Category: reminisce

Thoughts about the good old days… memories.

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all the way to the horizon

Never coming down.
Today on the way home for lunch (baby-budget, remember), I was listening to Menomena’s new three-track (thematic, if not full-blown “concept”) EP/album, Under An Hour (which it is, just barely, at 54min). Of the three tracks, which are each near the 20min mark, I’ve rarely gotten to the final one. So… liking the first two tracks so much, I decided to flip direct to the last track. Turns out, the third track begins with a buzzy droning sound, completely unaccompanied; something like a small plane sounds like from inside the cockpit.

Wait, if you skipped that last paragraph because it started out about music, go back – I’m actually going somewhere with this and needed the music to set it up. Go ahead, I’ll give you a second…

Anyway, with the windows down and that drone droning on in my ears, I started to imagine I was in a plane. Flying over the same roads I was driving, watching myself down there. If you’re having a hard time picturing this, pop in Kubrick’s The Shining DVD and watch the opening sequence as the Torrances make their way up to the lodge, shot from a helicopter tracing their winding path up the wooded road.

Suddenly, being up in the sky and far above the me driving down below, I felt all at once alone and free. I could just keep flying, stay airborne, take it to the mountains or even over the ocean. Stay up in the cold thin air with nothing but the drone of the engines outside. I could look down on little people like me and their purposed motions, heading home for a quick sandwich because they’re about to have a baby and a pound of deli meat is cheaper than a pre-fab sandwich at the cafeteria. But not me. I’m up here in the sky where there’s no turn I can’t take, no direction I can’t point myself in. Aimed into the blue all the way to the horizon.

When I was a kid, in 5th grade or so, I used to daydream about jumping out of my swing at the very top of the arc. I’d spread my arms and fly away, circling above the playground looking down at the upturned heads of my amazed classmates. That, or the one where I could walk on the ceilings, my feet stuck to the top of the walkway coverings – just out of reach of the kids below. Oh, and there was the one where I could walk through walls… that one was mostly used to get into closets other such places where I could spy on girls undressing. So, aside from the pervert one, I guess flying away type escapist fantasies have been with me from a young age. There’s something alluring about looking down on everything, as a supreme being would on his creation. They’re down there, you’re up here – and they can’t even throw a rock and hit you. Money.

Finally, and added early this morning after I’d already auto-published at midnight, some non-abstract writing (and darn good news). Sharaun, who wins so much stuff on the radio that we get W2s from Infinity and ClearChannel, this morning won a 60GB video iPod. She promptly called and told me to get out of bed and tune in for the call-in contest responsible. Oh yeah, and she won some Globetrotter tickets too, which I’m actually pretty pumped about… but the iPod I’ve been dreaming of, and it’s within the baby-budget… free-ninety-free. How she does it, I have no idea.

Goodnight.

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breaking ground

Onto the new.
In my ongoing effort to prevent this now somewhat “mature” blog from sliding into repetitive boredom, I’m trying to establish a few “new” styles of entry that’ll hopefully help me write more interesting material, and give me something to “fall back” on when the creative juices aren’t exactly flowing. I know, how “creative” is this thing? Not very; but that still isn’t stopping me from trying to make it a little more engaging to the hardy few who do try and read regularly. So, in addition to my “one liners” idea, I’m going to again debut something I think may be worthwhile – new entries that look back on past entries and re-hash or re-examine them. I know that going back and talking again about something that’s already been talked about may not strike you as particularly “new” or original, but I think it has potential to be interesting for me from a writer’s perspective – and that, folks, is what it’s all about if I intend to continue filling pages with words. So, today I’ll kick off the new hotness part II – the “one (or two) year ago today” themed entry.

It just so happens that December 8th’s entry last year was my “best of 2005” roundup, and I didn’t feel there was much more I could write on that – so I cheated, and used December 7th’s entry (hey, I’m all timezone-impaired right now anyway, gimme a break). So, here, in another stunning display of my stylesheet mastery, is December 7th’s entry – one year ago today.

