Monday, approximately 1130PM: Jenny found a flea on Bellatrix.
Tuesday, approximately 4:00AM: I woke up to Jenny thrashing around, and discovered that we were covered in fleas.
I've been reading On the Beach by Nevil Shute, and it's amazing. The gist: the story of six of the people living in Australia two years after World War Three, as the radiation caused by 4,000+ nuclear bombs in the northern hemisphere makes its way south. The main characters have few illusions, and it's understood throughout the novel that they are all going to die in the coming September.
I came home yesterday with flea shampoo for the cats. Lucius handled the bath badly, and Bella (as usual) handled being in, and covered by, water very well. That killed a lot of fleas, and afterward Jenny combed the kitties, and put what remaining fleas she found directly into a cup of the poison-shampoo. After that madness, Jenny needed a cigarette, and I poured a glass of wine.* We sat on the steps with our vices and our books, and I finished both of mine as Jenny went inside to shower.
It was a strange symmetry. In the book: a man sets things right in the yard before joining his wife in bed, where they intend to poison themselves. At my house: I finish reading my book in the yard before joining Jenny in the shower, where we intend to pour flea-poison all over ourselves. With our roommate Lisha on vacation, it seemed just as isolated as the couple's home in the book. Even though our problem was just a common flea infestation, it was hard to shake the feeling that This Was It. It was pretty moving, for a flea-bath.
After that, though, things picked up. We had to get out of the house (the cats were flea-bathed, we were flea-bathed; however, the house was still flea'd), so we went out to eat, and then to the store to find Die Endflohlösung. I called out of work for today, and we went to bed, comfortable with the knowledge that we'd be bombing these little buggers all day long.***
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
*I'm noticing a pattern. A month previous:
Lisha: The laundry room is flooded!
Jenny: I need a cigarette.
Me: I'll open a bottle of wine.
**I'm at the library, spending time until I can enter the house. Which is in two minutes, so I'll wrap this up...
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Visible Limbo
Hey, you remember that time that I blogged about the death of my car, and my decision to be rid of it? Do you remember that blog about getting dumped by my girlfriend? How about the transcript of IMs, wherein Scott and I discussed our jobs and relationships? Or the one in which I told Neil Gaiman, in few uncertain terms, just where he could stick his last few books?
Of course not, because I NEVER FINISHED THEM.
You don't know (although you may reasonably expect) this, but I have a lot of unfinished drafts for this blog. That's why I invented my eleventy-billionth blog. From now on, I'll start blogs there, so they can be read unfinished. In the rare event that I actually complete what I set out to do, I'll paste it over here to make it official.
So if you ever want to know what's going through my head, check it out; if you want to read essays and stories with beginnings, middles, and ends, just hang around here holding your breath.
Of course not, because I NEVER FINISHED THEM.
You don't know (although you may reasonably expect) this, but I have a lot of unfinished drafts for this blog. That's why I invented my eleventy-billionth blog. From now on, I'll start blogs there, so they can be read unfinished. In the rare event that I actually complete what I set out to do, I'll paste it over here to make it official.
So if you ever want to know what's going through my head, check it out; if you want to read essays and stories with beginnings, middles, and ends, just hang around here holding your breath.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
The Return of Court Anonymous
I have this song stuck in my head.
Hello, there. I'm trying to be productive, and despite having sat on the couch online for the past two hours, I don't feel like I'm failing. I've written two poems, both past deadline, but at least I'm caught up with that. Was going to go for a walk today, one that I've been meaning to take for about two years now, but it was honest-to-gawd raining and I didn't feel like soaking my Chucks through. (Another thing I've been meaning to do for two years: buy some shoes other than Chucks... it's just that I tend to be shoe shopping when the weather is nice, and they always seem like a good idea...)
I also intended to learn Android today, but I had mistakenly thought it would be similar to Flash. Turns out that I need to know Java. So yeah, my own personal application will not appear in the Android Market anytime soon.
I'm trying to make myself write, you see. I'm out of practice, and I have no idea where to start. I guess I could start in Tucson. This is supposed to be my journal of adventures, after all.
