SparkyTheNomad

Dragonflies

2009-10-30T11:48:00.001-07:00

I started a new blog, one that I hope is a little more artistic in its storytelling. Check it out at: dragonflies.tumblr.com

Mistaken Art

2009-07-15T00:55:00.000-07:00

Painting Lessons

2009-07-14T21:42:00.001-07:00

I finally started painting, after years of living with an artistic genius. "2009," he warned me last December, "will be a creative renaissance." These mark the start of my role...

Mexico and Onward

2009-01-16T14:50:00.000-08:00

For the next couple of months, please check out our blog at milesformastatal.wordpress.com. You can follow along with our trip throughout Mexico Central America by clicking on that link!

North Cascades: Day Five

2008-11-11T18:22:00.000-08:00

Another guest for brekky. Our last day was a leisurely 18-mile stroll out of the wilderness. I opted for flip-flops again with makeshift socks for protection. We all wanted to set up camp in the pastures for the rest of our lives, but something about jobs called us back to the city.
The mosquitoes drove us out of a potential final camping spot. We did manage to find a quiet spot within a well-established campground later on, and Nate scored three beers and all the necessary ingredients for smores from a nearby family. All it took was a completely fabricated story about how cool the three of us were.
As promised.

North Cascades: Day Four

2008-11-11T02:17:00.000-08:00

Nate patched my feet again, a morning ritual. It helped, but it still felt like an elf was chiseling away at my heel bone with hammer and spike. After cleaning the wound, I realized that I could see through three layers of skin. The rubbing that accompanies every step gets old, but the views outweigh it.
As common a sighting on this trip as a tape-job. If you can remember back to my tattoo post, you know the significance such a sight has.

Day Four was full of pastures, each one different from the one before it. Each one tempted us to nap, dream, and run through in skirts and bonnets with hands outreached. We forgot both our skirts and bonnets.

We did nap and dream. And eat Entiat sandwiches.

Nice marmot.

Our days concluded with readings of Hatchet by Gary Paulsen. As a kid, it was the greatest book of adventure readable. Now, it's the most comical kids' adventure novel full of sexual innuendo and overdone description ever written. "It was hot and black, and Brian would eat it."

North Cascades: Day Three

2008-11-11T01:27:00.000-08:00

I know it's been a long time since this hike actually happened, but I think that it's important to document. We were the first hikers of the season (and year) to make it to Borealis Pass. It would become the highlight of one of the most memorable outings of which I have been a part.
We found life again early on. Pastures began to appear with clean, breathable air!
The trail was almost non-existent. We relied on markers, like the one above, to show us the way. Although they were sporadic at best, we managed to stay on track.
Snow! Once again, the Spinning Snowball Stump Smash Challenge was in effect. For the first time ever, it was completed by all three participants in consecutive turns. We then slid around like little schoolboys.
Months later, photos like this one mean so much more. Tyler has gone back to the East Coast, leaving a void that can never be filled. Luckily, our future trails and plans are forever intertwined. These hikes in the greater NW, however, are certain to be missing a certain element.
My heels were gone. Well, that's not exactly true. They were still in my socks but separated from the feet that were still attached to my body (pics to prove this point coming in Day Five).

The ridge provided a seat for our favorite sandwiches (of the Entiat variety) and spectacular views. We hadn't seen another person since we started the hike days before and wouldn't until its end.

The hike back down to the main trail meant more barren lands, all unmarked. Our best guess landed us just yards from our desired connecting point. With it came masses of hungry mosquitoes, which translated to an early bedtime in insect-proof tents.

364

2008-11-06T11:51:00.000-08:00

Without Missouri counted. 364 electoral votes for Obama to McCain's 162. This, my friends, is a historic victory. I'm not going to lie: this result has me ecstatic and full of hope. On the night of November 4th, I found myself standing on a chair leading Obama chants in a crowded bar, filling blank states with blue until the marker ran dry, hugging strangers, pouring champagne into unknown glasses, and kissing friends on the lips between tearful eyes.

I can not count on my fingers the number of times I have heard that this election is not important, that it does not matter who sits in the White House. Well, the fact of the matter is that over 120,000,000 people in this country cared enough to cast their vote. I believe that this is proof enough of this person's importance, as a symbol at the very least.

