" for your gracious option, the one that gave me the key to the lock on my door on Cellblock 708, the key that has allowed me to once again sip the sweet air of freedom.

And rest assured that I know that this taste of freedom comes with a mighty high price tag affixed to it. Maybe finally understanding the value of time and money, of what it means to have one but not necessarily the other at the same time, was one of the gifts you gave me, a lesson that I've learned the hard way over the last couple months, one that now allows me to truly appreciate what I have before me, and made oh so clear the price that I am willing to pay for my supposed sins, not only up front but over the course of my lifetime as well.

So since I'm paying up front for this dear bit of freedom with a large chit of socio/economic statistical poverty I suppose I can boast about my lazy day, about this absolutely lovely "weekend" kind of day I'm having right now, one built into the end of my work week. This morning it didn't feel so much dear as sinfully wonderful. Once again, thank you for the gift of time, which goes far beyond the benefits of whatever I could hope to buy with money. Oh, and the pink bow you wrapped it up in was the best.

I felt that this morning was the first actual "vacation day" I've had all summer, one completely devoid of guilt trips and anxiety, unlike that faux "vacation" I was on the first part of July. Today I gleefully lounged in bed until almost noon with Mi Novia. This morning we watched the sun come up, laughed at the antics of Darth Vadar's mythical brother Toledo Vader, ate toast and scrambled eggs off of a Japanese serving tray, planned a trip to Portland to see the Vaux Swifts, plotted the end of Western Civilization as we know it and generally relaxed in a way that only a fox who has escaped the hounds can do.

The best part of the morning wasn't sipping press pot coffee and resting seaside in the South of France but knowing that the machine elves were dutifully swapping out all the steel and chrome parts that were indaintily shoved into my torso over the past couple months with real flesh and blood components. I must tell you, of all the indignities I've suffered through recently, it was the hardening of my heart and spleen and the shredding of my gut due to fear and uncertainty that I rail against the most. Hence the late night flight to this beachside villa on the edge of the Med with Mi Novia in tow. I needed medical help and needed it badly so betwix Laurel and Hardy tapes, a good pot of Chili Verdi, a nice bottle of South African wine and the loving ministrations of Mi Novia I am now on the road to recovery.

Work? Not today. Hell, the rest of that paint job can wait till Sunday. Pink walls, wow. I love them. And even she said, begrudgingly, that they looked good in the morning light.

Oh, yes, and speaking of gifts, peace and love and a heartfelt thanks to all my friends out there who supported me during my time of trials. Your friendship and loyalty was the biggest and best gift of them all.

Salud!

Post 601

Today the dog broke and ran, and baby, I cheered for the dog, not the chain.

Salud!

A manly man shade of pink

The first thing Punkin said when I told her that I painted my bedroom walls pink was "that's MY favorite color!" Well, of course, I was thinking of her all day long when I laid down that paint. I thought, too, of all the dresses and toys and thingamajigs that she has that are pink, or a shade of pink, or variations of purple and pink, and know that somehow she tapped in hard in the decision making for that color. Five hundred miles was a long ways to send a psychic message to her Papa but the connection has been laid down fairly well over the last few weeks. It must be all those daily phone calls she sends my way that influenced my paint selection.

It wasn't really the color choice I had planned on making. I had a wide variety of paint swatches in hand to choose from. I had been leaning on cantalope, or a shade of peach, maybe even something on the other side of the spectrum, in a lighter shade of blue. But the blue, while nice from the old man in the sea perspective, made the room seem too much like a baby boy's room, and with the coming of winter and the possibility of another long season of cold ahead of me here in this house, I didn't want to lay down something that would add an extra layer of chill to that room.