Since Jenny and I broke up, life provided me option upon option. My friend Caysie from Nashville came to Seattle to visit a friend from her Chicago years. The night before I left for Tucson, I joined them for supper, and her friend Marc and I got along well enough that he suggested we should look for a two-bedroom place. And Adrian at work suggested the same thing. And while in Tucson, Charles and Leslie talked about the three of us finding a two-bedroom home together, too. A few days after I returned from Tucson, Adrienne mentioned that a girl from the class I attended with her (yes, I'll actually talk about the trip soon) is moving to Seattle and needs a roommate. It's awesome to know I could step in any direction. And yet none of the options feel right.*
I think I decided that I need to live on my own. I've only lived on my own for six weeks of my life, between Scott moving out from BLC, and Leslie moving in. I know I can make it on my own on the road; I have pitifully little experience doing so while keeping still. It's a tricky situation: Jenny and Lisha don't want me to move out. It's hard to motivate myself to look for a place of my own when I could save money and not have to pack and move. Jenny and I have gotten back together, too, so it's difficult for me to put her in the position of either doubling her original rent, or finding somebody to take over my third of the rent and utilities.
(In semi-related news, when I do get my own place, I'm going to write extensively on Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling and Camus's The Myth of Sisyphus, since both essays explore the agonizing uncertainty with which I face every single decision in life.)
So I have a plan, but I think of it as Plan B, because I feel like I'm getting ahead of myself with it. I want to buy a sailboat--a modest one, but large enough for a livable berth, since it will be my home. The boat will be costly, but paying for moorage should be cheaper than paying rent (a quick bit of googling shows this to be true). When not at work, I'll be teaching myself the ins and outs of the boat, the rigging, and the act of sailing. As my skill improves I can earn some money (I'm picturing a maritime Round the Bend), and graduate to a larger boat and take on a crewmate (I'm thinking Scott, or my father) so we can learn a larger boat as well as delegating the activities. After a couple of boat upgrades, hopefully we'll have the Rosewater ready to set sail.** By that time I'll have not only the boat and the knowledge, but a decent crew that have grown into it with me.
So yeah, plan B. I suppose plan A is to live here a while longer, while saving up money. I do like the idea of a studio apartment, though.
So I guess I didn't start with Tucson, after all. Ah well, it's never too late:
Caysie was able to pick me up in the morning, and we drove around so I could show off some Seattle (like the Troll, and Golden Gardens) before heading to the airport. I got into Tucson at 11PM, so there wasn't much to do other than go to Leslie and Charles's home and drink some wine and talk talk talk all night. Charles went to bed, and Les and I talked more, and started designing her tattoo (the plan was to both get tattoos while I was in town).
In the morning, Charles had gone to class and Les and I skipped yoga and went to the Farmers' Market, which was really nice to go to, and hear stories about. Afterward we pulled off to a trailhead for a little walk. I'd gone to Tucson specifically because I knew the desert would tell me what to do. Now, I'd expected my walkabout to be something demanding and extensive. I guess, in hindsight, I'd expected to go out and think and deliberate and put in personal effort. But as I'd originally planned, the desert made short work of it. As soon as we stepped onto the sand, I could feel the desert taking deep breaths and clearing its throat. We'd probably walked for five minutes before it showed me what I hadn't seen in two years: about a million saguaros, and some spectacular views. The desert asked if I remembered its magic, and I did. It told me that I haven't found Seattle's, yet, and that if I left before I did, I would come to regret it. I was convinced, and that left me open to simply enjoy the rest of my time in town.
We went home and Leslie and I sat down and finalized her tattoo, then she put together a vegan pizza and took a nap. I chilled and read and ate pizza (and could hardly believe it was so good, while lacking all the things that I typically enjoy most about pizza. I still believe myself lacking of the necessary moral character to become a practicing vegan, but can now understand how L&C can stand to do it.
After we'd all napped (well, I read, and admired the amazing view from their balcony), we had more wine and sat in the hot tub. Leslie went to bed, and this time Charles and I sat up drinking and talking. Way too long.