Obama is black. We, as a country, have proven that we have made huge strides over the past century. Still, we are not ready to allow the marriage of two people of the same sex. I hope that the results of this presidential election do something to extend our acceptance past remaining barriers. There is no doubt that these barriers still exist within racial differences, and it has been a long fight that will continue. But, as shown by a democratic vote, we are ready as a people for a man of color to take the helm and lead us ahead. This is a big step forward.

And I think he has some great ideas. I am happy to see that conservative attacks on his loyalty and patriotism did not affect the results because they most certainly cloaked the truth and have been imprinted on the minds of many. I hope that McCain's speech on election night helps that. From my own perspective, his speech was unexpected, sincere, and optimistic. If his campaign would have been designed in a similar fashion, he probably would have had a better shot at the Presidency. I am glad that the negativity can now end from both sides. Both men will continue to have a profound influence on this country and its people.

And for those who said that this election did not matter, did you see the world's reaction? In Seattle, hordes of people flooded into the streets of Capital Hill to celebrate. When the police came to break it up, they simply strolled downtown and let the celebration grow and continue. In Boston, San Francisco, New York, and many more cities across the States, similar showings spontaneously erupted. And in Chicago, Barack Obama gave an acceptance speech that called for the unification of everyone. Did anyone see how many thousands of people stood there in anticipation of what was to come, screamed, cried, and cheered uncontrollably when the results were announced, and hung on his every word when he took the stage? On this scale, this is not a normal reaction. And it extended well past our borders, even prompting a public holiday in Kenya.

I am ecstatic because masses of people in the US are excited about our politics. And no matter who your candidate was, you can not deny that you were part of the most historic election of our time. McCain and Obama both brought me to tears on November 4th, and both because of some very positive messages. I hope that Obama finds a way to follow through with his plans. I hope he manages to meet the majority of these high expectations that exist. I hope for some positive change. And I hope, as mentioned by my good friends George and Dwight (opposite on the political spectrum in many ways), that we can all have civilized political discourse with each other regardless of our political persuasion.

GObama... please prove us right.

Dragonfly

2008-10-31T08:15:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday, I had the opportunity and great pleasure to sit down with a group of people led by John Perkins (NY Times best-selling author of Confessions of an Economic Hit Man) and Llyn Roberts of Dream Change. They are both shamans that believe in using indigenous knowledge and wisdom to encourage sustainable living and effect social and environmental change.

Alongside four good friends from the Ranch (Robin, Soledad, Anya, and Tyler), I found myself in a different world. The room disappeared as I searched for the true meaning of acceptance, both between people and concerning our ridiculous acceptance for the way things are. A dragonfly found me, and I transformed into him. My world was changed, I could see everything in a different way, appreciating everything down to a cellular level. Throughout my flight that took me through rainforests, resting on bending grasses, and finding nourishment in droplets of water that made pools within the fabric of small flowers, another dragonfly crossed my path. I could see Soledad's face on a single glance through six different lenses, and each of her faces displayed a different emotion (yet somehow encompassing all human emotions). And one butterfly would often drink from the same flowers as me.

I lost track of what it means to be human as my spine turned into red-tipped wings, evading the lashing tongues of chameleons and frogs. I could see the valleys that exist in human skin, where mosquitoes drop their needles and feed. And I could see first-hand how important every single drop and rivulet of water is, every speck of dirt, and how every cell could just as easily be human as it is dragonfly or tree or plastic. When we accept the cell as basic life, we will treat everything as our equal. And when we do that, when we give nature rights as has Ecuador by constitution, life can continue. We can then plant the trees that survive to give our grandchildren shade.

After describing this experience to Tyler (who took the form of various trees in his own journey), I asked Robin what form it was into which she shape-shifted. To the astonishment of Tyler and myself, she answered "a dragonfly."

Miles for Mastatal

2008-10-21T08:25:00.000-07:00

For the majority of the year, six of us have been working on a project to support a fundraiser to build a Community Sharing and Learning Center in Mastatal. We will be raising funds and awareness through a bicycle trip that will take us from San Diego, CA to Mastatal, Costa Rica.

