To those of you who remain entombed in your familiar grey-fabric cubicle walls: I’m sorry.
Look for some real writing whenever I freakin’ feel like it. Take care.
work was hell today
a walking zombie in florida
Monday I was a walking zombie in Florida. After a 3am riseandshine and a cross-country aeronautical journey with-child, we were all fairly sleep deprived. I tried to write, I did, but gave up when I realized I had only been repeatedly banging out semicolons and randomly clawing at the laptop screen. Fatigue is a blog killer.
Tuesday now though, and I can write when I want. No more have-to-post by midnight on sabbatical. No more cramming each entry into three hours every evening. Just write as I go and post when I want. Sure, you, readers, lose some predictability, but let’s be honest – over the past couple weeks this thing has been pretty predictably blank, am I right. I am to fix that with the time I have now.
I brought five books with me to Florida. I’m hoping I can at least manage to read one of them. I guess, I’m actually hoping I can read some of the real books, as two of the five are just guidebooks – one for the Muir Trail, one for beer drinkers in Munich. I also brought Kerouac’s On the Road (I never finished, it… “paused” at “part two” and never restarted again), the second half of the Book of the New Sun series, The Sword and the Citadel (which, again, I never got to after reading, and loving, the first half…), and Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. I’d really like to use at least part of these nine weeks to improve my books-per-year ratio for 2007. It’s already September and I’ve only got four under my belt – and that’s downright awful.
And, with that, I’m gonna cut this off early. We’re headed down to the beach today I think, then likely calling up old friends to arrange some catching-up time while we’re in town. I don’t want to feel like we’re booking a press tour or anything, so I’m shooting for a good amount of lazy days like this. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.
Until tomorrow.
last day at the sawmill
Today is my last day at the sawmill until November 5th.
Let’s just ruminate on that last statement for a minute: Last day at work until November 5th. Uh-huh, roll that around in the old noodle for a bit: Until November 5th. No more work until November 5th.
Maybe I should put this another way: There is this place I’ve gone five days a week nearly every single week since I left college. After today, I won’t have to go there for nine weeks. I know, it may seem like I’m blowing it out of proportion. But, to me, it’s that big. Nine weeks to spend with Keaton, nine weeks to spend with Sharaun, nine weeks to spend with me.
I’ve decided that, in the future, when I hear a song that reminds me of those last days leading up to tomorrow, I want it to be “Sandy” from the recent Caribou album, Andorra. Seriously, you must hear this song. It gets my vote right now for best bassline of the year, that bouncy thing could be a song unto itself. And how about the choppy breakbeat fills behind the choruses? Insane, right? Sounding like something lifted from the Odyssey and Oracle sessions and modernized for today, I am ready to rock this as the happy-goodtimes track that closes the summer. You want to hear it now, right? Seriously, you should. Go listen to it here. If you like it, let me know… love in the comments.
Goodnight.
my sixty-three day weekend
Tonight’s blog wouldn’t have happened without the wonders of the BlackBerry. I simply would’ve had no time. But, through the wonders of this excruciatingly small thumb-keyboard, I’m able to write as we wing our way southward – home. Yes, i’s hard on the thumbs and eyes, and it’s fairly slow going (although I must say, not nearly as slow as one may think, I’ve become quite speedy on this thing), but it let’s me feel less guilty about my horrid record of late. So, let’s get to the words – I wouldn’t be thumbing this if I didn’t have stuff to say now, would I?
Today was my last day seeing coworkers in Oregon before sabbatical, and with everyone offering goodbyes and handshakes and well-wishes, I walked out of that building at 5pm feeling like it was all over. Alas, it’s not; I have three more days at my home-base sawmill before I can really call it all off.
Today was a good one, though. Especially in terms of the stress I’ve been feeling lately. I worked in earnest this morning, knocking several high-priority items off the “to-do before I go” list. It felt amazing. With every clicking keystroke in the notes and missives that closed those outstanding items, I felt a weight lift. I started dispositioning new things that would go beyond the end of the week as things my unlucky coverage would be responsible for instead of me, and I archived all my in-flight work to gather dust while I’m out enjoying life.