The plan was to wake up and go on the epic hike to Seven Falls at Sabino Canyon. Unfortunately, I slept all the way up to breakfast being served. When I don't sleep enough, my body gets mad at me for waking up and revolts by rejecting anything I put into it. This was always a problem working at T-Mobile, when I'd have to wake up at 4:30AM for work, and I relived all those mornings when L&C served me coffee, tea, vegan sausage and potato cakes. They were not happy with the sausage, but I thought it was amazing. By the time I got to the cakes, though, I'd started shaking and my stomach started cramping up. It was unpleasant, but at least I knew it would only last about half an hour, until my body had made its point. By the time we made it to Sabino Canyon, I was doing just fine.
The hike was great -- four miles out into the desert gave us some great sights, and time for good conversations. I found myself acclimating to the desert pretty rapidly (luckily it was relatively cool, in the mid-80s; only double what I was used to back in Seattle), but slowly enough that the water under the falls still felt pleasant (as opposed to freezing, as was L&C's experience). The falls, by the way: Amazing. A must-do experience for any future trips to Tucson. Even if the four mile hike (and four more miles to return) seems intimidating, you have no idea how worth it it is. I recommend visiting Leslie's blog and demanding that she post some pictures. (Preferably not the one in which I am clearly pregnant, though.) The hike back was rougher on me, but seemed shorter, so it balanced out.
When we got back I realized I had a pretty epic sunburn, which thwarted our tattooing plans, so Charles and I went for some beer, and we played each other some music, and spent another night drinking and not getting enough sleep.
The next morning I rode to work with Charles, since he works at the U of A, just down the road from my old home. I got to my house around 7AM and realized it was much too early to drop by my grandma's to visit (just as well; I later learned she was in Virginia with my dad and aunt for the weekend). It was weird to see the house, though. I almost didn't recognize it: the porch was covered in potted plants, and the ivy that I had ripped down had regrown over the front of the house. Everything else was the same, though: the funky chiles were still hanging where we'd left them, as was the pile of rubble that used to be the front walk. We'd torn that walk out in November 2007, after trick-or-treaters had tripped over it. I didn't snoop around the back yard, [since there was someone living there, and she doesn't know me, and it was 7AM] but I'm sure my piles of dirt and my Blue Moon bottles were still there.
I moseyed over to Himmel Park, and called Scott to vent some anger over the state of our house, and he cracked me up by reminding me of the meat-and-cheese sandwich I once gave my grandfather.*** He said my g'father had conspired with the universe for me to stay with vegans as revenge (although I enjoyed L&C's meals much more than he probably enjoyed that unfortunate sub). It was, alas, too early to go to my old library as well, so I headed down Speedway thinking I'd find some good Mexican breakfast. (I only found closed Mexican restaurants, that early in the morning.) Once I realized I'd made it most of the way to my old Barnes & Noble, I bussed the last four blocks east, and walked the four blocks south. (Tucson's streets are a grid, which confused me with their simplicity when I first moved there; their bus system is equally simple, and therefore also baffled me.)
I got to see some old friends and coworkers and had a really nice time visiting the store itself, too. I spent a good four hours there before Dawna invited me to join her at work. I bussed over there and packaged seeds for awhile, which was cool business. Charles dropped off my bag, Corbin came and picked us up, and Dawna, Danerys and I had a nice chill afternoon in their new backyard. Age and Reba joined us, and it was wonderful.
The next morning, Age and I had breakfast and shared music before going to school. I got to sit in on a class where she and others gave presentations on artists I was mostly unfamiliar with, and I got new perspectives on just what art is. Very cool. Then we chilled back at Age's house, listening to music while she painted, and then I bussed over to have lunch with Garrett (I'm sorry, I mean Ashler). A good visit there (he totally brought me into his head with just a few words), and then he and I met up with Charles and Leslie for an evening at The Surly Wench, which was also awesome to revisit (we even sat under the Bell Witch poster again).
Ashler joined me, Dawna, Age, Josh and Valerie for Metal Head (and their new, abysmal "opening band" Nerd Alert--same guys, but a different shtick, which just didn't work IMHO, although it was funny to see Lucky-as-nerd keep coming to our table and hitting on Valerie).
The next morning was a too-soon end to the trip. Age, disliking goodbyes, was gone by the time I woke up. My cabbie and I discussed Arizona's controversial new law (he's a Canadian of Mexican descent, with dual citizenship; he said he's had to provide his papers regularly all around the world, and that the new law doesn't strike him as any different or more problematic than similar laws in Europe), and then I took to the skies.