You can find more information on our website: http://www.milesformastatal.com/

Please also check out our new blog: milesformastatal.wordpress.com

Finally, please help support the cause! Whether it is through donations, sponsorships, or simply raising awareness, we need your help!

The Tops of Trees

2008-10-13T11:33:00.001-07:00

The wonder is that we can see these trees and not wonder more.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

A brilliant, yet almost silent, hippy named Mac was working on his backyard garden when I arrived back at the house. I had just taken a walk into town, devoured a bagel sandwich covered in avocado and other veggies, strolled down paths between immense redwoods (whose roots created sporadic benches for quick tokes by Humboldt Staters), and leisurely wandered back into the neighborhood. "I was supposed to spend my afternoon looking for a job, but then I thought about working in the garden," he said sincerely. A lone speaker on the back porch was blaring some Burning Spear, and non-stop reggae seemed to fill the void of any company that the garden, its rocks and action figures could not deliver.

Meanwhile, I found poetry in the juggling of a deflated soccer ball. Mac joined in before switching to a rabid game of catch with two frisbees at the same time, which takes more concentration that you may think. It also creates laughter with no spoken words. And it was that point when we understood each other. After a miss, he left the discs in the grass and asked "hey Sparky, you ever climb trees?"

We threw our flops back on our feet and headed just a few blocks away into the woods. Mac flipped 'em off and leaped into the lower reaches of a giant redwood's limbs. I threw my beaten Teva's into a bush and followed suit. Living branches under bare feet brings the same adrenaline rush and exaggerated heartbeat that human touch often delivers, once you open yourself up to it. At first I thought it was nerves, but I felt safe as we switched back and forth between sister trees, hundreds of feet up into the canopy. They have spent their lives building a ladder to share the beauty that exists at the top with anyone willing to hug their trunks and trust in their arms.

There exists a silence in the tops of redwoods, amidst all the insects, squirrels, and birds that tells more than the words, songs, and hammered nails we have listened to for so long. The silence of the sister trees and Mac himself is a conglomerate of the most complex of virtues, namely patience, knowledge, and understanding. There is no deeper and humbler life than that of the trees, and they contain everything that can heal our broken rationalizations as people.

Sparkplug's Minuet

2008-10-08T02:10:00.000-07:00

It's the two people that see dolphins swimming together on a foggy day between monoliths stranded in the wading waters. They see rainbows forming perfect doorways to sandy beaches between rock wall ladders. Peering eyes detect nothing but previously conceived ideas and unwanted possibility, even in its purest form. Redwood branches hang the soul and lift the mind to salvatory grace with souls reborn, though not as altruistic.

It's the backwards analogy that still makes sense. Double dots can form lines parallel or perpendicular, though they can also box us in. That forgotten phone call makes lips tremble in despair, flailing in rougher seas whose troughs are deeper than white crests can crash. Sand fleas even wonder whose hands have dug them to their diving boards.

It's the dead branch that makes the living ones more exciting, more vibrant and alive. They make the dependent toe move on its own amongst seemingly dominant twigs. And they wear make-up and wigs to keep it movin.' They say the lies are done, but thats a lie as liars lay. That's the truth the liars say, but in truth we want and play.

And it's the dusk and dawn belief that lets us go to sleep. To close our eyes and dream of what may come to be, for forlorn be forgotten, and to become is yet to see. It's what I think is me versus their "who I should be" decree. Love is locked and purposed; Earth will set me free.

There is a rainbow over damp log and dolphins!

It's a Numbers Game

2008-09-26T11:31:00.000-07:00

Multi-tasking! I obviously haven't been doing such a great job at that lately, as shown by the lack of blog posts during some very busy times. We have had about 3 days off in the past 2 months. In the same amount of time, we have played host to no less than 16 good friends (every single one completely inspiring). Thanks for coming Dickey+2, Chuck+1, Meghann, Al +1, Dwight+2, Rog, Mel, David, Hannah, and anyone I may be forgetting*. There are approximately 17 days spent with these individuals or a mixture of them that deserve their very own blog post. The likelihood of that happening comes right back to that whole multi-tasking thing.