Yeah, I didn't want cool, although that color would be nice on those steaming hot summer nights when the temperatures hit the low nineties. No, warm was the direction where that color had to go. But in the end it could have been anything considering the paint that was on the walls before I started. I was talking to my boy tonight and he was in agreement that he and his brother were only days away from notifying their congressman about that paint before they had to take off to Boise. It was something that bordered on asthetic cruelty, it was that bad. But not bad in a horrible color sense, but bad in that the paint was old and worn and needed freshening up. It had not been touched upon since we bought the house eleven years ago. Someone along the line decided to paint it a shade of vanilla, but laid that light yellow paint over an old school variation of avocado green. Somehow that yellowish tinge just couldn't keep that shade of green down. It was awful, made even moreso while I laid down fresh paint on top of it.

Nothing like a fresh coat of paint to give a room promise. See, all you hyper masculine men out there must be wondering what the hell a manly man like me would be doing painting his room pink. Well, if you really feel you have a need to know just know that the name of the shade is Pink Grandeur. Doesn't that sound pretty swell already? And it isn't a cotton candy pink, or 50's pink, or even Pink Cadillac or Pink Elephant, but a shade of pink that has a bit of peach in it. Think what you'd get if you mixed your "flesh" and "pink" Crayola Crayons together and that's kinda where it's going, but with a hit of orange in it, too, for warmth. But what really makes that color sing, though, are these two old fifties orange lampshades that I picked up a garage sale in Grants Pass years ago. When those lights are lit that shade of Pink Grandeur turns downright wicked.

Okay, well, not really wicked, but you get the idea. So, think warm. Think of the color of your sweetheart's cheeks after a hard walk. Think the opposite of Pacific Northwest winters, think waking up to a room that already has a blush of sunshine in it. Not painted some cool shade of blue, cool like the deep waters of the Sound, but something with a touch of sunrise in it, something with a hint of the coming of the spring. Not a bad thing to see on your walls on a frosty morning come December. So take that, all you hairy chested types that might snicker at my choice. Besides, it's Punkin's favorite color. Anybody want to give me a hard time about that?

Salud!

Nobody's Fool

John Bonham he isn't, but he sure knows how to make some noise.

These past couple months I've woken up pretty much every morning to the same sound from the same drummer, one that relentlessly beat an anxious tattoo down in the panic zone by my navel. It has been a subtle but consistent drumbeat, not insistent in the way that nature calls, but one that drags me out of bed with a voice that goes beyond prepping my mind for work and other responsibilities: it is one filled with alarm. Each morning brings on that same feeling of dread, of "general quarters", one that propells my body to not only to let in the cat and turn on the coffee water but to get me in the mindset to gird my armor and stand by to repell all boarders.

But I must say that this morning was a bit different, that that mad beating was silent, or at least stilled for the moment. I woke up after a good nights sleep, knowing that the cat was still out and that lights were still burning. I went down, secured the lights and opened both front and back doors to let the cat choose his avenue of approach. Instead of lighting kitchen fires and firing up the internet I took a drive, a truncated version of the Stations of the Cross, hoping once again to beat the odds that have been rocking my world this summer and finally come across the walking Professora. Afterwards I came home to this place, to a pot of hot coffee and a snoozing cat. All well and good. I have miles to go before I sleep.

But back to that sleeping drummer. Somehow I have come to place that is a few steps past the crossroads, to a space on the game board that allowed me to pass go and leave behind the filthy lucre of my job. Somewhere along the line I grew hair where hair was lacking and today I let that freak flag fly. Today I will let those that have helped guide me assist me in telling the powers that be that I am not their lackey, their whipping boy, their punk, any longer. Today is the day that I will proclaim that I am nobody's fool. That proclamation will allow me to not only work hard and walk tall but go forth in the world with a new sort of power, a renewed sense of wisdom, one that says to the frighteners that you can't take away my birthday and damn it, know that you never will.

