[fourteen months ago]
Many things went right, and we should have worried when they did. The relationship polited itself to death, and now it's lost. Now it's just a matter to decide if I should accept my demoted role as 3rd roommate, or move out. If I move, it will probably be out of Washington. Texas tried to reclaim me last summer, and it's trying again. I keep getting mixed signs--some saying stay, some saying go. I can only figure this to mean that it doesn't matter where I learn my next lesson, only that I learn it.
Other possible next destinations:
Alaska
North Carolina
India
Nathan's moving to the town where I was conceived, though, and that is quite a coincidence. Anyway, its all so recent, I'm going to give a lot of thought before I decide if I believe this ship is sinking.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Karl Rabeder
Millionaire gives away fortune which made him miserable
Austrian millionaire Karl Rabeder is giving away every penny of his £3 million fortune after realising his riches were making him unhappy.
By Henry Samuel in Paris
Published: 8:16PM GMT 08 Feb 2010
Mr Rabeder, 47, a businessman from Telfs is in the process of selling his luxury 3,455 sq ft villa with lake, sauna and spectacular mountain views over the Alps, valued at £1.4 million.
Also for sale is his beautiful old stone farmhouse in Provence with its 17 hectares overlooking the arrière-pays, on the market for £613,000. Already gone is his collection of six gliders valued at £350,000, and a luxury Audi A8, worth around £44,000.
Mr Rabeder has also sold the interior furnishings and accessories business – from vases to artificial flowers – that made his fortune.
"My idea is to have nothing left. Absolutely nothing," he told The Daily Telegraph. "Money is counterproductive – it prevents happiness to come."
Instead, he will move out of his luxury Alpine retreat into a small wooden hut in the mountains or a simple bedsit in Innsbruck.
His entire proceeds are going to charities he set up in Central and Latin America, but he will not even take a salary from these.
"For a long time I believed that more wealth and luxury automatically meant more happiness," he said. "I come from a very poor family where the rules were to work more to achieve more material things, and I applied this for many years," said Mr Rabeder.
But over time, he had another, conflicting feeling.
"More and more I heard the words: 'Stop what you are doing now – all this luxury and consumerism – and start your real life'," he said. "I had the feeling I was working as a slave for things that I did not wish for or need.
I have the feeling that there are lot of people doing the same thing."
However, for many years he said he was simply not "brave" enough to give up all the trappings of his comfortable existence.
The tipping point came while he was on a three-week holiday with his wife to islands of Hawaii.
"It was the biggest shock in my life, when I realised how horrible, soulless and without feeling the five star lifestyle is," he said. "In those three weeks, we spent all the money you could possibly spend. But in all that time, we had the feeling we hadn't met a single real person – that we were all just actors. The staff played the role of being friendly and the guests played the role of being important and nobody was real."
He had similar feelings of guilt while on gliding trips in South America and Africa. "I increasingly got the sensation that there is a connection between our wealth and their poverty," he said.
Suddenly, he realised that "if I don't do it now I won't do it for the rest of my life".
Mr Rabeder decided to raffle his Alpine home, selling 21,999 lottery tickets priced at just £87 each. The Provence house in the village of Cruis is on sale at the local estate agent.
All the money will go into his microcredit charity, which offers small loans to Latin America and builds development aid strategies to self-employed people in El Salvador, Honduras, Bolivia, Peru, Argentina and Chile.
Since selling his belongings, Mr Rabeder said he felt "free, the opposite of heavy".
But he said he did not judge those who chose to keep their wealth. "I do not have the right to give any other person advice. I was just listening to the voice of my heart and soul."
Austrian millionaire Karl Rabeder is giving away every penny of his £3 million fortune after realising his riches were making him unhappy.
By Henry Samuel in Paris
Published: 8:16PM GMT 08 Feb 2010
Mr Rabeder, 47, a businessman from Telfs is in the process of selling his luxury 3,455 sq ft villa with lake, sauna and spectacular mountain views over the Alps, valued at £1.4 million.
Also for sale is his beautiful old stone farmhouse in Provence with its 17 hectares overlooking the arrière-pays, on the market for £613,000. Already gone is his collection of six gliders valued at £350,000, and a luxury Audi A8, worth around £44,000.
Mr Rabeder has also sold the interior furnishings and accessories business – from vases to artificial flowers – that made his fortune.
"My idea is to have nothing left. Absolutely nothing," he told The Daily Telegraph. "Money is counterproductive – it prevents happiness to come."