There are 3 baseball games left in the season and 1 Husky football game being played the same weekend. That equates to about 34 hours to be worked in the 52-hour stretch between 2PM today and 6PM on Sunday.

I will be traveling to Cali from October 2 to October 7. I will head back to the East Coast a few days later (TBA) until October 30. Let me know if you'll be around the greater Syracuse and/or Boston areas (or anywhere in the 312 miles in between).

*The + system represents a known visitor bringing a number of unknowns (amount indicated by the number following the +). While these unknowns almost always become known by the end of their stay, I find that it makes more sense to include them in this post as a number only due to the chosen title. No offense intended fellas.

North Cascades: Day Two

2008-08-14T08:42:00.000-07:00

Our dinner spot would end up being pretty unbelievable, but we definitely had to earn it. My boots were already digging into my heels and breaking skin. Ty was already duct-taping his as well. Nate was smart enough to opt for comfort over sturdiness in his shoe selection for the trip. Knowing that our original trail would disappear due to an enormous amount of upcoming burnt wilderness, we set up camp a few miles short of our day's goal and carried only our dinner necessities the rest of the way. I opted for flip-flops, a wise choice in the black sands underneath charred pines.
The trees gradually turned from bright greens to lazy browns to a deep black with gray streaks. The air, once quenching, slowly became almost granular. As relieving as drinking a glass of ocean water. Seeing such a vast area of forest now charred and black, gently spilling onto the ground like dust in a slight breeze is a humbling experience. This was no controlled burn; it was Mother Nature's way of rejuvenating through destruction. While no animals were present in the area, they had most certainly dispersed in the surrounding wilderness. Generations from now, their kind will enjoy the same kind of lavish greenery and thriving forest that existed right up until this past August. The soils will be fertile and ripe for life, first tempting it to re-enter and then providing it with the building blocks for unprecedented ecosystems.
Pastures and peaks litter the entire area. With them comes that almost thirst-quenching air, breathing life back into every cell. Grasses tickled our shins, bringing us down to picnic positions with Entiat sandwiches. These sandwiches became the most important part of our day. You can find the recipe at the end of this post.

Pasta dinner at an amazing mountain pass. Two full bags of pasta (used up our first real night out to alleviate pack space) and pizza squeeze (small and lightweight squeezable bottle, perfect for some nice Italian grubbing in the woods). A great view helps the cause.
Recipe for Entiat Sandwiches:

Ingredients:
everything bagels
cucumber
cheese (or vegan substitute)
spicy mustard
field roast (optional)

Instructions:
Open one everything bagel. Squeeze desired amount of spicy mustard onto each slice. Slice cheese (by desired thickness) and cover lower bagel-half. If using field roast, cover cheese with desired amount of slices. Slice cucumber into enough pieces to cover the previous layer. Place other half of bagel on top and dig in!

Note: bagels are great for camping because they are light and relatively filling (especially if you opt for the "everything" variety). Cucumbers hold well for days on end and necessitate no wrapping to keep fresh. Field roast and fake cheese provide some good protein. Spicy mustard is just delicious.

North Cascades: Day One

2008-08-14T08:09:00.000-07:00

Were we at campsite number twenty-seven? Or was the Forest Service just leaving their mark? While the answer was the latter, Nate is the only one of the three of us that knew it. Tyler and I spent most of the night thinking we were burning at campsite number twenty-seven, out of a possible twenty-six. Maybe it was the fresh air getting to us, or perhaps it was the BC grass wafting its way down from up north.

EuroCup 2008

2008-08-07T12:51:00.000-07:00

Pretzels and beer at Die Bierstube. What a better way to watch Germany v Spain in the Eurocup finals? I would have been happy with any result but found myself rooting for Spain with only a handful of others. Torres, of course, pulled through in the clutch to lead them to a 1-0 victory. I only bring this up now because I need something to take my mind off of Brett Favre going to the Jets.

Seattle has the right venue for any occasion. And it keeps good company.

