Good dog bad dog

Yesterday I was walking through my neighborhood listening to my iPod (System of a Down's "Mesmerize") and feeling friendless and alone. I heard a dog barking and two little girls shouting, and I looked up from gazing at my navel to see a large-ish black German Sheppard running towards me, a leash dragging along the sidewalk behind him.

The two little girls were about 10 (I'm a bad judge of age) and were chasing after the dog, but they were far, far behind him and the dog showed no signs of slowing down. Dog's tongue was hanging out, his tail was wagging, he looked like he was just playing, actually. The girls were shouting and laughing for the dog to stop.

The dog got to me and, since I was a stranger, ignored me and tried to run past. I looked at the girls and then put my foot out and stepped on the handle and the leash started to pull from the spool (it was the kind that winds up into the handle). The dog felt the pull, and slowed to a stop, panting hard from his run.

The girls ran up and fell over the dog, laughing hard and telling him he was a bad dog (but from the tone of voice they weren't mad - they were likely glad that the dog hadn't gotten away). They thanked me, briefly, but mostly paid attention to the dog, as they caught up his leash and led him back home.

That was the last time I did something nice for someone, I think. At least more than just holding the door or something small. It felt good. It made me smile. • 4:37 PM 2 comments

Desperate

I'm so desperate for intellectual stimulation, I just watched all 10 "The Office: Accountant" webisodes.

Heh. "Webisodes" is a funny word. Webisodes, webisodes, web episodes, webisodes. • 9:22 PM 1 comments

Damn straight

Cary Tennis is a genius. And compassionate as well, when he says:

"Our wishes, after all, are very close to feelings. Like feelings, they are not always rational. But they deserve respect."

• 8:27 PM 0 comments

Last Tuesday at the Mission

I sat on the sidewalk, pulled my new sexy thing out of my bag, and tried to find some free wireless to connect to. Had another 75 minutes, at least, to wait until "Firefly" at the Mission Theater started. Got here early and the line was already around the corner. I was alone. Again.

In spite of there being several signals, including one called "Mission", I was unable to connect. Damn. Should've brought a book to read. I put my laptop away and stood up. Three 20-year-olds were bragging to each other about voting only to piss other people off. The guy ahead of me was playing Tetris on his cell phone. The girl behind me had called someone "Sweetie" on her cell phone. Time passed.

The girl behind me was slowly joined by several other people. She'd been holding a place in line for them. I wondered which one was "Sweetie" but she didn't seem particularly close to any of them.

More time passed. The line compressed forward in such a way that I moved around the corner to the front of the building. I watched people walk by. The group directly behind me grew a bit larger.

The girl who had held the line tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned around, smiled politely.

"Is your Mac one of the new ones? With the LED screen? I saw you had it out earlier."

No, I explained, it's the first Intel model. I'd had it 2 years.

She said that she'd recently switched from Windows to Mac and she had one of the new, LED-backlit screen models. She loved it but had some occasional problems. We chatted about that for a bit, but my conversational energy slowly ran out.

A lull ensued.

The girl didn't seem interested in talking to the rest of her group.

She turned back to me and asked me about the chickenbutt button on my messenger bag. I laughed and told her the reply: "Guess why? Chickenthigh." We talked a bit more about other things, like "Firefly" and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and movies in general. I introduced myself; she told me her name was Sherry.

She would have been here with her husband but he was home, sick and asleep. She was originally going to hold a space in line for her husbands friend, Mike, but somehow it had expanded and she didn't even know some of the folks in her group. She'd moved here from Florida, married and divorced and married again. I told her that most of what I know about Florida I'd read in Carl Hiassen books; she laughed and said it was pretty accurate.

And, after a bit, she asked me if I was there alone.

I said yes, started to say more, stopped.

She said, "Would you like to sit with us?"

I could not have been more touched. A stranger in a line, out of simple friendliness, invited me to join her group.

Of course I said yes. I thanked her. I wanted to thank her profusely but was able to stop myself.

It was exactly the gesture I needed.

I sat with their group. The last time I was here, I was alone and on the outside. Tonight, I was with friends. New friends, but friends nonetheless. When I bought a brownie to snack on, I offered some to the rest of the group. They saved me a seat while I stood in line for beer. And when laughter and conversation caused us to miss a line or two, we asked each other what we had missed.

And when Mike, sitting behind me, did a spit-take at a particularly funny scene, and I felt a gentle rain of beer droplets on my head, call me crazy but I laughed. Mike was mortified that he'd spit on me, but for that one night, I didn't care. I told him he was fine. Mentally I made a note that if I sat with this group next week, I would use this as leverage to get him to buy me a beer... but it wasn't that big a deal.

After the show, as we wandered out of the theater, I spoke to Sherry. We had discussed just how early a group would have to show up in order to have a good place in line, and I'd offered to get there very early next week to save a spot. Sherry gave me her card - she was a professional pet-sitter.

Of course she'd invited me to join her group. She takes in strays. How perfect! I smiled. And then I left.

I smiled all the way home. And next week I'm going to make Mike buy me a beer. It's all good. • 9:44 PM 0 comments

Uhhh

At Backspace surfing. Tall thin guy on a couch across from me is approached by a tall (hard to judge but she's wearing flats and seems 6' tall from where I sit) short-haired brunette, thin and muscular, in a skintight black T and jeans, with tats up and down her arms and peeking out from various bits of flesh here and there. They start talking about programming - the guy mentions something about Ruby Cocoa, which pegs him as a Mac OS X programmer.

The girl hadn't heard of Ruby Cocoa but she was aware of the implications. She's a programmer, too. Or at least hardcore geek. They're apparently waiting for more people so they chat.

The guy gets a phone call and takes it on his generic non-smart non-PDA phone.

However, my already burning curiosity gets some kerosene tossed on it when the girl pulls out an iPhone. She plays with it for a bit while the boy is on his call.

I lean over the top of my laptop. "I'm trying not to covet your iPhone," I say.