Instead, he will move out of his luxury Alpine retreat into a small wooden hut in the mountains or a simple bedsit in Innsbruck.
His entire proceeds are going to charities he set up in Central and Latin America, but he will not even take a salary from these.
"For a long time I believed that more wealth and luxury automatically meant more happiness," he said. "I come from a very poor family where the rules were to work more to achieve more material things, and I applied this for many years," said Mr Rabeder.
But over time, he had another, conflicting feeling.
"More and more I heard the words: 'Stop what you are doing now – all this luxury and consumerism – and start your real life'," he said. "I had the feeling I was working as a slave for things that I did not wish for or need.
I have the feeling that there are lot of people doing the same thing."
However, for many years he said he was simply not "brave" enough to give up all the trappings of his comfortable existence.
The tipping point came while he was on a three-week holiday with his wife to islands of Hawaii.
"It was the biggest shock in my life, when I realised how horrible, soulless and without feeling the five star lifestyle is," he said. "In those three weeks, we spent all the money you could possibly spend. But in all that time, we had the feeling we hadn't met a single real person – that we were all just actors. The staff played the role of being friendly and the guests played the role of being important and nobody was real."
He had similar feelings of guilt while on gliding trips in South America and Africa. "I increasingly got the sensation that there is a connection between our wealth and their poverty," he said.
Suddenly, he realised that "if I don't do it now I won't do it for the rest of my life".
Mr Rabeder decided to raffle his Alpine home, selling 21,999 lottery tickets priced at just £87 each. The Provence house in the village of Cruis is on sale at the local estate agent.
All the money will go into his microcredit charity, which offers small loans to Latin America and builds development aid strategies to self-employed people in El Salvador, Honduras, Bolivia, Peru, Argentina and Chile.
Since selling his belongings, Mr Rabeder said he felt "free, the opposite of heavy".
But he said he did not judge those who chose to keep their wealth. "I do not have the right to give any other person advice. I was just listening to the voice of my heart and soul."
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Hangover 2: Electric Boogaloo
So I got off at work yesterday at 3:30 instead of the usual 4:30, so I offered to buy Adrian a drink before heading home. We sat down, ordered our drinks, and were just hanging out. I remember ordering a second beer. And then I woke up in a hospital, wearing my jeans with a gown and with an IV. I found a bag with my clothes in, and searched for my phone. It wasn't there, but I had Adrian's phone, which told me it was just past 11:00. I passed out again, and vaguely remember trying to remove the gown while they were taking the IV out. A woman came and asked me questions that I had no answer for. After a couple of minutes, she asked if I'd seen the movie The Hangover. "Yeah," I replied, "I was just thinking, this is a lot like that. Except... not really funny."
I couldn't call Jenny without my phone, and they offered to get me a taxi. I asked if I would be charged for it, and then it occurred to me to ask... "Where am I?" I was in Bellevue. I was really confused--I knew Adrian would have looked after me, and I knew Josh (the bartender) would have looked after him. So how had I wound up in a hospital in another town, with six hours missing?
I went outside for a moment to wait for the cab, but got chilled--my bag-o-clothes had not contained my flannel shirt--so I went inside the lobby to wait. Something on the wall got my attention... I think it was some art piece made of broken glass. I looked down from there, and there was my flannel shirt on the floor. Had I dropped it there earlier, looking at the same art piece? So many questions should have come to mind to ask (how did I get here? where was I found? where was Adrian? what the hell did Josh give us?), but they didn't.
With Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" stuck in my head, I slept in the cab on the way home (how did he know where I live?) and Jenny and Lisha were waiting worriedly when I walked in. I brushed my teeth and we went to bed, and I fell asleep knowing that I could call Adrian at work in the morning and everything would come to make sense.
I woke up around five, still drunk (what the hell did Josh give us?). With the bedroom spinning and tilting, I decided to lay in the bathroom for a bit. (I started to read The Return of the Sorceror by Ashton Clark--it's very, very good.) I woke up at seven and called out from work. At eleven I drove Jenny to work so she didn't have to worry about parking. No longer drunk, I just felt like hell--panicked, extremely freaked out, and sore all over. I stopped by the mall, where I looked for a cheap game to play as I spent the day on the couch. I got home and called B&N and asked for Adrian.
"Hey man, I just wanted to make sure you made it to work all right."
"Yeah, I'm here, but I'm leaving. I can't work. I'm... I'm freaking out. So you looked out for me last night?"
"...What?"
"I woke up in the hospital, man!"