My flight out of Vegas was delayed, and making it to the ND Wilson book signing was exciting, which is how I like things to be when I come home from an adventure. I had to run to catch the train to downtown (seriously, the light rail couldn't be just a little closer to the airport?). While on the 73 home (where I intended to shower and change, since I was traveling-gross), Jenny called and told me to get off the bus. I did, and she was there waiting, I hopped into the back seat (I'm reminded of the recurring joke from Malrats), where I changed clothes. We stopped to pick up Ruby, and then ran out of gas. We unfolded from the car, and I ran north to the gas station, while they ran south to the bookstore. The 68, which would have brought me to the store after I'd showered, passed by while I poured gas into the tank. I drove the last leg and arrived just in time to attend one of the best author talks I've been to. (I won't go too far into it, but I do recommend reading his 100 Cupboards series.)
Then we went to a party. I'm pretty sure I didn't sleep for two weeks, including my time in Tucson. The next few days included a trip to Beth's Cafe, karaoke in the international district, and work, work, work. Life is good again. I'm an adventurer again, and quite ready to see where this adventure leads me.
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
* Actually, the Leslie and Charles option did seem right, because I feel I could count on them to keep me accountable, but by that point the desert had already told me I was staying in Seattle.
**this is how I know I'm crossing the line from plan to dream: I've already named my first boat -- "Selling the Wind," from the Pretty Girls Make Graves song -- and the ultimate goal, named after Vonnegut's God Bless You, Mr Rosewater.
*** Scott also has a theory that after eating that sandwich, grandpa gave up on life, thus making me responsible for his death four months later.
Hello, there. I'm trying to be productive, and despite having sat on the couch online for the past two hours, I don't feel like I'm failing. I've written two poems, both past deadline, but at least I'm caught up with that. Was going to go for a walk today, one that I've been meaning to take for about two years now, but it was honest-to-gawd raining and I didn't feel like soaking my Chucks through. (Another thing I've been meaning to do for two years: buy some shoes other than Chucks... it's just that I tend to be shoe shopping when the weather is nice, and they always seem like a good idea...)
I also intended to learn Android today, but I had mistakenly thought it would be similar to Flash. Turns out that I need to know Java. So yeah, my own personal application will not appear in the Android Market anytime soon.
I'm trying to make myself write, you see. I'm out of practice, and I have no idea where to start. I guess I could start in Tucson. This is supposed to be my journal of adventures, after all.
Since Jenny and I broke up, life provided me option upon option. My friend Caysie from Nashville came to Seattle to visit a friend from her Chicago years. The night before I left for Tucson, I joined them for supper, and her friend Marc and I got along well enough that he suggested we should look for a two-bedroom place. And Adrian at work suggested the same thing. And while in Tucson, Charles and Leslie talked about the three of us finding a two-bedroom home together, too. A few days after I returned from Tucson, Adrienne mentioned that a girl from the class I attended with her (yes, I'll actually talk about the trip soon) is moving to Seattle and needs a roommate. It's awesome to know I could step in any direction. And yet none of the options feel right.*
I think I decided that I need to live on my own. I've only lived on my own for six weeks of my life, between Scott moving out from BLC, and Leslie moving in. I know I can make it on my own on the road; I have pitifully little experience doing so while keeping still. It's a tricky situation: Jenny and Lisha don't want me to move out. It's hard to motivate myself to look for a place of my own when I could save money and not have to pack and move. Jenny and I have gotten back together, too, so it's difficult for me to put her in the position of either doubling her original rent, or finding somebody to take over my third of the rent and utilities.
(In semi-related news, when I do get my own place, I'm going to write extensively on Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling and Camus's The Myth of Sisyphus, since both essays explore the agonizing uncertainty with which I face every single decision in life.)
So I have a plan, but I think of it as Plan B, because I feel like I'm getting ahead of myself with it. I want to buy a sailboat--a modest one, but large enough for a livable berth, since it will be my home. The boat will be costly, but paying for moorage should be cheaper than paying rent (a quick bit of googling shows this to be true). When not at work, I'll be teaching myself the ins and outs of the boat, the rigging, and the act of sailing. As my skill improves I can earn some money (I'm picturing a maritime Round the Bend), and graduate to a larger boat and take on a crewmate (I'm thinking Scott, or my father) so we can learn a larger boat as well as delegating the activities. After a couple of boat upgrades, hopefully we'll have the Rosewater ready to set sail.** By that time I'll have not only the boat and the knowledge, but a decent crew that have grown into it with me.