"Oh, no, that's perfectly understandable," she says, almost embarrassed.

"So if you feel waves of attention from over here, it's me," I say, along with waving my hands in her direction to indicate said waves.

She chuckles. "It's the only thing I have going for me, lately."

I hope that the look on my face reflects my complete astonishment at this ludicrous statement, but knowing how well I hide my feelings it probably didn't. Let's see: she's brainy, geeky, tall, hot, and she loves amazing design and ease of use and sexy sexy technology, and yet still modest enough to apologize for it all. I don't remember what I said, exactly, but I think I just nodded.

She talks about how it's the most amazing thing she's ever owned and that she's completely OK with how much it costs. She must get asked that a lot, but doesn't she see that I'm surfing on a MacBook Pro? Don't worry, milady, I get it.

I mention that I'm waiting for my T-Mobile contract to expire so I can get one; she counters with the fact that she paid the early termination fee to T-Mobile to get the iPhone. I ask her how the EDGE service is in Portland and she says it's great.

I go back to surfing while the boy finishes his phone call and plays with the iPhone.

They're joined by another girl, also cute, but obviously lacking an iPhone. They leave for some other venue.

At least I said something. Maybe I'll post this in Missed Connections... • 2:32 PM 0 comments

We apologize for the non-blogging

I've had things happen to me this week, and I wanted to write about them, but after the things happen, and before I get the chance to write about them, I either needed lots of sleep to recuperate, or more things happened that I wanted to write about, and now, at the end of the week, I've got a mind full of great ideas for blog posts, waaaaaaaaaay more than I have time and energy to actually sit down and write.

And now I'm off to participate in yet another thing I'd love to write about... but can't. • 6:44 PM 0 comments

Flip a coin

Sad that strangers can sometimes be more welcoming than a friend I've known for years. It's a mixed-up world.

On the other hand, it's sad to learn that I can hurt someone by relying too much on them. This ol' life gets you coming and going, don't it? • 12:50 AM 0 comments

Oh, and...

PS: I was right about the true thought pissing off my friends, no matter how I phrased it or tried to soften its impact.

Being right doesn't make me feel any better, though. • 8:52 PM 1 comments

Sadness continues

Smacky has been missing since Wednesday morning. Those of you who follow my twitters already are aware; I think this is my first mention here, though. It's very sad. I woke up Wednesday morning to find a hole chewed in one of the front room screens, and no sign of my grumpy black cat. No sign now for four days. Thursday night, when I went out for a run, I looped around the streets close to me to scout out and see if I could find him. In a way I hoped I wouldn't because I feared he would be dead. But I didn't find him at all. It's not impossible that he may still return; last time he got out, he was missing for a week.

I haven't put up posters; I waited a few days to see if he would return right away, and now I haven't really got the energy. It's just one more thing on top of the other feelings of depression.

And about those feelings... My apologies to the many who sang of love's hurt, but I think it's truth that hurts more.

I've had a true thought bouncing around my brain for weeks, since before my road trip. And it hurts. It's undeniably true; it's not a matter of perspective or only true sometimes or something one has to take on faith or based on a feeling that may or may not be true; even though the thought is about human interactions, it's still about as true as such a statement can be.

Since the true thought causes me pain, of course, what I want most is to make it stop. My first impulse is to spit it out. Type it out here, bluntly. Maybe by speaking it aloud I can stunt its ability to cause me pain. I can try to unload it from my brain, or split it in half, lessen its power.

However, the thought is about my friends, and I know that if I were to type it out here, or even say it in person, no matter how I phrased it or tried to minimize its impact, that my friends would be hurt, too, and would likely react in anger. I believe that's because of the truth of the statement; they wouldn't be able to deny that it's true at all, and yet would still feel a need to try to justify the thought, and what conclusions one can extend from the thought.

And that's part of the problem; I already know the justifications and explanations that surround this thought. And, what's more, I agree with them. I know that the situation is exactly as it is for many good valid reasons, reasons that make sense to me, to my friends, to society as a whole. In fact, for what the true thought says about my friends, it shows them in their best light, at least as far as society sees things. But it still hurts.

The flip side of that, though, is that the true thought can then be used as a kind of rhetorical lever against me, and my position, and my values and my value to society. This is the logical bomb that lurks inside the true statement; for while the statement may be 100% absolutely without fail true, about many things... still it may hide an untruthful thought about me. Maybe mask is a better choice of verb: it may mask a truth about me.

Because that's the lesson I need to learn right now, I believe. The universe is as it is; it exists independently whether I'm observing it or not. And the events and objects and people and interactions all undeniably happen and exist. That's what's real.

What I think about that universe, those events, those objects and the people who live, act, use and interact with it all... that's entirely up to me. Once again, the universe is unable to be changed; I'm the one who must change to accommodate its truth. In this case, the change is one of a point of view; the true statement continues to be true, about everyone but me, and I need to re-evaluate my relationship to the statement and therefore my value as a person. Because meaning doesn't exist separately from consciousness; no, we conscious beings create meaning in our brains and then assign it to the universe.

I'm in control of the meaning of my life. That's scary, but also empowering.

If only I can accept that power... • 11:01 AM 0 comments

Pain

You're hurt? You think you're in pain?

Yeah, you probably are. Welcome to the human race. Just like the man said, everybody hurts.

You've got pain. I've got pain. Everybody's soaking in it. Into every life a little rain must fall.

I'd apologize for it, this pain you're feeling, but that's almost like taking responsibility for it. It's not my fault, man. I've got my own shit to deal with. I won't bore you with the list. Not that you'd likely be able to hear me, anyway, what with you being in your head and me being in mine.

Wait, maybe if we figure out what it all means, that will make it better. Sounds good, right? Finding a meaning, or a purpose, for our pain is a tradition with a long and storied past.