"Me too! I don't even remember leaving Cucina Cucina."
"Me either, man! But apparrently we came back to work. I got my stuff out of my locker. We must have passed out in the street, then. They told me they picked me up on 12th. Josh must have served us poison. I've got your book, but I lost my phone."
"I've got your phone--I'm talking to you on your phone, because I lost my phone! I woke up in the hospital and it was in my pocket."
"Well I'm going to go home. I'm going to come in tomorrow and finish today's shipment. I'm just really freaking out."
So other than the fact that we were picked up on 12th Street, and that I very probably embarrassed myself at work, I still have no idea what happened last night.
[2/7/2010 16:23 update]
---At work, Nicki told me we came through, probably about 19:00 (best guess) and seemed tipsy, but fine. Said we were in & out in just a couple of minutes.
---At the restaurant, Josh said we seemed fine when we left. Nobody was with us, and we hadn't talked with anybody but him while we were there. He recalled we'd had two large beers each, and he'd served us three shots of whiskey, one of them 100 proof.
---According to the hospital, my blood/alcohol content was 0.221. There was no evidence of drugs. I was brought in by ambulance at approximately 19:30.
I couldn't call Jenny without my phone, and they offered to get me a taxi. I asked if I would be charged for it, and then it occurred to me to ask... "Where am I?" I was in Bellevue. I was really confused--I knew Adrian would have looked after me, and I knew Josh (the bartender) would have looked after him. So how had I wound up in a hospital in another town, with six hours missing?
I went outside for a moment to wait for the cab, but got chilled--my bag-o-clothes had not contained my flannel shirt--so I went inside the lobby to wait. Something on the wall got my attention... I think it was some art piece made of broken glass. I looked down from there, and there was my flannel shirt on the floor. Had I dropped it there earlier, looking at the same art piece? So many questions should have come to mind to ask (how did I get here? where was I found? where was Adrian? what the hell did Josh give us?), but they didn't.
With Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" stuck in my head, I slept in the cab on the way home (how did he know where I live?) and Jenny and Lisha were waiting worriedly when I walked in. I brushed my teeth and we went to bed, and I fell asleep knowing that I could call Adrian at work in the morning and everything would come to make sense.
I woke up around five, still drunk (what the hell did Josh give us?). With the bedroom spinning and tilting, I decided to lay in the bathroom for a bit. (I started to read The Return of the Sorceror by Ashton Clark--it's very, very good.) I woke up at seven and called out from work. At eleven I drove Jenny to work so she didn't have to worry about parking. No longer drunk, I just felt like hell--panicked, extremely freaked out, and sore all over. I stopped by the mall, where I looked for a cheap game to play as I spent the day on the couch. I got home and called B&N and asked for Adrian.
"Hey man, I just wanted to make sure you made it to work all right."
"Yeah, I'm here, but I'm leaving. I can't work. I'm... I'm freaking out. So you looked out for me last night?"
"...What?"
"I woke up in the hospital, man!"
"Me too! I don't even remember leaving Cucina Cucina."
"Me either, man! But apparrently we came back to work. I got my stuff out of my locker. We must have passed out in the street, then. They told me they picked me up on 12th. Josh must have served us poison. I've got your book, but I lost my phone."
"I've got your phone--I'm talking to you on your phone, because I lost my phone! I woke up in the hospital and it was in my pocket."
"Well I'm going to go home. I'm going to come in tomorrow and finish today's shipment. I'm just really freaking out."
So other than the fact that we were picked up on 12th Street, and that I very probably embarrassed myself at work, I still have no idea what happened last night.
[2/7/2010 16:23 update]
---At work, Nicki told me we came through, probably about 19:00 (best guess) and seemed tipsy, but fine. Said we were in & out in just a couple of minutes.
---At the restaurant, Josh said we seemed fine when we left. Nobody was with us, and we hadn't talked with anybody but him while we were there. He recalled we'd had two large beers each, and he'd served us three shots of whiskey, one of them 100 proof.
---According to the hospital, my blood/alcohol content was 0.221. There was no evidence of drugs. I was brought in by ambulance at approximately 19:30.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Off the Road
Before our breaks at work, we're supposed to do a "360," which means we approach each customer in the store and ask if the need assistance. That's to ensure that 1) everyone is getting helped and 2) we're getting to every corner of the store, so there's nowhere in the store that shoplifters can expect us not to be. Lately, since it's the holiday season and we're scheduled heavily at the information desk, I just walk to each corner of the store and then go to my break. I only talk to the customers that look interesting.