Yesterday was but another day but still, it was one of those kinds of days that said to me that life is full and remarkable and filled with a sort of passion that only comes when you show the world that you have a zest for living. Yesterday I found myself messing about in a tide pool with friends and I came away from that experience knowing that life is just that, one massive tidal zone, one constantly shifting between water and sand, light and dark, misstep and fortune. It made many things clear to me, mainly that time marches on, that life as we lived it was just that, a time in the past, and that we have many things to do before we settle down into the comfort of that grand sleep that awaits us at the end of life.

I woke up this morning to the sound of a symphony, a jazz quartet, a sock hop garage band playing down in my belly. I woke up and relieved the tired drummer of his anxious instrument, had him put up his drum for awhile. I am tired of hearing the incessant tattoo of that fearful drumbeat. There will be plenty of other opportunties for general quarters in this life but for now it's time rebuild and repair and sooth the tired muscles around my very ragged heart. Right now I wish more than anything just to hear what I want to hear, sweetness, pleasantness, the sound of my children's laughter, not ugly sounds that the enemy camp wishes me to hear through it's psy-ops programming. Today I snub my nose at Goliath and tuck away my sling into my belt, for today is the day that I begin my walk away from the madness and let my life become my own again.

Just know that from this day forward I would rather be ragged and hungry than to live with pockets full of jingle and a belly full of fear.

Salud!

An arts festival of my own

Once again a Labor Day weekend comes and while it hasn't gone anywhere yet I realize that I'm not going anywhere either. Once again work dominates my "holiday" weekend: I have a bedroom that needs painting, which I shouldn't feel bad about since I've been living in this house over eleven years and haven't painted it yet. I know that I have a lot of loose ends that need to be wrapped up in order to hit the BIG project next week, and that's to strip out the bathroom. I see plenty of possible issues coming out of that so I don't want to say that it's "just a painting project". The sink needs replacing, the coving needs to be replaced with a hemlock trim and maybe, just maybe, I might go whole hog and replace that awful linoleum with a nice tile job on the floor.

I may be off but my work ethic has been strong and has pretty much followed the same pattern every day: up by eight, pour a pot of coffee into my system and then check out the things to do list for the day. I tend to goof a bit here and there, run errands and second hand but generally I work straight until six. That's when the whistle blows and the "internal boss" allows for a cooking, a bit of wine and when, the kitchen is all wrapped up and secure, for a movie, maybe two.

Yeah, all work and no play makes Jack, or at least Accumulate Man, a dull boy, so this weekend I decided to make it a point to knock off early and start supper at five. Spin some vinyl, get in a couple or three movies a day. I may not be cruising some nifty art exhibits but I will be painting rooms in the inside of my house. I might not be able to grab of bite off of some Seattle's tastier food stalls, but yesterday I made a mighty fine vegetable and polish sausage frittata for lunch and mighty grand pasta bake for supper. We have to look at these things as, well, part and parcel of the whole "labor" day experience.

The Kitsap Stree Movie Festival began yesterday, too, with a "screening" of the Russian epic 1612. Followed up that bit of joy with yet another "epic", Hellboy II The Golden Army. Nice to finally see the big guy again, as the local video house kept coming up with nada for me as far as a rental was concerned. Sometimes you just have to go out and buy these things. Yeah, as far as buying films, wow, thank goodness I'm still into VHS. What a haul lately. Lots of still sealed films, like Yojimbo and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance and Ryan's Daughter. Found a nine volume Nostalgia Merchant set of Laurel and Hardy shorts, a clean copy of The Seven Samurai amongst others. In recent days some thirty odd films have come into the house, all ready to be viewed.

But a good arts festival includes music, too. That part I do miss the most about Bumbershoot. I have to admit that it was my chief musical influence there for awhile, as it introduced many new bands and acts into my life that I wouldn't have able to catch otherwise. But since I had my duties to attend to here I pumped a bit of cash into vinyl instead and found some tasty treats to sit and listen to, for instance, some still in their wrapper recordings of Charlie Poole and North Carolina Ramblers. In the same stack I found, oh, let's see, some Doc and Merle Watson, a nice old timey Cajun fiddle piece, some Flatt and Scruggs with Bill Monroe, some clean eighties stuff, a bit of soul, a bit of "at the hop" oldies and ton of Celtic.