Sewn Pockets

2008-07-22T00:32:00.000-07:00

I am officially free of debt. This is why I came back to the States last year and then moved to Seattle. Seattle as my destination took a little more thought, but really was decided on over a couple Imperiales with Nate at the pulperia. In any case, that goal has been reached.

I do not know what this means exactly, but there are some things that I can recognize from accomplishing this feat...

Liberation
Financial woes (an exaggerated way to describe this case) are a burden. Owing money is a dark cloud that makes our paths muddy, sometimes impassable, and our vision limited. Being on the plus side illuminates an endless array of possible paths.

Invincibility
The daily bullshit no longer leaves skid-marks. In other words, inconsequential matters (at least to the extent to which I consider them) now remain inconsequential internally. Worries are dissipating. Confidence is soaring. Everything is possible...

Optimism
This is the staple of my existence. I am a dreamer by nature... and believing that everything is possible raises the optimeter to new levels.

Danger
All of the above lead to that semi-reckless side that many of you may remember from years past. They allow for the "wing-it" mentality. Financial freedom means that any whim could be that next big step. This is not a life-threatening danger or anything of that nature. The real world life is in the cross-hairs.

I feel good. I am remembering hues that faded for a brief time. My feet are tingling, but they are not asleep.

(v) to find happiness

2008-07-15T11:32:00.000-07:00

The remainder of our time away from the big city was spent exploring the rest of the Olympic Peninsula. We first, of course, stopped at a small-town diner. The name, as you can see below, is quite clever: Restaurant. They were very accommodating to my dietary needs and created a sandwich that exists nowhere on their menu. "It's your first time here. We'll make you whatever you want one time only," our waitress explained. They threw every vegetable they had between two pieces of wheat bread, and I ravaged it. Anything could top the tasteless beans and pasta from the night before. An Alaskan Amber washed it all down nicely.

Cape Flattery. The most northwest point of the continental forty-eight. We had to drive through a very entertaining reservation to get there. A small boy rides a bicycle shaped like a Harley, complete with fattened wheels and raised handlebars. A man with a slight belly protruding from his secondhand shirt rests against a guardrail, laughing between missing teeth at the sight. An even smaller boy crouches to the ground as if seeing ants fight over bread crumbs for the first time. His ten year old sister lights a single Black Cat, waits a second, and then tosses it into the air. It hits with a quick pop, the starting gun for her to do it again.
The views were spectacular. A birdwatching group jabbed us in the eyes with pointing fingers every which way, and Tyler responded by breaking their dreams after one falsely identified a puffin.

The last night of the trip was spent at my friend Shannon's place in Port Orchard, a quick ferry ride away from Seattle. She was in Tacoma for the night but offered the place without hesitation. We made dinner with all of our remaining food items, drank some Bud, and slept outside under the stars.

These windchimes slowly brought me back to consciousness in the morning as my sleeping bag became a toaster-oven. Shannon arrived moments later with her faithful companion.

Her new property is amazing. Full of daisies, grasses, trees, gardens, fruits and veggies, ponds, and possibility. We have been talking about coming out to help build a composting system, help with trailwork and campsites, garden, cob-building, and much more. She is, more or less, bringing the Ranch lifestyle to her home. It is amazing and beautiful. Major fiesta on July 26th at her place... camping, dancing, eating, drinking, stars, and good company.

After touring our new favorite pad in the greater Seattle region, we got on the ferry and headed home. Mount Rainier and Mount Hood were both out, offering unparalleled views from the water on a perfectly clear day. My camera died just after the shot above, which sums up the experience nicely.
Oftentimes without knowing it, I realize that I have been searching for simplicity for a very long time. This is complex within itself, but complex roads do not trouble me. They are the pathways to escape, or maybe home. We arrived back in Seattle and had brunch with Nate at a record shop in West Seattle. We were exhausted, yet full of story and smile. The wilderness offers a refreshment like no other, but also allows for reflection on what one finds upon his return. This is a hectic thing, this life... find a way to break from its complexities. Figure out what you really think.

Spinning Snowball Stump Smash Challenge

2008-07-15T11:30:00.000-07:00

For the record, all three of us successfully completed this feat before sliding/freestyle walking/tailgrabbing our way back to a known path.