The eastern tradition is that pain is basically an illusion. For some reason, that's supposed to comfort you. "Hey, it's all in your head! Buck up, pal, if you were a better person you wouldn't feel hurt." I must be missing something but that seems like cold comfort to me. Maybe it's tough love or somethin'.

The western tradition isn't much better. Pain is somehow noble. Suffering is good for the soul. Hey, look at what Jesus of Nazareth went through, and he was the son of God. Nobody gets out of life alive, and in fact, the worse off you are, the more important you must be. Again... this seems backwards to me.

But both traditions come to the same conclusion about the ultimate goal. Getting rid of pain is what we're put here to do. Unfortunately, getting rid of pain means dying. Either in reaching samsara, nirvana, or heaven... basically, you're gone. Not of this world anymore. Pushing up daisies. Worm food. Buh-bye.

The modern, scientific conception of pain is that it's an alarm going off. "Hey, buddy! Wake up! Something needs changing!" Now this is more like it. I can get behind this meaning. No, it's not a fucking trick of my mind; it's really happening. And no, feeling this hurt isn't going to make me a better person; I am who I am already.

The downside to this idea of pain-as-alarm is that it suggests that pain is transitory, and that we can do something about it. It doesn't really address the concerns of the older traditions, that, like I said, everybody hurts.

It's also a pain in the ass if the source of the pain isn't obvious. If my arm is gone and blood is pouring out of the stump, the solution to ridding myself of the associated pain is clear; tourniquet, motherfucker, and 9-1-1, stat! But if I'm just fucking sad and lonely, and I'm lashing out in anger at anyone who comes close, and I'm eating too much or not enough and I'm closing myself up in my apartment and not doing a fucking thing at all... well, that is pain, too. But what's the course of action? Where's the source of the pain? It's not like I've got shrapnel in me that I can remove. I'm the source of my pain.

Let me repeat that, for emphasis: I am the source of my pain.

Applying the model I'm most comfortable with, if I'm in pain, then something needs to change. If I'm the source of my own pain, then I need to change myself.

I've been here before. I thought I'd figured it out. I was in pain, and, worse, I was causing my family pain. But I got it worked out. I kept on in what seemed like the right direction, and got some support, and things started to break my way.

But there was always a nagging reminder of suffering. I hadn't completely healed. And truth to tell, I'm fucking tired of changing. Changing my job, changing my habits, changing the food I eat and the clothes I wear and the friends I hang around... it seemed to help for a while, but the pain always comes back, so either I'll never be rid of it, or I haven't changed the right things, and I've reached the point where I don't really know what I need to change to fix this.

Sorry if this is maddeningly vague, but, again, I'm not going to bore you with the details, and I'm not going to ask you to put up with them. It's enough that you're reading this right now.

My point is simply this: Look, I understand that you're hurting. I'm not trying to be callous, or unsympathetic. I'm sure it hurts, and I'm sure it hurts a lot, and even if the solution looks obvious to me, I'm likely wrong, and even if the solution looks obvious to you, it may still be difficult to actually do.

But I'm in pain, too. It might not be obvious, and you may or may not think that the reasons for my suffering is somehow worth it, and the solution may be obvious to you or it may not... but, fuck it, this is my pain. As much as I wish someone could just take it away from me, as much as I wish I could just somehow wish it into receding, ain't gonna happen. Not today, anyway.

Fucking pain. It might, in the end, just be a reminder that we're here. • 7:16 AM 5 comments

New Music

Not much happened this weekend. Oh! Except! I bought a bunch of new (to me) music.

On Saturday, I bought Bad Religion's "New Maps of Hell". Awesome, just awesome. I've listened to it straight through four times already. Greg and the guys are still on top of their game. It helps that the situation hasn't really changed since the early 80s when they first formed... There's still a lot of single-mindedness and political hackery and corporate greed and single-mindedness* going around. There's still so many reasons for people to be angry. And nobody expresses that anger better and more articulately than Bad Religion.

I also bought a compilation of The Band's best. A two-disk set. I've long wanted to hear more than just "The Weight", their most famous song. And now I'll set to sample much more. I... uh... haven't listened to this yet. Just a couple of tracks and not with my full attention. I'll get to it, I promise.

I also downloaded Stereogum's tribute to the greatest Radiohead album ever, "OK Computer". Stereogum, for the unknowing, isn't a band - it's a blog. A blog about music. But they decided to honor the 10th anniversary of the release of the mind-blowing "OK Computer" by asking a bunch of artists to cover each song, either a simple cover or doing it as that band would have done that song. I, uh... I haven't listened to this yet, either. Did I mention how much of a fan of Bad Religion I am?

Then, on Sunday, even though I hadn't even listened to most of the music I bought on Saturday, I bought even more CDs. How nutso is that? I bought a two-and-a-half-disk compilation of Elton John's greatest hits, Social Distortion's first album, not just one but two of Northwest punk grrlz made good Sleater-Kinney albums ("All Hands On The Bad One" and "The Woods"), some local project from a group called "Auditory Sculpture" that features my future wife** Storm Large, and Sage Francis' newest album, claimed (by those who write the cover copy) to be his most personal album yet.

So far, of those, I've heard the two S-K albums. I like them - normally hard-core jangly punk just makes me angry but Carrie Brownstein's piercing vocals have an equally energizing, but not as negative, effect on me.

And then, today, at work, I found waiting for me Cake's latest, the "B-Sides and Rarities" CD that marks their first effort after finishing their contract with Sony-BMG. Cake, as always, makes me happy, and several of these tracks are going into my "happy playlist", particularly their cover of Barry White's "Never, Never Gonna Give You Up." Me likey.


* Yes, I repeated myself on purpose.
** Not actually my future wife. Only met her once. • 6:20 PM 0 comments

Those who have the power vs. those who don't

The following is a response to the defensive post by one Mr. Aaron Weiss of KGW, itself a response to The Portland Mercury's post about a lawsuit against Multnomah County Sheriffs Department. The lawsuit alleges that a prisoner who was not resisting received a beating by several members of the MCSO - and the lawsuit is backed up by video courtesy by the Portland Mercury of the beating.