Sure, I may not be listening to the cutting edge of current music or be grooving on the best of World Beat or all that, but I won't have to deal with stinky neo-hippy types sitting down next me or have wild street irchins dipping their chopsticks into my brown rice with peanut sauce. The idea not jostling with the crowds on this wet day or seeing all that trash they generate or having to take the long way home via the ferry late at night is good enough reason for me to be home today. I have junk enough to deal with on my own around here.

So, my own personal arts festival is off to a good start. Today is day two. Looking at the program I can see that I'm schedule to brew up some coffee, go watch The Music Box with Laurel and Hardy, listen to a couple sides of Johnny Horton's least known hits and then, after a solid breakfast, I'm due to get out the primer and a couple brushes and hit that bedroom. If I can't go out and see art today, well, maybe I'll make some of my own. I'll pretend my room is a big canvas and go from there. It may not be a Van Gogh, but I think that Van Gogh might find it to be a mighty fine place to paint!

Salud!

Bummer to missing Sheryl Crow, but not bumming over needing a real bumbershoot this weekend: here's this years Bumbershoot program:
http://www.bumbershoot.org/

"Comin' around"

"Early this mornin' I was washin' my face
Thinkin' 'bout goin' to town
Sick and tired of hangin' around this place
Waitin' on the blues to track me down
Bless my soul maybe I'm comin' around

Been lyin' low but maybe I'm comin' around
I've been runnin' nearly all of my life
Far and as fast as I can
It may sound funny but I'm thinkin' this might
Be about right where I came in

Well I don't know maybe I'm comin' around
Got a ways to go but maybe I'm comin' around
Finally layin' my burden down
One fine day
I'll be free
'Til it comes
I'll go on

My heart's a little ragged but it's all that I got
So I'm gonna give it a try
Look out world I'm comin' ready or not
I don't wanna let you pass me by
Here I go maybe I'm comin' around
I'm a little bit slow, maybe I'm comin' around

Finally layin' my burden down
Maybe I'm comin' around
Maybe I'm comin' around
Maybe I'm comin' around
Maybe I'm comin' around"

Steve Earle
The Revolution Starts Now
Artemis, 2004

Smudged finger prints

I have been working hard on this old house of mine, hopefully doing all the right things so that at some point the house will attract the right folks at the right time with the right amount of cash to blow. When these projects started back in July I thought, okay, cool, the house is sweet and quaint and all that, that in itself should attract buyers. But the more projects I have managed to knock out the more I found left to do. Today was one of those days. Once I moved all of The Boy's stuff out of his room and into the staging area next door I saw that the room was a bit tawdry, a tad more than worn. So yesterday I got out the brushes and the paint cans and got to work. Just finished up this afternoon. Sunshiney yellow with white trim. When it dries I'll shift around a few pieces of furniture just to give it that staged, lived in look.

The only thing that gave me pause was the door. I was working my way around the room and finally had everything done but the doorway leading out of the room. The frame was easy to knock out, then I started in on the door itself. That's when I saw them, the hand prints down below the doorknob. Somehow in my frenzy to clean I missed them, that or I ignored them, but there they were, in stark relief to the bright, white paint all around them. I looked at the positions and the size of the prints and knew them to be the "pawprints" of my youngest and my girl, Punkin, too. Nobody else three years ago would have been that far down, that close to the floor.

So, in order to move the project along I just painted over them. I didn't wipe them away like a good prep artist should, but instead covered them up in order to preserve them. Nobody else will ever know that they are there, no one will ever be able to discover their presence. But when I look at that door, at that place below the door knob, I will know that my children were here. This was their house, too. This was a family place.

Walking out of that freshly painted room I can say that a family lived here. Mine.

Salud!