My hair is defaulting to a vertical state. I’m not complaining. There was a time when walking around with my hair sticking up would cause waves of shame and humiliation. My detachment to my hair is so complete I’m caught off-guard when someone takes notice. “I like your hair.” Momentary confusion. “Oh yeah, thanks,” and I touch my hair to remember what it looks like that day. Continue reading Tacky
Got an email notice from Zillow about an apartment I was looking at in North Fremont last December. It’s available soon. I know enough about the city now to know I would have done fine there. Not as well as I’m doing here but that’s why I made the extra effort. Continue reading Zillow
I can’t find my copy of Light on the Yoga Sutras. Of all the books I’ve written notes in, this is possibly the most irreplaceable.
This is very distressing so if you see this book with my handwriting in it, contact me immediately.
On a related note. If anyone wants to get me a late Easter present I have my eye on this copy of the Sutras.
I adjust my hips on the 2-person vinyl bench seat. The driver’s profile sways as the bus trundles down the south end of I-5. Another 17 minutes until home. The setting sun paints the horizon with pinks and oranges, catching the contour of every wisp of cloud in the sky. The white ice caps of the mountains stand out like neon punctuation as telephone poles measure out the frames of my existence. I understand why people rubberneck a car accident. It’s probably the most interesting thing they’ll see that week.
The bus is nearly empty after rush hour traffic. The trip south is short one unless you are trying to get past downtown. Then it feels like forever. Stopping and starting at all the familiar stops. Bar. Lobby. Noodle shop. Starbucks. Bar. ATM. Cafe. Smoke shop. Noodle shop. Bar. I wonder how some places continue to exist. I don’t see people enter or exit. The doors could be painted on brick walls for all I can tell. I wonder if I’ll ever get off the bus and find out for myself. Even the thought smacks of effort. Continue reading Nothing Better
In Memphis, local metal and punk bands are booked hand-in-hand. It’s the only way the scene can survive down there. The amalgamation of all loud music into the same niche exposed me to more metal than I’d choose and the raw energy is enthralling. I feel like showmanship counts more than usual when metalheads take the stage. The music demands a presence that other genres don’t have, except maybe pop stars. In Seattle, local bands have room to breathe into their genre of choice and full-on scenes of people to perform for. I’m not convinced this freedom makes for better music. Continue reading Metal Show
A new source of pride in our economy is what you can do with an internet jukebox. The game is getting your best value. That means finding the right mix of music that represents how broad your taste is while remaining obscure enough to keep the plebeians from recognizing the chorus and singing along. Prices are on the rise, so only real music lovers play this game. Others use a defensive response to tune it out. Tuning out annoying sounds is a prime survival skill in the city. I’m doing it right now to write this – except I’m not because I paid for the jukebox and Freddie Mercury is encouraging me to go on with the show. Continue reading Slice of Life
I was encouraged to go take pictures at the Bernie Sanders rally because I might get “the shot”. One I can sell.
I asked, “to whom”?”
You know, newspapers. The media. All it takes is one. Just that perfect shot that … does what? Humiliates someone? Idealizes someone else? Grabs attention?
I wish that could motivate me. The idea that there’s a picture I can take that would be worth something to someone else. I just don’t have that connection wired in right now. Besides, I’m pretty certain I’d need to promote my pictures in some way to get the attention of anyone’s monetary resources. It’s just not in me. If I got the chance to profit off of a random picture I’d happen to get credit for I wouldn’t see it as “selling out” my art. It’d be more like selling a jar of tears as snake oil.
I try to keep my parasitic profiting to a minimum unless it involves the upper middle class. Kinda like a holistic Robin Hood.
When a child reaches 18 years old and expresses a desire to strike out on their own, the proper response is pride. Continue reading Parental Control
Last night, I was propositioned by a couple. It started with a blonde woman sporting bottomless cleavage sidling up to me at the bar. I’d seen her come in behind an aging frat boy in a backwards baseball cap. Her guy took up a post on the opposite end of the bar. Slurring from the start, she opens with a diatribe about how she is much smarter than she seems. I smile and nod. To further convince me, she describes specific aspects of her appearance and assumptions people make because of it. I listen with sincerity, knowing all too well the plight of being pretty with big breasts. Continue reading Three, Some…