Liar.
Happy Monday to us all. Writing this, it’s Sunday morning. I think we’re gonna use the day to put up the Christmas tree and hang lights on the house. I’d like to get out of my slump and finish the porch in the backyard, since the stone-saw magically starting working again yesterday. I had a feeling you know, that it’s brokenness wasn’t final. So I decided to put it in the garage and wait, just let it relax, maybe not cut bricks for a couple weeks. And just as I suspected, when I plugged her in yesterday to see if she had self-healed, she fired up right away. So, now I have no excuse not to finish… time to get off my butt and get out there. Cut the remaining bricks, make the final adjustments to the sprinkler-head positions, then do the cleanup, topsoil, and finally sod and plants. It may seem like a lot, but having a finite amount of steps until I can be “done” is really exciting to me.

The above is the centerpiece of this entry – another letter Shaine managed to scan in. You can read the backstory here. Looks like I switched to typing in this letter, probably because my handwriting was so deplorable in 6th grade. Anyway, where the last letter was only a tad on the fantasy side, with this one I’ve decided to weave an entire narrative of lies. I mean, read it; it reads like I was making up each sentence as I went. The part about Kristina was true, at least the gist of it. She got mixed up in some deep stuff early on when we moved. Maybe I’ll get into the whole Kristina thing one day, it’d make an interesting story I think. The part about the VCR and cable in my room was true too. I remember saving a lot of allowance and mowing more than a few lawns to buy that Goldstar VCR, $99 is a lot for a 6th grader. I loved that VCR, it enabled us to rent and watch Rebecca De Mornay’s And God Created Woman… remember the pool table scene?… I do.

As for the letter’s main subject, fighting, there are some loose connections to real events I suppose. I do remember the candy-stealing incident of that 1st Halloween… and I did somehow end up with the perp’s candy at the end, but I don’t think there was a single punch thrown in between those events. As for the supposed four other fights, they are bald-face lies. The one with Chad may have been based loosely on an afterschool tussle that actually did happen, but I certainly wasn’t involved. Seems I concocted all sorts of brave tales to impress my long-distance best-bud. I mean, I can recount nearly every fight I’ve been in, and I surely would’ve remembered five fights in one night… anyway, I was a pacifist. Well, if anything, I guess it shows I’ve always had a knack for narrative…

Sunday’s over, back to work in the AM… the weekend happens too fast y’allz, the stench of cubicle is still fresh in my mind from Friday afternoon – and I’ll be punching in again in a mere twelve hours. I did, however, make good use of the day. I put up our new dartboard (in accordance with the standard British pub rules, of course), cleaned/organized the garage, finally put away the Halloween decorations, and put the lights up on the house. We pulled down the tree and in-house baubles, but didn’t get around to setting it all up. Tomorrow night perhaps. Putting up the Christmas lights is always a chore, but today it was OK. Up on the roof in the cool weather, me neighbor across the way was also putting up lights… we shared some light-putting-up banter from rooftop-to-rooftop. At one point, our other neighbor came out and we were all chatting about thisnthat, and it struck me how “suburban” it all was. Here we all our, decorating our houses, shouting to each other from rooftops to driveways, sharing waves and smiles… and I deemed it all very good and enjoyable. In the end we all told each other our respective houses “…look(ed) good man,” and went about our business. Nice. Very homey.

This week is the Arcade Fire show in San Fran. I’m really looking forward to it. I hope they are as good live as I’ve heard, and that they’re worth the drive. Now I’m off to bed, goodnight.