Mr. Weiss of KGW took offense to Matt Davis' allegation of "influencing public opinion" - if I understand it correctly, by KGW's choice of someone to represent the side of Multnomah County. Mr. Weiss then makes the argument that KGW is just trying to show "all sides" and, since Multnomah County won't comment on pending litigation, KGW had to find someone to speak for them.

...which got my dander up. I hate the "fake balance" that our media irresponsibly hides behind these days. I deplore what has become of the Fourth Estate. This is what I posted on KGW's blog, on the Portland Mercury's blog, and here, in case it doesn't pass muster at the other sites.

[begin my comment]
What do I see on the tape? I see those with power using it against someone who doesn't have it. I see precious few inalienable rights being upheld or protected.

The myth that "all sides must be represented" is one of the cancers eating away at our representative democracy. It's based on a further myth that all opinions are equally valid.

Does it shock anyone that the opinions of those who have the power are going to be used to justify and validate their use and abuse of their power? It shouldn't be "news" at all, so why waste time on it? Why give the opinion of those in power any more validity or airtime than absolutely necessary? Why seek out a spokesman for the authorities - pardon me, an ex-spokesman in this case - at all? Anyone with any adult awareness at all can predict the opinion of the people who have been given the public trust.

But the idea that our leaders get equal time with the victims of the abuse of power has been promoted by... our leaders and those who benefit from their continued authority.

"Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable" is a better motto for the media, who likewise have been granted a public trust, but have abandoned it in favor of pleasing those in power.

Until the media puts aside the fake balance, gives short shrift to the opinions of the power brokers, fact-checks our governments actions, and begins simply reporting who has the power, for whom is the power being used, against whom is the power being abused, and what recourse is available to those who don't have the power... our nation will continue to become a police state.

Not that I expect someone who has the power, like Mr. Aaron Weiss, to willingly and honestly report these things. Picking and choosing whose opinion gets validity by using up the precious minutes allocated by their corporate masters, while hiding their own opinions in an attempt to foil any accountability by the public, on whose behalf that trust was granted, tells me all I need to know about how KGW values that public trust. • 11:17 PM 6 comments

Word count

Lately, I hate my job. I would much rather be writing.

But I often wonder if it would be worth it, financially, to be a freelance journalist? How many dead presidents could I collect just by writing?

Here's a little shirt-sleeve math-&-Google to find out.

From last Thursday to today I've posted 8 times (not counting this post). Yes, I'm including "Sellwood #4" even though it was 8 days ago. If you think that's fudging the numbers, so be it.

Those 8 posts are fairly short for me (except for "Sellwood #4"); their word count comes to 1439 (or so - word counts may seem straight-forward but there's some wiggle room).

I found a page published by the Columbia University of Journalism, presumably for its students, that lists many local New York City area papers and what they pay for articles. It looks as though a "standard" per-word pay rate is 10-20¢ per word.

That would give me (assuming every word I wrote got published) between $143.90 to $287.80 for one week's work.

If I assume that editors slash my brilliant writing in half, that would still leave me with 719.5 words published, for a week's pay of $71.95 to $143.90.

If I just wrote as much as I did last week every week, and it all got published, and I got the most generous pay rate, I would have an annual salary of... $14965.60, or $1247.13 per month.

Hmmm. I'd have to have a day job. Or write more.

I can write more... For instance, if you take my Vegas week posts (Day 0.5, Day 1.5, Day 2.5, Day 3.5, Home - updates later, and Day 4.5), those add up to 4828 words. At 10¢ per word that comes to $482.80 for one week's work, not including the freakin' driving and eating and sight-seeing and Vegas-wandering and brothel-touring I also got to do that week. That wouldn't be bad... But even if I did that every week, that would give me an annual gross of let's see... carry the one... $25105.60.

I'd still need a day job. Damn. • 4:14 PM 0 comments

Nothing is OK I guess

Remember the girl on the bus who did not want to be told it was OK? I told her it was OK, anyway. Remember?

Well, I'm currently sitting in a coffee shop with another girl. The top of her laptop has a bunch of stickers on it. One of them reads:

I'm Not OK

She has bleached-blonde hair (dark roots), painted-black fingernails, blue-and-white striped t-shirt, denim mini-skirt and silver boots, and piano keys tattooed around her upper arm. Skulls everywhere: silver skull earrings, another skull on her laptop, a pink (!) handbag with a skull.

I think I'm going to pass on telling her it's going to be OK. I think I might not be OK after telling her that. • 1:03 PM 0 comments

Giant + Enormous

Dear Miriam-Webster:

You may be among the leaders in dictionaries, however, I feel that you have allowed your metaphorical crown to become besmirched.

Yes, yes, you feel the hot breath of user-generated content and Web 2.0 on your editor's collective necks, and so, out of fear, you rush to adopt words in a way that resembles the crazed actions of a parent trying to connect with their teenagers. "Hey," you say, "look at us, adding these new words, words like RPG and smackdown and crunk to the dictionary! Aren't we 'fly' for adding these words?"

Um... guys... those words are old words, words that have been around for decades. Look, don't use words that were cool when you were kids to impress the kids, mmmKay? Doesn't work.

But... the worst offense is when you add a word and you add it incorrectly.

It's not ginormous. It's gianormous.

Like giant + enormous. Gianormous. Get it?

Please feel free to correct this soon.

To be sure, there's some dispute over my preferred spelling, but two out of three entries at Urban Dictionary (ah, there's that user-generated content that's got the old-school companies runnin' scared) agree with me. I win.

Sincerely,

Brian • 4:29 AM 1 comments

Alternative explanations

Earthquake? Oh, right.

I was at a coffee shop, and I think I felt the above earthquake, but here are some of the thoughts in my head at the time:

• "Holly's not that large. In fact, she's quite skinny. There's no way that rumble was caused by her walking in..."
  