A week ago (or two or three), I walked past a kid (LOL, I feel old; he was college-aged) and noticed he was reading the back of The Dharma Bums. "That's an awesome book," I told him. I told him about how I bought it for Jeremy before he moved to Hawaii, and he said he'd just started to realize that there may be more to life than going to school and then getting a career. So I also handed him Illusions, and also told him about when I quit my job and hit the road (it pains me to realize this is past-tense; that I no longer live "on the road"). He told me that sounded about right, like it was a secret he'd suspected. He bought both books and as he was walking out the door I thought I should have recommended a hundred more books. I should have grabbed him by the collar and yelled, "RUN! RUN AND DON'T LOOK BACK!"
I feel like I'm setting a bad, bad example. I don't want to be one of those people who "did something crazy," who "had adventures when I was young." Shortly after I moved out here, I talked with a man (I just looked back to link the post, only to find that it's one of the many blogs I never wrote; how disappointing) about how I think life is. We discussed how my father feels about his generation, that they all sold out & became the people they'd been fighting against, and that I didn't want myself or my peers to be like that. The man said he wouldn't argue with me because he knew better, that I'd see, that sooner or later we all admit that we need insurance and financial security. At that moment I felt like I never would do that, even if I learned that my way of doing things was NOT the best, just to prove that "defeatist attitude" wrong. But here I am, off the road.
A recent argument with Jenny (there wasn't much arguing, really; I admitted quicky and easily that she was in the right) brought light to something discussed in several arguments with Katie, about how I essentially preach but don't practice. I "talk the talk," but do not "walk the walk." Neither girl said that precisely, but that fact is what was underneath the symptoms they found as faults. I can talk up a crazy revolution, but then come home and play my Nintendo Wii and buy the 5-Disc version of Watchmen and drink and hope for somebody to come in so I can show off by bookcase of philosophy books and act like I'm still myself. At this point, I am all talk. At this point, I am telling young men to read Kerouac and hit the road, which supports my philosophy, but by living comfortably and working where and as I do, the unintended message is the same thing that man told me a year and a half ago.
At the moment, I feel pitiful, feel like I've never practiced, never walked the walk, but I have. I'm just not, now. I do this, repeatedly. Katie says I always seem to want to become a monk when things are looking bad, but really I always want to be a monk but, get lazy about it when things are looking good. Looking at my life, one can always tell when I'm feeling shitty about how I've come the live. The signs are simple: I return to square-1, reading Illusions, Siddhartha, and Round the Bend. I'm currently devouring RtB, and annotating a copy of Siddartha as a Christmas gift. I think I'm going to add The Alchemist, Beyond Civilization and The Element to this list.
My usual order of operatons is, I realize I'm no longer practicing, I read those books to get pumped up, and then I dash the whole house of cards I've built. But now I've added as a feather to my cap the Jenny Owen Youngs line, "Building is better but breaking is easy." I've compromised myself, and buried myself under a house of cards, but I like where I am, and who I'm with, and really all I don't like is myself. So that's my next big adventure: Do I Have What It Takes To Live Here Without Fear?
I hope so...
A week ago (or two or three), I walked past a kid (LOL, I feel old; he was college-aged) and noticed he was reading the back of The Dharma Bums. "That's an awesome book," I told him. I told him about how I bought it for Jeremy before he moved to Hawaii, and he said he'd just started to realize that there may be more to life than going to school and then getting a career. So I also handed him Illusions, and also told him about when I quit my job and hit the road (it pains me to realize this is past-tense; that I no longer live "on the road"). He told me that sounded about right, like it was a secret he'd suspected. He bought both books and as he was walking out the door I thought I should have recommended a hundred more books. I should have grabbed him by the collar and yelled, "RUN! RUN AND DON'T LOOK BACK!"
I feel like I'm setting a bad, bad example. I don't want to be one of those people who "did something crazy," who "had adventures when I was young." Shortly after I moved out here, I talked with a man (I just looked back to link the post, only to find that it's one of the many blogs I never wrote; how disappointing) about how I think life is. We discussed how my father feels about his generation, that they all sold out & became the people they'd been fighting against, and that I didn't want myself or my peers to be like that. The man said he wouldn't argue with me because he knew better, that I'd see, that sooner or later we all admit that we need insurance and financial security. At that moment I felt like I never would do that, even if I learned that my way of doing things was NOT the best, just to prove that "defeatist attitude" wrong. But here I am, off the road.