So how do we take this full-circle? The reason I chose the 7th’s entry was the part about making up junk for Shaine – I figured I could write more about that than I could recapping my top 10. I was always out to impress Shaine, he was older than me – and a good measure “cooler” too. In 5th grade, we became an inseparable duo of mischievous friends. So, it’s only natural that, when my family moved away at the end of that year – I wanted to keep in touch, and, use my new cross-country anonymity to spin impressive yarns. So, apparently, I decided to send letters with completely made-up goings-on, inventing fanciful stories of daring-do and lawlessness. I mean, this is a guy who sent me three Mexican Redhair seeds through the USPS, years before I’d discover the virtues of weed on my own. In turn, I’d send him fireworks – which were abundant in the south. I don’t know how long we corresponded after I moved, but I can remember calling him every so often, especially on his birthday, which I remember to this day, and chatting about what was going on.

I can remember talking to Shaine once, and him telling me that he’d let his hair grow to his butt. I remember him telling me that his family had moved up north, and that he’d been smoking “marijuana,” something that, at the time, equated him with serial killers to me. It seemed like he’d become quite the badass since I’d left, and the scared child within me was kinda glad I’d managed to get away before joining him in his descent to juvie. Alas, I would make my own descent only a few years later – but in my pre-hoodlum innocence, who would’ve known? We stayed friends – despite my slower-than-his ramp into true adolescence – and we talked and corresponded for at least a few years. And, believe it or not, we still keep in touch to this day – although my keeping-in-touch skills are admittedly lacking sorely.

Remember how much I was sweating my India presentation? Well, it went great – better than expected actually; much better. Having that under my belt kind of “legitimizes” this trip to me, a trip for which, other than the presentation, the sole purpose was some kind of “meet and greet.” So, my guilt over not preparing and even coming in the first place has been soothed… and I’m back to feeling good about what I did and why I did it. That’s good, right? Yes; I think that’s good.

Leaving this country in just about twelve hours, I bid you farewell.

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a lot of words, nothing to say

So much for keeping it short and sweet.
Fresh out of wrote-last-night canned content, this one’s gotta come correct with original content – written on-the-spot. It’s not as easy to do as you may think. Go home tonight, try to write a few paragraphs about something… I swear it looks easy but it’s not. So, when I sat down and thought about what to write tonight, this is what happened. A heavily back-linked entry, which is good because all the trawling through old posts gave me a chance to fix posts where things some WordPress conversion artifacts were still hiding, and give titles and categories to those still un-titled/categoried. At least I’m still putting-out; enjoy.

I think it’s funny the things I can remember from early childhood. Some are just random snippets, seemingly disconnected; some I don’t trust as true memories and some I’m almost certain are remembered incorrectly or to an exaggerated extent. I’m gonna go through some of them now, and maybe link to some that I’ve written about previously so I don’t have to write about what I’ve already written about. Here’s how I approached this: I know about how old I was when we made our first move, and about how old I was when we made our second – so I can use the “where” of the memory to help date it, at least to within a +/- range of years. Our first move happened when I was about five years old, and our second when I was about seven. Anything from the first house I remember happened at five and under, which is pretty damn impressive; and anything in the second house between five and seven. I’m gonna start from the later memories and work back.

5-7 years old: I’m swinging on the swingset in the backyard (in my memory my brother is with me, but it doesn’t seem to work with the age-range), listening to the radio. We were waiting to hear either “Eye of the Tiger,” or “We Built this City.” “We Built this City” came on, and we swung furiously to the beat, whipped into a frenzy by the ‘Starship.

5-7 years old: I’m walking to kindergarten with an older neighbor, mom let me as long as he walked with me. One morning, a car pulled up and asked if we wanted a ride. Having been trained from an early age, we knew to decline. After the car left, we both ran the rest of the way to school and told a teacher.

5-7 years old: I found this thing, a kind of toy or something… it’s possibly the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a flat shape about half and inch thick, and shaped in the outline of a skull, it’s filled with some red fluid, maybe meant to look like blood. I found it in the street. For some reason, I cherish this thing, and remember it to this day for how utterly awesome I thought I was. You couldn’t separate me from this red-juice-filled skull thing. One day, while cherishing the skull, I noticed a stinky greasy substance on my hand; the red juice was leaking. I had to throw the skull away. To this day I can see that skull going into the garbage can; it was so unique, I wonder what it was.