• "Hmm... my phone didn't vibrate."
  
• "Is the hard drive in my laptop dying?"
  
• "I didn't notice a truck driving by..."
  
• "Maybe I've had too much coffee."
  
• "No one else seems to be reacting. Must've imagined it."

It's amazing how many thoughts can go through your head in just a second. • 9:47 PM 0 comments

Close but no...

Crowded train home tonight. I stood next to a beautiful blonde girl, in her mid-20s. An inch or two taller than me, full-figured, brown eyes, full lips, cheeks and nose dusted with faint freckles. I was facing to the left of the train's motion, and she held onto the pole, facing toward the train's forward motion.

I was already in place when she boarded, and as she took her place next to me, I dared not move, and so, due to random chance, we ended up in close proximity, two strangers. Just by not averting my gaze (shielded by my sunglasses and the brim of my hat though they were) I could examine her face in profile, just inches away from mine.

Her hand seemed small for a girl so tall, and it wrapped the pole just above mine. I could see her fingernails, short, unpainted, with just a hint of dirt under them, the skin a bit rough. She worked with her hands. She did not pamper them. My own hands have seen their share of dirt and cuts and scrapes but today seemed far fairer than did hers.

She was dressed in functional black. I assumed she worked in the food or service industry.

There was an intimacy, at least for me. I kept my expression neutral but I felt familiar with her, a warmth. I had not been this close to another human being for far too long.

The nearness of this beautiful girl affected me deeply.

That's just how starved for human contact I feel. • 12:10 AM 0 comments

Internet fame

The Ultimate Apple Weblog (TUAW) has an article about the iPhone and Twitter.

Check out who's featured in the accompanying picture.

Yes! It's me! • 10:34 PM 0 comments

Forward looking

Things I'm looking forward to:

• "Spook Country", a new novel from William Gibson, due out 7 August 2007.
  
• "New Maps of Hell", a new album from Bad Religion, due out 10 July 2007.
  
• "The Simpsons Movie", released 27 July 2007.

There's probably more but that's what's on my mind right now.

What are you looking forward to? • 9:07 PM 4 comments

Big wad

I had a big stack of lottery tickets that may, or may not, be winners. I don't check them right away after the drawing; I figure if they're not for the big prize, it's not urgent to find out if I won an extra few bucks. Also, I don't always trust the cashiers when they check my tickets. What if it's a winning ticket, they tell me "no, sorry" and then pocket the ticket?

Yeah, there's a downside to skepticism. Trust is a rare and valuable thing in this crazy mixed-up hill of beans. Or, y'know, whatever.

Today I decided to check them myself. Some lottery retailers have self-check machines - a box with a slot and a barcode reader to scan the ticket and let you know if it's a winner or not. One of these retailers is the Peterson's Market on SW 4th and Washington, and since I was downtown this afternoon fondling the iPhone I can't buy yet, as I passed the convenience store, sad and iPhone-less, I walked in, wad of lottery tickets in hand.

First ticket I scanned... didn't. It wouldn't scan no matter how I tried. I set it aside. Next one came up:

Congratulations! Please see retailer.

The rest of the tickets did not show up as winners.

I approached the cashier, a tall skinny guy with Buddy Holly glasses, and showed him the two tickets, one a mystery, the other a winner.

His eyebrows popped up above the black rims of his glasses when he scanned the winner.

"Was it a lot?" I asked.

"A hundred fifty-two," he said.

"Nice! I can get that from you, right?" Officially, anything under $600 can be redeemed at a retailer, but practically speaking, I'm not sure a convenience store at 2:30 PM on a Sunday is going to have that much in cash.

"I think so..." he said. He showed me the other ticket. "This one's four bucks." He popped open the register and did not look happy at what he saw.

"Well, the Rialto" which was next door "would probably have it if you don't. Unless you've already registered the transaction?"

There was a couple behind me, chubby guy with green hair and a slender Middle-Eastern girl in black, waiting, so the cashier helped them. They bought cigarettes. I was patient. I had money coming.

When the clerk got back to me, he started counting out bills. He held up a wad of greenbacks. "You don't mind singles and fives, do you?"

I didn't care. I shrugged. It was kinda taking too long already. "Nah." I felt suddenly conspicuous as another, older couple walked in and stood behind me.

He laughed, under his breath. Upon seeing my curious look, he explained in a not-really way "that's just my weird sense of humor." He laid out the two tickets on the counter. "This one's $4; this one's $158. Total of $162." Held up the big wad of cash. "We'll count it out together." He only had two twenties; then he started in on the fives.

"...one forty eight, one forty nine, one fifty, one fifty one, one fifty two." He stopped counting, out of money.

"Uh... you still owe me ten bucks," I said. "158 plus 4 is 162, not 152."

"Oh! You're right!" He looked genuinely surprised, not duplicitous. "I'm a terrible cashier." He popped open the register again, frowning. He held up a roll of quarters. "Is change OK?"

I laughed. It really was funny to me, though the frustration and delays and scrounging I was making this guy do took some of the funny off. "That's fine; I'll take the quarters."

The pile of money was too big to go in my wallet. I put it in the front pouch on my messenger back, carefully zipped it closed, and walked out, suddenly flush with cash.

Not enough for an iPhone... yet. • 3:09 PM 1 comments

Sellwood #4

Walking around my neighborhood last night, I passed a cute girl sitting in a parked truck. Her head whipped around when I passed into her peripheral vision.

"Did I startle you?" I asked her, while still walking.

She called out the window, "No, I thought you were my friend."

"Nope," I said over my shoulder, still walking away, but slowly. "We haven't met yet."

She laughed. "Not yet?"

I called back over my shoulder, "Not sure I trust you, though. You're the one lurking in a parked car!" • 6:57 PM 1 comments

Day 4.5 - Ely to Portland

The "continental breakfast" at the Copper Queen was actually really good. Normally the hotel tosses out some bagels and cheap muffins and a pot of coffee. The Copper Queen put out an actual spread: scrambled eggs, sausage, muffins, French toast, waffles, fruit, yogurt, you name it, they had it. Oh, no bacon, at least not that I saw.