So yeah, plan B. I suppose plan A is to live here a while longer, while saving up money. I do like the idea of a studio apartment, though.
So I guess I didn't start with Tucson, after all. Ah well, it's never too late:
Caysie was able to pick me up in the morning, and we drove around so I could show off some Seattle (like the Troll, and Golden Gardens) before heading to the airport. I got into Tucson at 11PM, so there wasn't much to do other than go to Leslie and Charles's home and drink some wine and talk talk talk all night. Charles went to bed, and Les and I talked more, and started designing her tattoo (the plan was to both get tattoos while I was in town).
In the morning, Charles had gone to class and Les and I skipped yoga and went to the Farmers' Market, which was really nice to go to, and hear stories about. Afterward we pulled off to a trailhead for a little walk. I'd gone to Tucson specifically because I knew the desert would tell me what to do. Now, I'd expected my walkabout to be something demanding and extensive. I guess, in hindsight, I'd expected to go out and think and deliberate and put in personal effort. But as I'd originally planned, the desert made short work of it. As soon as we stepped onto the sand, I could feel the desert taking deep breaths and clearing its throat. We'd probably walked for five minutes before it showed me what I hadn't seen in two years: about a million saguaros, and some spectacular views. The desert asked if I remembered its magic, and I did. It told me that I haven't found Seattle's, yet, and that if I left before I did, I would come to regret it. I was convinced, and that left me open to simply enjoy the rest of my time in town.
We went home and Leslie and I sat down and finalized her tattoo, then she put together a vegan pizza and took a nap. I chilled and read and ate pizza (and could hardly believe it was so good, while lacking all the things that I typically enjoy most about pizza. I still believe myself lacking of the necessary moral character to become a practicing vegan, but can now understand how L&C can stand to do it.
After we'd all napped (well, I read, and admired the amazing view from their balcony), we had more wine and sat in the hot tub. Leslie went to bed, and this time Charles and I sat up drinking and talking. Way too long.
The plan was to wake up and go on the epic hike to Seven Falls at Sabino Canyon. Unfortunately, I slept all the way up to breakfast being served. When I don't sleep enough, my body gets mad at me for waking up and revolts by rejecting anything I put into it. This was always a problem working at T-Mobile, when I'd have to wake up at 4:30AM for work, and I relived all those mornings when L&C served me coffee, tea, vegan sausage and potato cakes. They were not happy with the sausage, but I thought it was amazing. By the time I got to the cakes, though, I'd started shaking and my stomach started cramping up. It was unpleasant, but at least I knew it would only last about half an hour, until my body had made its point. By the time we made it to Sabino Canyon, I was doing just fine.
The hike was great -- four miles out into the desert gave us some great sights, and time for good conversations. I found myself acclimating to the desert pretty rapidly (luckily it was relatively cool, in the mid-80s; only double what I was used to back in Seattle), but slowly enough that the water under the falls still felt pleasant (as opposed to freezing, as was L&C's experience). The falls, by the way: Amazing. A must-do experience for any future trips to Tucson. Even if the four mile hike (and four more miles to return) seems intimidating, you have no idea how worth it it is. I recommend visiting Leslie's blog and demanding that she post some pictures. (Preferably not the one in which I am clearly pregnant, though.) The hike back was rougher on me, but seemed shorter, so it balanced out.
When we got back I realized I had a pretty epic sunburn, which thwarted our tattooing plans, so Charles and I went for some beer, and we played each other some music, and spent another night drinking and not getting enough sleep.
The next morning I rode to work with Charles, since he works at the U of A, just down the road from my old home. I got to my house around 7AM and realized it was much too early to drop by my grandma's to visit (just as well; I later learned she was in Virginia with my dad and aunt for the weekend). It was weird to see the house, though. I almost didn't recognize it: the porch was covered in potted plants, and the ivy that I had ripped down had regrown over the front of the house. Everything else was the same, though: the funky chiles were still hanging where we'd left them, as was the pile of rubble that used to be the front walk. We'd torn that walk out in November 2007, after trick-or-treaters had tripped over it. I didn't snoop around the back yard, [since there was someone living there, and she doesn't know me, and it was 7AM] but I'm sure my piles of dirt and my Blue Moon bottles were still there.