ONP - Day Three

2008-07-15T10:32:00.000-07:00

We woke up just short of Elk Lake, left most of our stuff at our campsite, and hiked into Glacier Meadows. A couple hikers were on their way out as we walked in and warned us of a washed out foot log (river crossing) and "many hazards." We think they were just making everything more difficult on themselves. Although the foot log was indeed washed out, the river was still passable, and the snow was fun.

An emergency shelter. Good one.
Elk Lake from above.
Playing in the snow in the middle of June! Videos to come soon of the Spinning Snowball Stump Smash Challenge.

Tyler woke us up bright and early for the last 2.9 miles on Day Four. Our last campsite was the same as our first, and I still miss it. We did a lot of walking. The blisters on a couple of my toes and one heel reminded me so, although they would all reabsorb within days. As we walked out, day-hikers were entering the Hoh River Trail. There was an unspoken connection between the overnighters, especially the ones that went the distance... whispering between ferns as sounds of nature provided only a backdrop for a wheezing voice, just a mile and a half down an ungraded path from the trailhead, from a rather large man with ski poles and his wife with two Jansports full of food and their Camelbaks (with reserves to boot)... "Does it get much more difficult?"

ONP - Day Two

2008-07-07T01:40:00.000-07:00

This scene set me at peace. It set the stage for one of the clearest thought processes I have ever experienced... all within audible distance of my two sleeping friends (just after a few peanut-butter sandwiches). I read a Jack London short and then took a much-needed solo-stroll and rest.

Just the average river-crossing. We all avoided falling into wet feet for the remainder of the hike.

Birch trees were just one example of the constantly changing vegetation throughout the area.

My resting throne by skipping stones.
Our napping spot.

Elk Lake. 12.2 miles past our first campsite with a decent climb. We visited the lake on night two before retreating just shy of the snow-line for some frigid camping... only because fires were still legal just .3 miles below, legal with little promise of success (due to moisture). My pee froze before it hit the ground.

ONP - Day One

2008-07-07T00:29:00.000-07:00

We made it to our Ranger Station at about 6PM. The Ranger on duty happened to be from, where else, upstate New York. After checking in, we (Tyler, Ellyse, and I) hit the trail. The great thing about the northwest is this: you can start your hike well after 6PM and make it 2.9 miles with ample light for setting up camp, cooking dinner, collecting firewood, and finding a decent spot to tie up your grub so the bears can't get their dirty paws on it. Our initial hike had approximately zero grade elevation change but amazing views... reminding me once again that the rainforest can indeed exist in the States.

ONP, by the way = Olympic National Park.
Our first and possibly favorite meal. Baked beans mixed with corn mixed with couscous. Tyler would later add pine needles to a pasta dish per accidente.

Old Greeney... Ty's tent from the seventies.

6/23 - Wagon Wheel

2008-06-29T21:04:00.000-07:00

After a weekend in Portland, Ty, Ellyse, and I were supposed to split from the rest of the gang. Instead, we decided to kick it back to Sea-town for a night to hang with Nate, BHall, and some Ranch-folk. Within ten minutes, Stephen offered Nate and I jobs teaching at the Leadership School in Kieve, Maine. We start in August of 2009. Back to the East Coast! The video above is a reflection of what happens when the weather is nice and our front porch is willing.

The fat-ass dragons freaked me out a bit. The Berry Go Round just made me ecstatic. I did not get to ride either one, but I was fortunate enough to see them hauling ass down the 5.
Conversation. This is what happens when you put some amazing females together on one front porch. I do not have a clue what they were talking about, but I'm pretty damn sure it was either insightful, hilarious, or completely pointless.
Ty and Stephen had the grill locked down. We still go coal-style because we are too cheap to buy anything better... or because we enjoy the flavor of a "real grill," whatever that means.

6/21-22: We'll Always Be Goonies

2008-06-29T18:38:00.000-07:00

Nate, Ty, Bhall, Ellyse, and I drove Karen's car down to Portland for the weekend. Of course, we had to make a stop in the historic Astoria for some visuals, which include The Goonies' house and Kindergarten Cop school.