And their free wifi was broken, but the desk staff didn't know anything about it so I was kinda screwed there, which partially explains why I didn't post that night. Sorry.

...and then I was off.

804 miles, per teh google. I started out around 10:00 AM. It was hot. I stopped several times for gas. Funny, but the cheapest gas I got was in Portland (had to return the rental with a full tank).

Really, nothing much happened. I didn't have many interactions with people. Had dinner in Boise - and I broke my self-imposed rule about "no corporate food" by eating at Wendy's.

Honest. Nothing much happened. I just drove and drove. The views driving along the Snake River were amazing - that valley is phenomenal. I was also impressed, once again, by the change in scenery as I crossed from Idaho to Oregon. The mountains on the Oregon side of the border take my breath away.

But... yeah. Nothing much happened. I listened to my music. I drove. I thought, and thought some more. I texted Tracy when I could.

Nothing. Nope. Just drove. Really. Why are you looking at me like that?

Oh... right. Yeah, I did stop in Wells, Nevada, briefly. Is that what you're thinking of?

I was just curious about the legal brothel there. Had a beer. Corona. They had no limes. Talked to Kat, the bartender, a tall older lady. Looked in the book - pictures of all the employees. Just curious. Talked to Sophie, one of the employees. Got a tour; saw the heart-shaped bed, the hot tub. Ended up in Sophie's room - that place is really a maze, you know?

I guess most of the girls were still waking up, which seemed odd to me 'cause it was after 1:00 in the afternoon.

Sophie was nice, y'know. But she seemed a bit frustrated when I just repeated myself: "I think I'm just going to finish my beer and be on my way." I said it several times. She kept wanting to "party" but I had a long drive still ahead of me.

Eventually Sophie brought me back to to the front room. Kat came out and asked me if I wanted to sit with any of the other girls. I repeated myself about finishing my beer. Kat nodded, looked away, and said, "So... you just came in for the experience, then?"

I nodded.

She said, "Well, if you're from another state, it probably seems odd. But here, it's just another business, y'know?"

I thought about all the strip clubs in Oregon, but I spoke words of agreement. I tossed a tip on the bar, feeling a little guilty for taking up their time (but not that guilty), and I got in my car.

Then I was on my way again. Just wanted to be home. • 6:31 PM 0 comments

Short interjection of praise

I just wanted to point out, for anyone reading this blog who isn't already aware, that Google Maps are now one-hundred and seventy-three times more useful by adding the ability to click-and-drag routes on the map.

If that explanation doesn't do it for you, just try it. Get driving directions from somewhere to somewhere else. Don't like that route? Wanted one that took a right turn at Albuquerque, just like Bugs and Daffy always did? Well, move your cursor over the blue line of the route, click, and drag that line over to Albuquerque. Watch as the route shifts and curves over the possible routes, in real time, as you drag.

The time and distance updates in real-time, too, both in the left sidebar, and on the pop-up tool tip on the map itself, by your cursor.

It's amazing. Really. It's been amazingly helpful to me on my road trip.

OK, back to trip updates, and then back to "normal" blogging (whatever that is 'round here). • 3:58 PM 1 comments

Day 3.5 - Las Vegas to Ely

After waking up, checking out of the Motel 6 (I was hoping for a glimpse of my noisy neighbors but no such luck), I headed out to find breakfast. I found it at the MGM Grand Buffet. So good.

First plate: bacon, potatoes, blintzes, sausage, coffee and a mimosa.

Second plate: pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream, corn beef hash, more bacon and sausage, and fresh pineapple.

I so wanted to have a third plateful, but I just couldn't. Also, they were closing up in preparation for lunch.

Why did everyone around me keep asking to borrow my catsup? Couldn't they just get their own? I guess I only cared because it was older guys asking me. If they had been female I wouldn't have cared.

Waddling away from the trough, I did a little shopping, trinkets for my friends. I considered buying some Las Vegas-themed "decorative glassware" for my favorite dancer, Sharai... but ended up getting her a Vegas-decorated cigarette case instead. I hope she hasn't quit smoking since I've last seen her...

And just like that, I was pretty much done with Vegas. I hadn't done everything I'd wanted to, but I was tired of doing the stuff that I'd done, if you can follow that. I wanted to be on the open road, and just like that, I was driving north on I15, with not much of a plan.

Teh Google says that the shortest route from Vegas to Portland is north on US 93, to Boise, then west along I84. Since that route would take me back along a route I had driven before, but then veer off into fresh territory, I decided to go home that way. Bonus was that it would add another state to the trip. I figured I'd stop somewhere around Ely, or maybe Elko, then do the rest of the drive the next day or two.

That stretch of highways has terrible cell phone coverage, by the way. While I was out of cell phone range, Tracy was falling out of love, and I felt like a bad friend for not being there for her.

What I did get to do was think, mostly. I thought about all sorts of things. I thought about my passivity. Although that's not entirely an accurate description of myself. I can be passive, but then I'll suddenly burst forth and do something all at once. I'm kinda like tectonic plates: I'll slowly build up pressure along a fault line, then release all that energy in one burst. Often (but not always) destructive. Is there a way for me to moderate those internal pressures, or at least release them in smaller events?

Who knows? The downside of being an over-thinker is that there is no end to the questions or the thinking. It just goes on and on. In fact, the other-thinking may be the slow grinding that builds up pressure over time. It's just... it's just what I do.

I stopped in Rachel, Nevada, home of Little A'Le'Inn, so called because Rachel is right on the edge of the Nevada Air Force Flight Test Center, more popularly known as Area 51. Other than the cheesy souvenirs, I saw no aliens or alien space craft in Rachel, nor along the Extraterrestrial Highway.