It was a wonderful feeling, watching that normally ever-expanding list of things to do shrink but not grow; just whittle away one item at a time towards zero. I think I rally needed the confidence that seeing that list dwindle gave me; it was like a shot in the arm. And for the first time in a the past couple hectic weeks I left work feeling uplifted and excited. My thoughts for the first time turning more towards the work I won’t be doing over the next sixty-three weeks than the work I have to get done before I can go.
I was thinking about Saturday morning, that first morning, and I decided that the first thing I’ll do is wake up and put the Beatles’ “I’ve Got A Feeling” on the stereo. Why?, you ask, well, I’ll tell you. Back in middle school’ ’round about, oh, seventh or eighth grade, my best buddy Kyle and I used to convene at one of our places before clas on the first day of school. We’d come together for one reason, to listen to the Beatles’ “I’ve Got A Feeling.”
I don’t remember how we picked the song, as it really has nothing to do with “firsts,” or starting something new, and there certainly are more germane numbers we could’ve chosen, but, after a few years it had become quite the tradition. Even during our “falling out” years in highschool, I’d queue up the song solo before that first class on that first day.
I took the tradition with me to college, and even into the early morning hours before my first day on the job at my the very sawmill I trudge to each day now. I even spun “I’ve Got A Feeling” on my way home from the hospital to change clothes just after Keaton was born. It’s become a part of my “new start” ritual, some sort of ward against bad mojo, a habit that I’ve come to enjoy.
So, this Saturday, that first day of my sixty-three day weekend, I plan to take my time getting out of bed, showering, dressing, and primping – and instead head straight for the stereo to plug in the iPod and lazily head-nod my way through an extra-loud playing of “I’ve Got A Feeling.”. Yeah, that sounds absolutely brilliant.
Oh, and, before I go. The new Most Serene Republic album leaked earlier this week, much to my embarrassment, as I had no idea it was even due. But, apparently it was due, and now it’s here. I’ve loved everything this band has under their belt this far, and listening to this album these past few days at work has given me high hopes that it’s going to be another winner. So, if you can get it, get it – however you do so.
And, with every single word of this done solely from a BlackBerry on a plane, I’m out.
Goodnight lovers.
aging
Sunday night in Oregon – state to state to state. Tomorrow is the Monday of my last week of work, y’all. Thinking about it being this close, it’s kind of like that sensation you felt back in middle school when summer vacation was only a week away (have I really not used that comparison yet?). I’m a little shocked that it came so quickly, but I honestly can’t wait. Nine weeks off… I only hope I can drag myself back to the sawmill when it’s all over. I also hope that some time off during the day to be bored and think will improve my dismal blogging beat-rate of late. I think it will. A short one tonight, as I’m woefully behind on sleep and can barely keep my chin from my chest.
Last week when we touched down in Austin, it was already near 10pm local time but neither of us had eaten anything for dinner. We struck out from the hotel in search for a late meal and ended up at a local Texas steakhouse. The place was already locking the doors, but kindly offered to serve us the last meal of the evening. We had the whole bar area to ourselves, and before long struck a conversation with the young blonde bartender. Soon enough, the conversation turned to what we could do the following night after our customer meeting, when we knew we’d likely need to nurse our wounds at the teat of some local Austin music and libations.
“Well, there’s the ‘Midnight Rodeo,’ she said.” “That sounds interesting,” we reply, awaiting more details. “Oh, but…” she begins, “… I think it might be college night tomorrow night. But… I think they let in all ages.” We looked at each other, defeated. Suddenly, we were “all ages.” She didn’t even realize what she said could’ve made us feel old, it was hilarious. As we walked from the building, we both proclaimed that we could very well “be in college,” and asked what she knew anyway. Sigh… aging.
T-minus five days and counting folks…
Goodnight.
poof! i’m in texas
Poof! I’m in Texas.
I wasn’t planning on coming here, but here I am. Work’s monopolized my time the past few evenings, leaving me with zero time to do the things my nights are normally for: playing with Keaton, talking with Sharaun, and writing. And now, thumb-typing this entry into my BlackBerry as we fly over the desert, I can’t help but feel an acute sense of lost time and anxiety.