A recent argument with Jenny (there wasn't much arguing, really; I admitted quicky and easily that she was in the right) brought light to something discussed in several arguments with Katie, about how I essentially preach but don't practice. I "talk the talk," but do not "walk the walk." Neither girl said that precisely, but that fact is what was underneath the symptoms they found as faults. I can talk up a crazy revolution, but then come home and play my Nintendo Wii and buy the 5-Disc version of Watchmen and drink and hope for somebody to come in so I can show off by bookcase of philosophy books and act like I'm still myself. At this point, I am all talk. At this point, I am telling young men to read Kerouac and hit the road, which supports my philosophy, but by living comfortably and working where and as I do, the unintended message is the same thing that man told me a year and a half ago.
At the moment, I feel pitiful, feel like I've never practiced, never walked the walk, but I have. I'm just not, now. I do this, repeatedly. Katie says I always seem to want to become a monk when things are looking bad, but really I always want to be a monk but, get lazy about it when things are looking good. Looking at my life, one can always tell when I'm feeling shitty about how I've come the live. The signs are simple: I return to square-1, reading Illusions, Siddhartha, and Round the Bend. I'm currently devouring RtB, and annotating a copy of Siddartha as a Christmas gift. I think I'm going to add The Alchemist, Beyond Civilization and The Element to this list.
My usual order of operatons is, I realize I'm no longer practicing, I read those books to get pumped up, and then I dash the whole house of cards I've built. But now I've added as a feather to my cap the Jenny Owen Youngs line, "Building is better but breaking is easy." I've compromised myself, and buried myself under a house of cards, but I like where I am, and who I'm with, and really all I don't like is myself. So that's my next big adventure: Do I Have What It Takes To Live Here Without Fear?
I hope so...
Monday, November 30, 2009
The Land of Laughs
I haven't had a haircut since just before visiting Tennessee fifteen months ago. When I ask a certain someone what she's thinking and she says "nothing," I wonder if it's thoughts that can't be put into words, or if it's actually possible to just be in the present moment peacefully. When I lived in Nashville, I would go to Davis-Kidd bookstore often, and would intend to buy The Land of Laughs by Jonathan Carroll. Sometimes I would decide to buy something else instead; other times they would not have it on hand. It became a tradition--in hindsight I can see that after a point I would go to D-K to Not Buy the Land of Laughs.
I have been reading that book this week, and am surprised I am not reading it now. Within the book, the narrator is writing a biography. It begins: 'He didn't like tomatoes. He collected picture postcards of railroad stations. He found names of his characters in a small Missouri graveyard.' This post begins: 'I haven't had a haircut since just before visiting Tennessee fifteen months ago.' I don't think I'm ever thinking nothing. As I live and breathe, I am internally narrating myself in the style of whatever book I have been reading. Maybe this is why I'm reading thirty books at once, always. I'm not a very good writer, and the narration goes bad, and I need the change.
If I were to ammend and continue: 'I haven't had a haircut in fifteen months. My girlfriend left a notebook on my bedside table yesterday. I bought 1.5 litres of wine this morning, to continue drinking once I've finished off the bottle from the fridge. I believe every crisis is a crisis of faith, and I've been having one for at least a month now. I talk to strangers. I'm exchanging poetry with an old friend I haven't talked to in years. I'm reading a book I played tag with for years, and I'm missing a friend I've played tag with for months.'
This is how it is.
Friends came to visit! John And Cory From Phoenix. I've known John for years; I met Cory in Vermont or New York in May. They travel how I like to travel, though less often. (To be honest, they travel less often than they'd like, too.) They came in on Wednesday--the day before Thanksgiving. I met them downtown in the rain, and we wandered. We bussed home so they could deposit their backpacks, and then we walked & bussed to The Ave (picture, if you can, 4th Ave in Tucson, but with more bars and eateries). We drank to our mustaches and had shepherd's pie, and then walked the three miles home. (This is me beginning to show how much we walked while they were here.)
The next day, Jenny, John, Cory and I drove down to Kent. Michael and Bill met us there, and we had a thanksgiving meal with Jenny's family. What was I grateful for this year? That I could spend the holiday with people I consider my family, and that my mother and sister could do the same. Then we played Apples to Apples for hours, over Henry Weinhart's Root Beer (John and I are in contention over whether that or Virgil's is the best Root Beer). Fed to full, we came home and watched Dead Alive over wines.