"My name is detective John Kimble. I'm a cop you idiot!"
Friends do not get any better. Don't get jealous now... I have a few that are on par with this one, but Seattle would be a Tempe without him. The outlook alone is something that rivals no other place, time, or friendship. The lens is different. Seattle moves beneath my treading feet because of the neck-tap of a couple Imperiales. Bico's Bar continuously beckons.
A brekky bar in Portland showed Spain kick Italy's ass in the Euro Cup (penalty kicks). Don (my boy from Montana) convinced us to meet him out for some delicious morning burritos and mimosas, followed by large quantities of PBR etc.
Purple Balloon. It brought me back to that time when I fought Storm-Troopers on my own side yard "Hoth" as a kid. BHall and I made up a new game: Keep the Purple Balloon in the Air. We found it on the side of 101 when we stopped for peeing and beer. It would become the basis for the greatest and most laughable game in the history of mankind. I think our record was 354 hits without a ground-smack.
From the night before. It still needs some iodine and TLC to this day. Hiking and camping were of no help, and sleeping back rubbings were only a sorrowful reminder.

Boise chick. Or to those of you who pay attention... Sarah. I met her in a bar in Boise in late '02 while driving around with Dickey and Neil. She was in a strange situation with her friend Katie while a married man attempted to hit on them, and I tried to be their savior. Instead, I ended up in a conversation with her about Australia, drunk dialed her for five months, and then kept in touch. She is responsible for getting me over my cat allergies. Also, she is one of many reasons that I love Boise, ID... and now Portland, OR.
The night ended with a jam session in a park (no not Ann Morrison). An old friend of Ty and Nate's (from the Ranch, of course) met us out with his wife. Both are amazing individuals. Phoebe listens intently as if that was her calling, and Stephen plays the guitar/mandolin/any-other-stringed instrument as if he were a cricket and that wooden box his legs. They are all extensions of himself, and I was lost. From the 3-Speed/Prince Caspian/Untouchable Face jam to our all-time favorite Irish melodies, he had us all in awe. Then again, he is a Ranch connection. What more could I have expected?

6/20 - PDA to PDX

2008-06-29T01:30:00.000-07:00

I don't really know how to describe this past week or so that I have been free from work. I can say that it has been amazing, surreal, clairvoyant, natural, trying, and many other things. Personally, it has been one of the most positive and growing experiences of my life... and it all starts with this picture...
At least half of the week included neither of these two players, at least physically... but mentally, they may have played the most important collective piece. To the left, let me introduce one Brenda Hall... a.k.a. BHall. To the right, the guy you all know as Nate... who just happens to be one of her best buddies from the ATL (and mine from, well if you don't know by know, you haven't been reading enough). If you call it Hotlanta, you are officially my next Tool of the Month (a feature I have not yet started).There were many natural habits shown, developed, and/or ostracized throughout the week. Aviators happened to be a common theme, besides all fifteen Flight of the Conchords tracks. This is a scene shot through my own aviators at Linda's, the place that once served their nachos on a burrito shell but no longer does due to food cost. Lame. Still, they offer outdoor-drinking and a delicious variety of taps. Any boredom between the two is alleviated through Big D's lists, which include normal words that sound dirty:This is only page one (of at least four). We sent text messages to add more throughout the week from a distance.
My writing, as of late, has been a series of scribbles written solely for the purpose of fading like chalk in a blackboard. My memories have been different, but only on a small time-line. There are certain thoughts that have been set beneath the surface, since that time that my sugar levels dropped, my gut regurgitated things once believed to be important, and the cell counts were as erratic as the flight of a hummingbird on crack.But others have felt that too and blossomed through the worst of the worst. Scares became demons, demons became obstacles, and obstacles became feats once won. There are more to come. When death stares us in the face, we can only grow. Even when boxes try to contain us within overheard melodies and forgotten stares, we return every year... whether or not we are overdue. When the rules break, we are the heroes... when the norm falters, we produce greater things than humanity has ever known, seeds of thought for new beginnings, ever larger than the ones before. The Green Mile is lined in daisies, and daisies are signs of original life, of hope, longevity, and perseverance.
I have made big changes in my own life. Faltering desires have faded into chalk-dust. Cheese and milk have become powder in the wind. The next time you see me, you will wish you did not offer me dinner. It is my own marathon, and it may not ever end. Why? Feel free to email or call me at your convenience. Or, simply wait for future updates.And so, thank you BHall for Marta. Thank you for being the impetus that I needed to take my diet that step further to make it really make sense (if you did not catch it yet... I'm vegan!). And thanks for putting one of the most influential friends in my life into perspective, and hence, putting my own being into perspective... at least into new stages... something that would develop throughout the week (as happens with any decent adventure), but this time within a completely original framework. You are the latest monkey-wrench within my gears... and it's been a long time coming.