I’ve been getting steadily worse over the last couple days. My mind swimming with this thing and that thing which need to get done before my sabbatical officially starts next Friday. Most of it is loose ends at the sawmill which need to be wrangled before I check out, but a good bit is simple stuff like, “How’m I gonna get the lawn mowed in the few random days I’m at home between trip X and trip Y?”
More than anything, though, I feel this strange sadness. This awful sensation that I’ve been forsaking Sharaun and Keaton by being so utterly consumed with work. The early mornings and late nights stealing their portion of me.
Being me, and knowing me, I recognize this weird homesick feeling as one of my natural responses to stress. My gut tells me to run, to hide, to lock myself away with only the things I need and love: it’s my desert island flight response. I still look for that womb when things get a little hectic.
I guess, despite all my planning, everything still somehow managed to get the drop on me, and I’m in a preparation tailspin. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever achieve the sense of “readiness” I’m sprinting after, and I’m just a little bit worried I’m going to have a hard time breaking away. I mean, I know that come Friday, I’ll have no problems washing my hands of it all for nine weeks – I guess I’m just wanting a “cleaner” break… Or something.
This is it. Too hard to write on this thing with my thumbs. Barebones tonight, no flourish, no flare. Goodnight.
no. shut up.
Works sucks. No. shut up.
I am totally serious. Work is killing me. Right now. Every day. Just a little bit every single day. I don’t write at night because I work instead. Not fun.
I just don’t know, you guys. Don’t know if it’s my pending sabbatical (nine weeks of not-work), or if it’s the fact that work is at one of its “peaks” right now. Maybe both, as that would make most sense… But, whatever the reason, I’m suffering from a severe case of the “oh no I have to go to work tomorrow morning” blues. Much worse than I’ve had it before. Things are just so busy, and I’m having a hard time commanding the focus I’m usually able to. I think it’s just high time I was out of there. Thankfully, I have only nine more days left as you read this.
Last week I was helping Sharaun get some of her party planning done (Sharaun’s rolled her life-odometer to the big three-oh this past weekend). I knew she was stressing, and it seemed like a good time to work on the musical playlist she had planned: the top few songs from every calendar year she’s graced this Earth (plus some standard perennial party faves). I had a lot of them on-hand already in miscellaneous 80’s directories, but we still needed to go down a fairly long list and “acquire” a few more (of course, we did so by exchanging real, gold-backed, American currency for the digital representations of said songs). Anyway, as I downloaded each bit of party fuel, I queued them up in Winamp and we did some real-time “checking” of each to ensure quality. This, inevitably, turned into a living-room danceparty, starring my wife.
I loved it, because I could see she was having so much fun. With each new (old, actually) track that came across the speakers, she’d get more and more excited. “Oh. My. God.,” she’d say, “This song is the best!” Sometime later, as the string of hits continued to deliver, she paused and remarked, “See… people won’t get nearly as much from this as I do. People just don’t like music the way I do.” It was like she was reminding me of one of the reasons she’s the best. “Yeah,” I replied, “Most people don’t really care. But, don’t let it get you down.” Anyway, who cares right? It’s just beats and words in the background, anyway.
Anyway, the mix worked out great, and the party was a good time for all. I’ll post some pictures as soon as I get around to it.
The other night I decided to trawl through the music collection on the ol’ harddrive and find something that I haven’t listened to in a long time. Turns out I stopped on a live album recorded when The Quicksilver Messenger Service played Winterland in 1968. As one familiar with the “San Francisco” sound at that time, you may suspect that this performance is nothing more than a humongous set of noodling on old blues numbers, each wandering off into the tens of minutes, some if it interesting, some of it boring. Anyway, it sounded good to me, and it was the sound at the time. Put ’em on a bill at the Fillmore with Country Joe, the Dead, Jefferson Airplane, Moby Grape, and Beefheart – and you’d pretty much sum up the late 60’s west-coast sound. And, before I move on, check out the Concert Vault website, which apparently bought up the rights to all Bill Graham live material from 1965-1980 (Winterland, the Fillmores, etc.), as well as the entire King Biscuit Flower Hour catalog. Interesting indeed…
Goodnight.