Friday: I had to work. J&C bussed into downtown with me. As we came out of the Westlake tunnel, we witnessed the tail end of the Christmas (I'm supposing, since it was antethanksgiving) parade, and then went to Market Bagel. From there I went to work; they went to the Market. It was a beautiful, warm day. I called my step-dad, who spent the holiday with his also-divorcing sister. He said it was clear there, but very cold--in the fifties! I told him it was very warm here--in the forties. I got a mysterious text from my father: 'Hey kid - sorry to bother. Things have gotten weird here - after tonight I may not be reachable for a few days. Just wanted you to know I'm OK.' I'm wondering what that's about. He was in a coma less than a month ago.
But Saturday is where it was at. John & Cory and I left the house just before 13:00. We walked down 20 blocks to a bus stop, and decided to keep walking rather than wait the 20 minutes for the next bus. After three miles, we arrived at Beth's Cafe. Check out their menu. If you want an omelette, your options are 6-egg or 12-egg. We had both.
We bussed downtown and went to Elliott Bay Book Company, where I bought a book by Jonathan Lethem (a story, short: Every time I go to EBBC, I go directly to the bargain section, simply because it's up a staircase hidden behind other staircases in a hallway. Every time, I hope to find Land of Laughs by J Carroll. It is not there, but there is a different book By J Lethem. I buy it.)
We walked out of the store and there was a cute, old homeless lady asking for a dollar. I declined, and was instantly captured buy a man in a nice black coat with a purple gas mask, who offered to write me a poem, using my name, in 45sec. Feeling guilty over having passed the woman by, I agreed (though we were in a hurry; the Underground Tour was beginning soon). The man did write the poem quickly (using the jame I gave him: John), and then read it to me a thousand times, and then asked me to read it, and then he read it again. I gave him $5 and he asked for my $10-bill. I gave him another dollar or two or three, and then he asked John for money. John had a twenty, and they guy offered him my $5 in exchange for it. We left. I gave the old woman a dollar. Despite having the best Underground Tour yet (this was my fourth or fifth time), I didn't tip, since I'd given so much money away. To top it off, we left the tour and were captured by The Woman Who Kissed Jenny (I really ought to get her name, as I encounter her so often). (Another story, short: once I took Jenny to the movies, and we encountered this woman, homeless and crying, "please, can you just buy me some MacDonalds? I don't want money, I just want something to eat." Jenny bought her a Big Mac and fries and a shake. She kissed Jenny, and then asked me for money. Another time I encountered her, and it was winter, and her face was covered in snot. I didn't give her money, because I was afraid she'd kiss me.) She was on us so quickly that I couldn't give a heads-up, and John gave her a dollar and got hugged. Then we went to Chinatown (Cory said it's better than many of the other Chinatowns he's been to, but it never impressed me much). I bought a bottle of Sake, and John and Cory and I drank it on the bus to Queen Anne. I was reminded of my first trip to Seattle.
We ate at Dick's, which was good. I'd avoided it because people talk about it in the same tone as In-and-Out Burger, which I loathe. But yeah, good burgers, and cheap, and fast. Then we reverse-traced the steps Leslie and Garrett and I once took, walking this time from Seattle Center to near Westlake, and then bussed to Fremont, where John and Cory took many pictures of Lenin, the Train Stop, the Clowns, the Troll, and Gas Works Park. The view of the skyline from Gas Works was simply incredible. The water of Lake Union reflected the city-lit sky and oh-but-there-are-no-words.
From Gas Works we walked back to Stone Way and north until we caught a bus which took us to NE80th & N1st so we could gauge how long it would take J&C to walk there to catch the bus at 04:00 the next morning, to get to the airport in time for their 08:15 flight. We got home at 23:50. Other than an cumulative hour eating, and 30 minutues collected riding the bus, we'd walked for nearly twielvce hours.
Perhaps enough to walk off those omelettes.
I have been reading that book this week, and am surprised I am not reading it now. Within the book, the narrator is writing a biography. It begins: 'He didn't like tomatoes. He collected picture postcards of railroad stations. He found names of his characters in a small Missouri graveyard.' This post begins: 'I haven't had a haircut since just before visiting Tennessee fifteen months ago.' I don't think I'm ever thinking nothing. As I live and breathe, I am internally narrating myself in the style of whatever book I have been reading. Maybe this is why I'm reading thirty books at once, always. I'm not a very good writer, and the narration goes bad, and I need the change.