And, once again, I found myself driving near Lunar Crater, a feature that's about 9 miles off the main highway, via a dirt road. It feels about as remote as any other place I've ever been; though how remote could it be if there's a bench there? Still, standing on the rim of the crater, I felt like I could see for miles and miles in all directions, and I saw nothing but myself and the desert. It was hot (the car told me it was 110° F), the sky was blue, the ground was tan, the mountains brown.

Weighing on my mind for this segment of the drive was what I would call in someone else a spiritual urge - the desire to submit myself to something greater than myself, as a way of bringing myself into balance, or maybe accord, with everything around me. Not believing in anything other than the material universe, though, my options for submission were limited. I didn't trust very many other humans, for instance, and most certainly not those who have, by hook or by crook, been given authority over others. They're just humans like me, weak and strong in the same measure, and not much greater (or lesser). Ah... but the universe itself, and the forces and processes that have brought me to this point, looking into a very real abyss... A wind would come and go, and when it was there it was as loud as any music I listen to; and when it went, there was an absolute silence broken only by myself.

So alone. Just me, and the crater.

Almost without thinking about it, I set down my camera, sat down on the bench, and pulled off my shoes and socks. The sand was hot, very hot, but bearable. My feet are tough, though softened by civilization they still retain their adaptive thick skin. I stood. I pulled off my hat and my sunglasses, and I could still see without their protection. My head felt better, actually, without the hot felt fedora. I reached up and pulled off my t-shirt, exposing my hairy chubby chest to the warm sun and occasional wind. I unbuckled my pants and pulled them off. I was naked.

I was naked, on the rim of a lonely crater, in the hot desert. I looked around, sure that someone would come around the trail, or up the dirt road on the side of the feature. There was no one there. I was as alone in reality as I often felt in my head. I was as naked in reality as I often felt among others.

I danced.

At first I felt silly, but then I realized that no one could see me, and if they couldn't see, they couldn't care one way or another. If anyone approached I would see or hear them long before they reached me. Slowly, to the music in my head at first, and then to the music of the desert, I danced.

I stopped long enough to put my hat on, and take a picture. A private picture, just for me, no one else, to remind me what I can do when no one is around. Character, you see, is what you are in the dark. What do you do when no one is watching, when you have nothing to prove and you are your own question and your own answer?

My answer is that I dance, naked, on the rim of the abyss. Metaphor made very literal, and documented for no one but myself.

After a time, I have no idea how long, 5 minutes or an hour, I dressed again, got back in the car, and, worriedly, drove back to the highway, concerned again that the rental would crash, or break, or get a flat tire or something. How silly those worries are, and yet so real in the moment.

I drove north, to Ely, a town I've been in before. I saw several "No Vacancy" signs, just like last time, and I saw a lot of motorcycles, but not as many as last time. The Motel 6 was sold out, but the girl at the counter suggested there were rooms available in the Ramada Inn.

The Ramada Inn and Copper Queen Casino is, without a doubt, the cheesiest hotel I've ever stayed in. Lacquered wood panelling inside, a casino with an indoor swimming pool, mining equipment for decor... it just feels silly to me. And it was, without a doubt, the most expensive hotel of my trip, for just one room, single occupancy, for one night. But I paid the price happily. I was on vacation. What did it matter?

Oh, and the fact that it was, apparently, the last room available in town? That had nothing to do with anything.

That night my sister texted me, asking about Vegas. I replied that Vegas was fun but I wasn't there anymore. She asked me if I planned to come to the family beach house in Lincoln City that week. I checked the calendar, and realized that today was Monday - and I was supposed to return the rental tomorrow, Tuesday! How had I lost such track of time? Or rather, why had I underestimated how long it takes to drive to Vegas and back when I'm by myself? I told my sister that I would not be back in time for the Fourth of July, my apologies, and then I set my mind to make the drive back in one day. 800+ miles, straight through, only stopping if I have to. I could do it. It would be fun... • 2:02 PM 1 comments

Home - updates later

I'm home. Drove over 800 miles yesterday. I've had the bare minimum amount of sleep (5 hours) to feel partially human again. I'm cursed - no matter how late I'm up the night before, I can't sleep in later than 7:00-7:30a. I guess this is payback for all those years I was able to sleep in 'til 1:00-2:00p.

Updates later. Go look at the rest of my pictures.

I'll explain this one later, too. • 9:01 AM 2 comments

Day 2.5 - Arrival

Left Fallon, NV around 10:00 AM. I don't know. It's kind of a blur. I remember stopping at the Safeway in town, wandering the aisles trying to find a liter bottle of water and an energy bar for breakfast. I wanted to conserve calories because I've been over-eating like crazy, and I wanted to stem the guilt I knew I'd feel when I got to Vegas and gorged on a delicious buffet. Frustrating, then, to not immediately find that cold liter of water, and there didn't seem to be an energy bar in the entire store. Plus, some dude cut in line in front of me at the in-store Starbucks and that was the last straw. I left Fallon hungry and thirsty.

The next town, though, was on the other side of the Walker River Paiute Reservation, 40 miles away, in a town called Schurz.

I discovered that the Malibu loses its breath over 100 MPH. Or maybe it was the heat; it never dropped below 95 all day yesterday, on my 386 mile blast down US-95 through the Nevada desert.

But around 70-85 MPH, it did just fine. Don't look at me like that - the speed limit is 70 for most of that stretch, and I used the cruise control to my advantage, setting it about 9 MPH over the speed limit, and pushing it only when I was passing. I slowed to the speed limit when driving through towns (which caused some frustration for those behind me, but, whatever). I saw at least three folk pulled over by state troopers, and saw several more cops just out 'n' about, but I did not get pulled over. I'm either lucky or doing something right. I prefer the latter.