5-7 years old: I get my first love letter, to this day the feelings are burned into my mind. Read about it here.

5-7 years old: Preschool. I think my mom works here; we take naps on cots. I remember I was afraid to crawl in the playground stuff because they found a black widow in there. For some reason, I have this memory of having to walk from preschool to somewhere else… I think after preschool or something. I know this part of the memory is likely wrong, but it’s somehow tied to preschool in my mind. I remember my mom, or someone, showing me where I was supposed to go, walking with me, practicing with me – it seems like it was maybe a mere block, around the corner perhaps, from wherever my origin was. But, in a form true to my personality, when I finally had to make the walk solo, I panicked thinking I had made a wrong turn. I just remember the feeling of complete fear and desperation thinking I had gotten myself lost. Then I turned the corner I thought was right, and ended up seeing my destination… I can still remember my relief. What an odd memory.

0 to 5 years old: I did something I’m still ashamed of, even though I was probably too young to hold myself responsible. I don’t feel like summarizing it, but will instead link it directly.

0 to 5 years old: We played with matches and I burned my finger; I hid it from my mom. Read about it in the second paragraph of my all-encompassing fire entry.

0 to 5 years old: We have a huge tree in our front yard, my brother and I call it the “sticky tree.” I remember it as towering above the house, with a full canopy and hanging vines – I know now this must be exaggerated. My brother and I would climb it. We’d swing from the vines, Tarzan-style, we’d camp out un the crooks of branches high above the ground.

0 to 5 years old: The daughter of my mom’s friend and I are jumping on my bed. After we jump around a bit, we fall down together in a heap and I tell her, “You can kiss me now.” She does. We jump some more, laugh, play, and I tell her, “You can kiss me now.” She does it every time. While I don’t count this as my first “real” kiss (I was too young to appreciate it), it ranks high in my list of memories.

One thing I notice about these memories, almost all of them involve my little brother, but almost certainly some happened without him – based purely on how old he’d be at the time. I’m not exactly sure how well on my way to being six I was when we moved that first time, but I’m pretty sure that even if I was right there my brother, who would then be three, wasn’t climbing to the top of jungle trees and swinging on vines with me. I’m beginning to even doubt his participation in the whole Naomi thing… it just seems like I may have “added” him to some memories, I dunno.

I guess this is a “thing” with me, as I’ve done it before. Something I like doing, I suppose. Anyway, the entry on the whole turned out a lot weaker than I intended – but I forgot there was a new episode of Lost on tonight and Sharaun wanted to practice her lesson plan on me.

Goodnight.

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clouds and clouds of white smoke pour from your fingertips

Amaze your friends!
So sorry guys, I’ve been off on a tangent lately and writing about religion a bit. I hope this hasn’t turned away the God-phobic of my readership, but I can promise you a Lord-free entry today. Stick with me, I’m going all one-track on ya, I promise. Oh, and… I’m still writing… which makes me happy.

You know, when this baby comes, I’m taking time off. No, refining that, I’m taking a state-paid “leave of absence.” That’s right, an extended vacation. Sure, it’s at less than half my pay… but it’s some awesome time I’ll get to spend with Sharaun and our daughter. It seems so far off now, February… but I know it’ll be on me in an instant. It will no doubt seem even speedier with all the travel we have planned for December; the month will be a blur – with not a single week at home the entire thirty-one days. For me, the 1st week spent in India, then directly to Oregon for my birthday with the folks. Then the very next weekend we’re off to Florida for Christmas with her family, only to return a few days before 2006. A short two months after that, and we’re parents. Honestly, I still can’t believe it. I think about it and just can’t comprehend it; the change coming, the new stuff. I guess I really won’t be able to “understand” it until we live through it. Maybe then I’ll know a little better what to expect when number two comes around. We’ll see.