If I were to ammend and continue: 'I haven't had a haircut in fifteen months. My girlfriend left a notebook on my bedside table yesterday. I bought 1.5 litres of wine this morning, to continue drinking once I've finished off the bottle from the fridge. I believe every crisis is a crisis of faith, and I've been having one for at least a month now. I talk to strangers. I'm exchanging poetry with an old friend I haven't talked to in years. I'm reading a book I played tag with for years, and I'm missing a friend I've played tag with for months.'
This is how it is.
Friends came to visit! John And Cory From Phoenix. I've known John for years; I met Cory in Vermont or New York in May. They travel how I like to travel, though less often. (To be honest, they travel less often than they'd like, too.) They came in on Wednesday--the day before Thanksgiving. I met them downtown in the rain, and we wandered. We bussed home so they could deposit their backpacks, and then we walked & bussed to The Ave (picture, if you can, 4th Ave in Tucson, but with more bars and eateries). We drank to our mustaches and had shepherd's pie, and then walked the three miles home. (This is me beginning to show how much we walked while they were here.)
The next day, Jenny, John, Cory and I drove down to Kent. Michael and Bill met us there, and we had a thanksgiving meal with Jenny's family. What was I grateful for this year? That I could spend the holiday with people I consider my family, and that my mother and sister could do the same. Then we played Apples to Apples for hours, over Henry Weinhart's Root Beer (John and I are in contention over whether that or Virgil's is the best Root Beer). Fed to full, we came home and watched Dead Alive over wines.
Friday: I had to work. J&C bussed into downtown with me. As we came out of the Westlake tunnel, we witnessed the tail end of the Christmas (I'm supposing, since it was antethanksgiving) parade, and then went to Market Bagel. From there I went to work; they went to the Market. It was a beautiful, warm day. I called my step-dad, who spent the holiday with his also-divorcing sister. He said it was clear there, but very cold--in the fifties! I told him it was very warm here--in the forties. I got a mysterious text from my father: 'Hey kid - sorry to bother. Things have gotten weird here - after tonight I may not be reachable for a few days. Just wanted you to know I'm OK.' I'm wondering what that's about. He was in a coma less than a month ago.
But Saturday is where it was at. John & Cory and I left the house just before 13:00. We walked down 20 blocks to a bus stop, and decided to keep walking rather than wait the 20 minutes for the next bus. After three miles, we arrived at Beth's Cafe. Check out their menu. If you want an omelette, your options are 6-egg or 12-egg. We had both.
We bussed downtown and went to Elliott Bay Book Company, where I bought a book by Jonathan Lethem (a story, short: Every time I go to EBBC, I go directly to the bargain section, simply because it's up a staircase hidden behind other staircases in a hallway. Every time, I hope to find Land of Laughs by J Carroll. It is not there, but there is a different book By J Lethem. I buy it.)
We walked out of the store and there was a cute, old homeless lady asking for a dollar. I declined, and was instantly captured buy a man in a nice black coat with a purple gas mask, who offered to write me a poem, using my name, in 45sec. Feeling guilty over having passed the woman by, I agreed (though we were in a hurry; the Underground Tour was beginning soon). The man did write the poem quickly (using the jame I gave him: John), and then read it to me a thousand times, and then asked me to read it, and then he read it again. I gave him $5 and he asked for my $10-bill. I gave him another dollar or two or three, and then he asked John for money. John had a twenty, and they guy offered him my $5 in exchange for it. We left. I gave the old woman a dollar. Despite having the best Underground Tour yet (this was my fourth or fifth time), I didn't tip, since I'd given so much money away. To top it off, we left the tour and were captured by The Woman Who Kissed Jenny (I really ought to get her name, as I encounter her so often). (Another story, short: once I took Jenny to the movies, and we encountered this woman, homeless and crying, "please, can you just buy me some MacDonalds? I don't want money, I just want something to eat." Jenny bought her a Big Mac and fries and a shake. She kissed Jenny, and then asked me for money. Another time I encountered her, and it was winter, and her face was covered in snot. I didn't give her money, because I was afraid she'd kiss me.) She was on us so quickly that I couldn't give a heads-up, and John gave her a dollar and got hugged. Then we went to Chinatown (Cory said it's better than many of the other Chinatowns he's been to, but it never impressed me much). I bought a bottle of Sake, and John and Cory and I drank it on the bus to Queen Anne. I was reminded of my first trip to Seattle.