I moseyed over to Himmel Park, and called Scott to vent some anger over the state of our house, and he cracked me up by reminding me of the meat-and-cheese sandwich I once gave my grandfather.*** He said my g'father had conspired with the universe for me to stay with vegans as revenge (although I enjoyed L&C's meals much more than he probably enjoyed that unfortunate sub). It was, alas, too early to go to my old library as well, so I headed down Speedway thinking I'd find some good Mexican breakfast. (I only found closed Mexican restaurants, that early in the morning.) Once I realized I'd made it most of the way to my old Barnes & Noble, I bussed the last four blocks east, and walked the four blocks south. (Tucson's streets are a grid, which confused me with their simplicity when I first moved there; their bus system is equally simple, and therefore also baffled me.)
I got to see some old friends and coworkers and had a really nice time visiting the store itself, too. I spent a good four hours there before Dawna invited me to join her at work. I bussed over there and packaged seeds for awhile, which was cool business. Charles dropped off my bag, Corbin came and picked us up, and Dawna, Danerys and I had a nice chill afternoon in their new backyard. Age and Reba joined us, and it was wonderful.
The next morning, Age and I had breakfast and shared music before going to school. I got to sit in on a class where she and others gave presentations on artists I was mostly unfamiliar with, and I got new perspectives on just what art is. Very cool. Then we chilled back at Age's house, listening to music while she painted, and then I bussed over to have lunch with Garrett (I'm sorry, I mean Ashler). A good visit there (he totally brought me into his head with just a few words), and then he and I met up with Charles and Leslie for an evening at The Surly Wench, which was also awesome to revisit (we even sat under the Bell Witch poster again).
Ashler joined me, Dawna, Age, Josh and Valerie for Metal Head (and their new, abysmal "opening band" Nerd Alert--same guys, but a different shtick, which just didn't work IMHO, although it was funny to see Lucky-as-nerd keep coming to our table and hitting on Valerie).
The next morning was a too-soon end to the trip. Age, disliking goodbyes, was gone by the time I woke up. My cabbie and I discussed Arizona's controversial new law (he's a Canadian of Mexican descent, with dual citizenship; he said he's had to provide his papers regularly all around the world, and that the new law doesn't strike him as any different or more problematic than similar laws in Europe), and then I took to the skies.
My flight out of Vegas was delayed, and making it to the ND Wilson book signing was exciting, which is how I like things to be when I come home from an adventure. I had to run to catch the train to downtown (seriously, the light rail couldn't be just a little closer to the airport?). While on the 73 home (where I intended to shower and change, since I was traveling-gross), Jenny called and told me to get off the bus. I did, and she was there waiting, I hopped into the back seat (I'm reminded of the recurring joke from Malrats), where I changed clothes. We stopped to pick up Ruby, and then ran out of gas. We unfolded from the car, and I ran north to the gas station, while they ran south to the bookstore. The 68, which would have brought me to the store after I'd showered, passed by while I poured gas into the tank. I drove the last leg and arrived just in time to attend one of the best author talks I've been to. (I won't go too far into it, but I do recommend reading his 100 Cupboards series.)
Then we went to a party. I'm pretty sure I didn't sleep for two weeks, including my time in Tucson. The next few days included a trip to Beth's Cafe, karaoke in the international district, and work, work, work. Life is good again. I'm an adventurer again, and quite ready to see where this adventure leads me.
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
* Actually, the Leslie and Charles option did seem right, because I feel I could count on them to keep me accountable, but by that point the desert had already told me I was staying in Seattle.
**this is how I know I'm crossing the line from plan to dream: I've already named my first boat -- "Selling the Wind," from the Pretty Girls Make Graves song -- and the ultimate goal, named after Vonnegut's God Bless You, Mr Rosewater.
*** Scott also has a theory that after eating that sandwich, grandpa gave up on life, thus making me responsible for his death four months later.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Once upon a time, the end.
[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.
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.
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...
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