I’ll talk about work a little bit now.

I want to share with you what I think is one huge aspect of my path to success, at least at work. You ready? This is some serious tactical information I’m about to give away. Here it is: be a data hog. Horde, packrat (as a verb), stash things away for future reference. I am convinced that “knowledge” as we normally think of it is about a 50/50 mix of wisdom and resources. What I mean by that is, you have to have some “wisdom,” or common sense, acumen, not-dumbassness, whatever you wanna call it, to even begin to execute. If you’re a drooling retard who consistently makes piss-poor decisions, you’re not gonna succeed even if you save the entire internet to your cellphone for handy reference. But, if you’ve got that basic ability to think… you’re halfway to being perceived as a genius. The other half is simple: store what you can in your brain, but, even more important, keep everything on-hand for quick consultation. When I say everything, I mean everything from a documented history of the past, to reference materials, to a well-maintained a personal network of other “smart” people. It’s that simple folks. What you’ll realize is, people respect someone who can react knowledgeably nearly as much as the do someone who’s truly knowledgeable – if the results are the same. So, strive to know where knowledge is – even if it’s not in your own head.

I’ll talk about magic a little bit now.

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with magic. My brother and I used to put on magic shows in our garage, performing tricks I’d learned from the many books I had, most of them bought at garage sales or used book outlets, written for children decades before my time, and given to me as well-read, coverless, dog-eared gifts. My favorite place at Disneyland was the magic store on Main Street, where I bought my first tube of “Mystic Smoke.” For my 5th grade birthday party, my parents hired a magician who came and entertained my friends and I; I was never happier. By the time I was twelve years old, I knew how to “blow eggs” and stuff them with confetti, pour milk into a rolled newspaper, and pull a card off the bottom of a deck.

Back then, there was one of those costume/magic stores about an hour from our house – in the city where my mom grew up. I would was thrilled every time we had the chance to be in town, and would beg my dad to make a stop. I remember the place having all sorts of expensive masks hanging on the wall, and racks of costumes. What I was interested in though, was under the glass display case and in on display shelves behind it: the magic tricks. The man behind the counter would demonstrate the newest tricks; a knot that seemed to pass through a wooden block, sticks that changed color when you said the magic word, all the latest and greatest. I used to save up my allowance, adding a new trick to my canon with each visit. When we moved to Florida, my obsession waned, but didn’t fade. After all, middle-school makes it hard to concentrate on the latest sleight-of-hand illusion when girls all around you are sprouting boobs and wearing Malibu Musk.

As a surprise one year, my folks got the family tickets to see David Copperfield at the local performing arts place. As a kid, Copperfield was my favorite magician, his illusions seemed amazing, and I was thrilled to see him perform live. As I grew up, however, I learned to resent him. His tricks were so grandiose and his stage presence was repulsive, he was all that was wrong with modern magic. Anyway, even a trip to see Copperfield in person wasn’t enough. Soon enough, I found other things to care about, and my thumb-tip and secret-pocket handkerchief went into a box with my other tricks and up into the closet. I still got my Abbotts catalogs throughout highschool, but I usually only like it for the smell of paper and the kitschy illustrations. In college, I saw David Blaine’s Street Magic, which stirred the love deep within me again and sent me running to the local store for a Svengali deck, Scotch & Soda, and all the staples of Blaine-style closeup magic. After college, I bought some books on “true” card magic, or card manipulation… but could never master the moves.

Yeah, that ended up being boring and void of any meaningful point – but I’m unwilling to delete all that writing. Live with it.

Dishes are washed and put up, Sharaun’s asleep on the couch, the cat’s got food, and now the evening’s chores are done and there’s nothing left to do but sleep. Did I tell you we bought some furniture? Wait, who is “you?” Anyway… we bought some furniture for the front room. We’re dropping dough like live-in girlfriends drop marriage hints… hemorrhaging money, as I like to say. The big outpouring to get the place worthy of our new family member. We’ll be ready for you, Lil’ Chino, we’ll be ready.