We ate at Dick's, which was good. I'd avoided it because people talk about it in the same tone as In-and-Out Burger, which I loathe. But yeah, good burgers, and cheap, and fast. Then we reverse-traced the steps Leslie and Garrett and I once took, walking this time from Seattle Center to near Westlake, and then bussed to Fremont, where John and Cory took many pictures of Lenin, the Train Stop, the Clowns, the Troll, and Gas Works Park. The view of the skyline from Gas Works was simply incredible. The water of Lake Union reflected the city-lit sky and oh-but-there-are-no-words.
From Gas Works we walked back to Stone Way and north until we caught a bus which took us to NE80th & N1st so we could gauge how long it would take J&C to walk there to catch the bus at 04:00 the next morning, to get to the airport in time for their 08:15 flight. We got home at 23:50. Other than an cumulative hour eating, and 30 minutues collected riding the bus, we'd walked for nearly twielvce hours.
Perhaps enough to walk off those omelettes.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Teach the Contoversy?
In September 2007, I attended a talk by Geshe Michael Roach and Lama Christie McNally (you can listen to the talks as mp3s here), on the subject of Spiritual Partners. It was a cool concept made even cooler by the fact that that's what I already had going on in my life at that time. (The gist: find a partner and work together toward the goal of peace, essentially playing motivator & conscience to each other.)
Over the past week, I've been listening to several of these recordings, and this has revolutionized (and, frankly, improved) how I see my current relationship. I've been thinking and talking about the ideas discussed in these talks and recomending specific talks to individual people, because I think there's good advice in them.
And then, when just now looking for these recordings again, I came across this site. "The aim of this site is to provide an open forum for discussion and examination of Geshe Michael Roach. This web site is intended to make the general public aware of the controversy, its causes, and why it has come about."
Among the information provided:
"in September 2005, a teacher of Geshe Michael Roach, Gyumed Khensur Rinpoche Lobsang Jampa, from Sera Mey, advised Geshe Michael Roach that he should either disrobe or behave like a monk (in terms of his "consort" Christie McNally , his hair and other vows)."
"Geshe Michael Roach has taken Christie McNally as his "Consort" or spiritual Partner. He has recently also surrounded himself at Diamond Mountain with those he describes as his "four Dakinis"... Lady Ora, Lady Christie, Lady Pelma and Lady Trisangma. The title "Lady" was granted by Geshe Michael Roach himself (in writing on the Diamond Mountain Tantra Course notes), and has the meaning of "Dakini"."
It is also considered that Geshe Michael Roach is effectively starting a cult.
So yeah, he's quite a controversial guy. But isn't the Dalai Lama as well? Wasn't the Buddha himself? Anyway, there was no real point to this, other than to give full disclosure regarding all these talks I've been recommending. Regardless of whether the man is a mad cult leader, or a seriously wise teacher, there's no such thing as a bad thing to learn so long as you commit to learning with wisdom and healthy scepticism. So there ya go!
Over the past week, I've been listening to several of these recordings, and this has revolutionized (and, frankly, improved) how I see my current relationship. I've been thinking and talking about the ideas discussed in these talks and recomending specific talks to individual people, because I think there's good advice in them.
And then, when just now looking for these recordings again, I came across this site. "The aim of this site is to provide an open forum for discussion and examination of Geshe Michael Roach. This web site is intended to make the general public aware of the controversy, its causes, and why it has come about."
Among the information provided:
"in September 2005, a teacher of Geshe Michael Roach, Gyumed Khensur Rinpoche Lobsang Jampa, from Sera Mey, advised Geshe Michael Roach that he should either disrobe or behave like a monk (in terms of his "consort" Christie McNally , his hair and other vows)."
"Geshe Michael Roach has taken Christie McNally as his "Consort" or spiritual Partner. He has recently also surrounded himself at Diamond Mountain with those he describes as his "four Dakinis"... Lady Ora, Lady Christie, Lady Pelma and Lady Trisangma. The title "Lady" was granted by Geshe Michael Roach himself (in writing on the Diamond Mountain Tantra Course notes), and has the meaning of "Dakini"."
It is also considered that Geshe Michael Roach is effectively starting a cult.
So yeah, he's quite a controversial guy. But isn't the Dalai Lama as well? Wasn't the Buddha himself? Anyway, there was no real point to this, other than to give full disclosure regarding all these talks I've been recommending. Regardless of whether the man is a mad cult leader, or a seriously wise teacher, there's no such thing as a bad thing to learn so long as you commit to learning with wisdom and healthy scepticism. So there ya go!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
so they say...
http://www.getrichslowly.org/blog/2009/10/01/happier/
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/19/AR2006011903124.html
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/19/AR2006011903124.html
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