I wanted to take some pictures of the amazing mountains and desert but I'm disappointed in my camera. Sure it takes decent snapshots but I want something more. The scenes will have to live in my memory: the coyote panting in the shade of a guard rail; the burro tied up to a sign advertising burro rides; the half-dozen legal brothels I passed, each one just a collection of trailers set off the main highway, with friendly signs proclaiming their wares; or, of course, the natural colors, gray, brown, red, yellow, of the mountains.

Everywhere I saw those mountains, I was reminded of the tail-fin inspired mountains in Pixar's "Cars". I became Lightning McQueen. Every semi-truck I passed was Mack. I kept hoping to see "Doc" Hudson pacing me, taunting me...

In Schurz, I stopped to get water, but the store was sold out, except for gallon bottles. Hard to drink from a gallon bottle while driving. I bought a 7-Up and some beef jerky. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I glanced to my left and saw an ancient, almost toothless old man, eyes hidden behind thick prescription glasses, so shrunken and shriveled and tanned to within an inch of being actual leather, his head barely rising above the windowsill of the car in which he sat.

When he saw me, his mouth opened into a wide, but empty, grin, and he waved wildly. I smiled and waved back.

There's so little to tell of the rest of the drive. I got gasoline ($3.19/gallon for regular unleaded) in Beatty, where it was 110° F and I was afraid I'd literally burst into flame. And I drove. And I didn't detour or otherwise stop unless I had to.

Around 4:20 PM, I entered Clark County. Shortly after, I could see the top of the Stratosphere at the edge of the horizon. I've been to the top - the very top - several times.

I tried the Rio first, because I had a thought to see two of my intellectual heroes, Penn & Teller, perform. Rio was sold out - at least to a walk-in without a reservation. I tried the Riviera next. Also sold out, but the lady at the counter suggested I use the house phone to reach reservations and try that way. I did try, but the phone voice mail hell literally ran me in circles and I gave up. I walked to the Vegas Hilton - also sold out.

So that's why I ended up at the Motel 6, on the second story facing the airport, in a non-smoking room that smells heavily of cigarette smoke. Shortly after dragging my stuff in and getting on the (pay) internet, the couple next door started going at it. Loudly. Hey, that's the kind of free entertainment one does not get in the fancy-schmancy hotels on the Strip, or even downtown! And luckily it was the kind of sex that turns me on...

After showering off the road and changing, I drove to the self-parking at the Mirage, parked the car, and wandered around. So many people, even late on a Sunday night. Not Times Square crowded, but close. And all the amazing people-watching... tourists from all over. I kept expecting to run into anyone I knew, but that didn't happen. I kept hoping to run into someone famous, but that didn't happen.

What did happen, you ask? Come on, now, you know the rule: What happens in Vegas... stays in Vegas. • 9:12 AM 0 comments

Stratosphere

I've been to the top.

• 5:01 PM 0 comments

Day 1.5 - Roseburg, OR to Fallon, NV

Yesterday was mostly a blur. After checking out of my motel (and having to go back because I'd left my atlas in my room - what is it with me forgetting my map? Oh, and the maid lied to me and tried to keep it but I spotted it on her cleaning cart), I pointed my car (what I thought was) east to find Crater Lake.

20 minutes later I realized that the sun was in the wrong part of the sky and turned around. Didn't lose too much time.

The drive along scenic route 138 (the Rogue-Umpqua Scenic Byway) was fun driving. The Malibu is a fun car to drive - who'd've thunk it? It's in need of a slight alignment because I had to correct for steering a bit, but it had enough power to make passing a pleasure and not a fright. Best I did was just touching 100 MPH (indicated) on a fairly straight uphill section. Maybe I can do better in the desert today on my blast down to Vegas...

Crater Lake was awesome. I got some pictures (I just dropped them in that gallery - haven't had a chance to make 'em pretty or weed out the bad ones)... but I didn't stay too long. The cafe wasn't open, and I didn't want to wait to eat in the lodge. Flirted with the girl at the gift shop where I bought a bottle of water and a shot glass (I collect those). Or maybe she flirted with me - she caught me looking at her while I was waiting in line and she smiled back at me and asked me if I needed help with anything. She was cute - a Latina. Her nametag read "Eda". Ah, if only I hadn't been in a hurry...

Then I drove hard south, along Klamath Lake to Klamath Falls. Road trip rules: no corporate food. So I stopped at a diner called Blondie's that bragged about their homemade buns. I ordered the smaller cheeseburger (1/4 lb) because I seriously wanted to watch what I'm eating on this trip. Imagine my surprise when the woman dropped a burger the size of my skull on the table, along with enough fries to feed a small South American village.

After lunch I tried to find some wifi but the only coffee shop within walking distance I could find that had it (after asking around and looking very much like a tourist) was closing in 15 minutes. "Seriously? You're closing in 15 minutes?" The woman confirmed that and seemed puzzled by my shock. I guess I'm weird for thinking that closing at 3 PM on a Saturday afternoon is strange. Maybe she had a hot date?

But I had enough wifi to check my route, and I texted Tracy to tell her that if I drove straight through I could be in Vegas that night! What I didn't know at the time was that I had mis-Googled. I was 5 hours away from Reno, not Las Vegas. I have no explanation for that - wasn't that tired, full stomach, plenty of coffee in me. I must have been in a hurry because the shop was closing.

It was in the 80s in K-Falls, and for the rest of the day - including the night time - the temperature never dropped below 79° F that I could see. Yeah, it's hot, and it's only going to get hotter as I head south through the freakin' desert.

In Alturas I stopped for gas ($3.39/gallon for regular unleaded) and snacks and realized that there was no way I'd be in Vegas unless I drove all night. I didn't want to drive all night, so I decided to stop around Reno.

In Reno I realized that I don't really like Reno and, after applying some more caffeine, I kept going for a bit. I finally got a room in Fallon, NV.

I still have 386 miles to go - assuming I hit the road in the next hour, don't make any detours, and just stop for meals, I'll see the shiny lights of Sin City around 6 PM. So... probably later than that, because I like making detours and eating. • 9:20 AM 0 comments