Love ya, goodnight.

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is anything real here?

Git, ya longhairs.
Shanghai: Day Two.

Day two in Shanghai dawned early with an 8:30am report-time target at the local office. An uneventful night previous gave me some good sleep. Traffic was terrible, didn’t make it to the building until 9am. Bullshat for a good hour, had an hour meeting, and then adjourned for lunch and a team “offsite” event. Kart racing and KTV (if you haven’t read my Taiwan entries, KTV = karaoke). So, all in all, I put in a good solid hour of honest work. Not too impressive, I know. Several hours, beers, and Dunhills later – I decided to call it an early evening around midnight. Weaved my way back to the apartment with Tony and hit the sack. Had left my computer at work so didn’t get a chance to write, a shame too – as I was in a good mood and can kinda remember wanting to write about something. Downed copious amounts of water (magic hangover repellent) and sucked a throat lozenge (magic smokeover repellent), wish they had a brush for your lungs so they wouldn’t feel like a midget was using your chest for a trampoline all night.

Via BoingBoing, my lord I am obsessed with this site; spent a good hour or more just poking around it the other day. I guess mostly because it reminds me so much of some of our old haunts from my growin’ up days: Rinker, Astro, etc. You can’t help but look at pictures like this one and actually feel sixteen again. I really wish we’d taken movies/pictures at Rinker, or the Pits, the Tracks, Skyview, the Clearing, etc. Ahh.. the good ol’ days… places from your youth just sound cool. The Clearing? Damn that’s smooth!

The apartment is nice, but I don’t think my bed could be more uncomfortable were it made of nails or broken glass. Seriously, it’s a mattress – but it’s more like what we call a boxspring in America. I wonder if it really is just a boxspring, but no – there is some semblance of padding there. Seriously, it’s like sleeping on a damn piece of plywood – carpet would be preferable, but there’s no carpet. So I fold up the comforter and sleep on it, it’s better than nothing. It really is like a frat house, people shuffling in at 5am, a cloud of atomized liquor wafting around them, filling the room with the scent of gin. Waking to find folks asleep on the couch, fully clothed, shoes and all. Yeah we really got it all: Maxim Swimsuit DVDs atop the TV; piss on the toilet seat; pubes on the soap; the definition of a bachelor pad… but with only 1/3 of the population actually qualified for the moniker.

Patchwork entry, sorry; at least I’m writing. -Out.

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ivy covered tears

Stoopid and dum.
Another evening spent with friends drinking beer and eating food; I live a decent life, y’know?

So yeah, this new Wolf Parade album is good, I can’t argue with that. It reminds me of the Arcade Fire; it reminds me of Modest Mouse; it’s way better than their last album (unless I just dismissed it without enough focus, which is entirely possible). Anyway, I’m diggin’ this new one a lot.

I read this page with interest the other day, casting my memory back to my days as a young engineer-in-training. I graduated high school in the top ten of my class, which I don’t think really says much… that shit was so laughably easy anyone willing to go one bongless night a week had a shot at valedictorian. After high school, I decided to take a full scholarship to the local community college – and buy CDs with the living expense and book stipends while staying at home with my folks. Two years at this high-school+ didn’t really give my brain much of a workout above and beyond what high school had. I still skipped class 50% of the time, crammed the night before exams, and basically stood laughing and masturbating on the supposedly college-level course material. (Dave, why did you say “masturbating” in that last sentence? Man, that’s a good question… I think I used it to communicate just how ridiculous what was supposed to be “higher education” was, and to show my complete lack of respect for it.) Anyway, two years walking the not-so-hallowed halls of that GED warehouse and I was on my way to a real school, a state school.

Somewhere along the line, I’d decided I wanted to be a math major. I ate up math; loved it hardcore. I wanted to get deep into the fringe maths, Galois Theory, automoprhisms, all that abstract stuff. However, shortly before I actually had to register for classes at State U, I realized that there was no money in math. There was, however, money in other math-intensive fields like engineering. I liked computers, I liked math – computer engineering seemed right. So, I set about enrolling for all the courses I’d need to get on the path to my newly chosen degree. That first year, I had to take a few “general education” courses that didn’t fully transfer from my fake-college – namely Physics I & II. In high school, I was a physics champeen… I rocked that dang class. Came out with a shiny new A and carried it through the year. That is to say, the prospect of taking physics at State U did not scare me in the least.

Oh shit was I naive. Physics at State U kicked my ass. I had never really heard the term “weed out class” before, but apparently State U made the “pre” engineering degree courses harder than a Viagra overdose victim’s peener to try and “filter” out those prospects who might not have the gumption to complete the higher level courses. Physics at State U was effing torture. I couldn’t believe it, I used to be good at this stuff… what was wrong with me? My first semester at “real” college – I bombed Physics I. The same simple Newtonian stuff I breezed through in high school mopped the floor with me at State U. Not even six months into college-proper and I’d already permanently damaged my GPA. I was thrown for a loop, and considered whether I was really cut out for an engineering degree. However, I decided to have another go at it – and the second time I made it. Physics II was no walk in the park either, and Statics put me through the wringer again… nearly handing me my 2nd F. Thusly, I came to realize – I was not good at physics at all; in fact, I sucked at physics. I made a mental note to stay away from all physics… as I just couldn’t get it, no matter how hard I tried. I mean, it’s statics folks, everything equals zero. How hard can a math class be where you always know that whatever you write down will equal zero?! I’ll tell you: frickin’ hard.

There were some bright spots, I trounced Differential Equations, dominated Discrete Mathematics, and walked all over Statistics (not the wimpy statistics, the one taught through the mathematics department – with triple integrals and shit). But for the most part, the College of Engineering kicked my ass. I mean, at certain points throughout my quest for a degree I literally thought I would have a breakdown. The workload often kept me up till the AMs, and I always had the feeling that the material was on the very fringes of my ability to comprehend and process. At one point I was loaded down with 16 credit hours, in a vain attempt to make up for the failed physics class, and I did have a true breakdown. Here I was, twenty-something years old and crying on my bed that I couldn’t do it, that it was too hard. For me at least, it really was that hard. Because of this, my stellar standards of high school performance didn’t carry through to college – and I ended up with a degree that was a year and a half late in coming and a GPA that demonstrated the hanging-on-by-fingernails nature of my accomplishments. Somehow though, I managed to keep my scholarship the entire time (they lowered the required GPA the semester I bombed physics, pursuant to the serendipitous nature of my life)… and didn’t end up too terribly in the hole for my ass-whooping of an education. And what’s more, I was an engineer! I had a paper from State U that said so, and I knew words like inductance and linked-list.

I wanted to write more, but then I decided that this was enough. Goodnight.

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x-rated

Steamy.
Slump in full effect, I came home early today. For some reason, I got to writing… and the following was what resulted. And, despite the title, it’s no Penthouse Forum… but I suppose it could leave you nostalgic for those red-cheeked teenage days spent in backseats and darkened theaters. Enjoy.

So we found ourselves alone in some alley behind the buildings, not the most romantic place. It was in one of those “old town” places that plenty of American towns have. The throwback towns, facades crafted to recall the glory days… packed with specialty shops and antique stores, little cafes and toys tores where everything is wood and handmade. The kind of place where they have annual street parties with vendors and open markets – you know, Old Town. Ahem… so there we were, in the alley, not the most romantic place. Thankfully, romance has nothing to do with lust and sex. Against the dirty stucco wall I held her arms to her side and kissed her. At least a foot shorter than me, I had to stoop while turning my tongue over in her mouth. Her boyfriend was out there somewhere, on the other side of these buildings somewhere. Her boyfriend and my girlfriend, my friend and her friend, our friends. My hand wandered under her shirt, pressed the soft skin of her side; still kissing. Being so wrong made it so fun, they were right out there somewhere; could turn the corner into this alley at any moment; could find us. What if she tastes you on my lips?

Later that night our double date to the go-cart track and arcade place on the beach, where all the cool kids go. You know the place, the one with the mini-golf course that has a volcano and a windmill, and the huge maze you can pay $2 to run through. The maze full of twists and turns and dead-end presswood walls painted in circus colors. Grab my hand, let’s get lost, they are in here somewhere too… this could be even better than the alley. These presswood walls don’t even extend to the ground, feet run by on the either side. Hearing shouts and talking as people rushed past us, yellow and blue presswood walls separating them from us. Us: the four feet on the other side of the wall from them. The four feet that weren’t moving at all, the four feet that were standing still and, if you listened close, making hushed gasps for breath between sloppy kisses. They’re in here somewhere, running through these same presswood walls, separated from the ones they held hands with on the way in tonight; they’re in here looking. Any minute now they could turn the corner into our three-walled presswood room. You actually listened to me on the phone this afternoon and wore the overalls, they are always the easiest to get into. Down the side, I slip my hand between the denim and your skin. What if he smells you on my fingers?

The preceding paragraphs, while fine enough on their own, could stand for a bit of background: When I was 15 or so (pre-driving, if I remember right), I was dating a girl. And, as often goes in early teen relationships, one of my closest buddies at the time was dating one of my girlfriend’s close buddies. It was the kind of thing that worked well for double-dates and whatnot, teenagers eat that crap up.

Standing in a field a mile from anywhere in every direction. We brought a blanket and some soda. The sun is shining bright and it’s not cool, it’s downright hot. You smelled so good; clean and fresh, and your light brown hair was newly washed and dried, shining in the sun and sticking a little to your damp forehead. The heat from our walk makes your scent stand out, stirred up with sweat and wafting upward. Standing, I look down on you, your fingers working my zipper, pulling my shorts to my ankles. Your lips pink and full from kissing, the blanket tousled from our rolling around. As I stand, I shoot defiant glances into the the distance; the trees and tall grass where anyone could be watching – but no one is. I look up to the clear blue sky, the birds our only audience. Us: the birds and I, we watch from above, watch your mouth work. At this moment, if I’m not king of the world then no one is. That day, in the woods, my open eyes watched her closed ones; her head moving slowly at my waist as I gathered and caressed handfuls of her hair – truly king of the world for the moment.

The preceding paragraph, while fine enough on its own, could stand for a bit of background: When you are too young to get a hotel room or go back to each other’s apartments – you turn to the woods. All kids should get to make out in the woods, there’s nothing that compares to being half naked and experiencing first sins alone in the wilderness; pine needles sticking to exposed skin as you moan and pant like TV has taught you. That particular day in the woods stands out, and was with that first girlfriend from above – pre double affair.

Enough of this filth!

Even though PF and other music ‘zines have lauded his every effort, I’ve never been able to get into nouveau-folkie Devendra Banhart that much. Oh sure, I downloaded all the albums and listened to them diligently. I could hear talent, but they were just a little too slow for me – maybe it was a temporal thing, sometimes uber-slow or sober albums only work during certain times of year or under certain circumstances. So, when I read the expectedly glowing review of Cripple Crow, his latest effort, I wasn’t surprised. I figured I should follow the drill though, download the album give it a fair shake, and delete it a week later. This time though, the planets were aligned, the time was high, whatever – and the album hit me just right. This is a solid album, reminding me most of Donovan, and at times Dylan or the stripped-down component-Beatles of the White Album. (And I swear I wrote my review before reading PF’s, it’d take an idiot to not compare this to Donovan, Dylan, and the Fabs.) Oh, and I just found out that my newly-loved Field Music album is made up of members of other bands… who’d’a thunk?

Goodnight.