Rattlesnake Ledge and Root-beer Float

2008-06-12T11:44:00.000-07:00

Second consecutive day in the woods. We wanted something with a view. Problem with that idea is that the cloud cover was too thick, and the rains continued. We opted out the Mount Si idea in favor of another climb, but still little hope for a decent view as a reward. After heading farther east than the day before, we got off the Mountains to Sound Greenway in North Bend and found the trailhead for Rattlesnake Ledge, part of the Rattlesnake Mountain Scenic Area.

Rattlesnake Lake rests just below the mountain. It offered a glimpse as to how hard the rain was actually coming down that morning. Luckily for us, it was not nearly as bad as the day before. Some public utilities workers in the area still warned us, "you guys are gonna get soaked!" Well said sir.

Entering the forest is as inviting as anywhere I have visited. An abundance of moss creates a soft bed across large boulders sporadically resting between trees, as well as on fallen logs and over living trees. Lichens accent these same features, and various grasses and ferns cover the majority of the forest floor. We entered hoping for a bear sighting and would leave believing in trolls.

The views could have been magnificent; we just couldn't see much. Faded views managed to reward us just enough before mist and fog erased it all, and nothing could be seen more than mere feet in front of us. I detest the word trippy and try to avoid using it, but I used it multiple times on Rattlesnake Ledge.

Windows appeared every so often to remind us that there was indeed something below us. The rest of the world still existed outside of that peak. And unfailing rains reminded us that dry warmth is a comfort worth the hike back.

Next step, as is becoming the norm, find a little town diner. Twede's Cafe is an amazing find. As I mentioned last year, North Bend is where Twin Peaks was filmed. I have a good idea where everyone on set got their meals. They offer a ridiculous variety of dishes, including fifty burgers, all of which can be substituted with a black bean or veggie patty. The Santa Fe Burger and refillable fries thawed me out nicely. I then froze myself over with a root-beer float as Ty dug into a sundae.

Misty Mountain Hop

2008-06-12T01:06:00.000-07:00

Tyler and I needed more of an escape. We stole his brother's car and headed east into the woods. The rains were hard and relentless. Cougar Mountain Regional Wildland Park is less than forty minutes away from Seattle in morning commuter traffic, and its benefits are even more astounding. We hit Wilderness Peak, Longview Peak, and Doughty Falls in a day. If anyone out there is still wondering if there is an upside to Seattle's rains, I hope this provides an answer...

Of course, no good hike out in the middle of nowhere (as close to somewhere as it may be) is complete without a decent diner with some after-grubbings. We destroyed a fourteen inch Chef's Special pizza in a matter of minutes to the awe and shock of a teenage waiter.

A Taste for Waste

2008-06-08T14:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was one of the best days I have had in a long time. Nate asked Tyler and I if we would be interested in helping out at Cooper Elementary School building a three-bin composting system. He and Ellyse both work there during the week, teaching enrichment classes to at-risk youth in an after-school program put on by the YMCA. Tyler and I jumped at the opportunity to do some volunteer work, especially on a carpentry project with a focus on youth and sustainability.

I would consider it to be a relatively easy project, and we rocked it out in about three hours (after collecting the supplies and donated wood from the lumber yard the day before). Working outdoors side by side with Nate and Ty brought me back to Ranch times, and it felt amazing... plus we got to work with a few other great people. Projects like this are a great way to give back to the community and get to know other like-minded people. Once again, I would like to take this opportunity to encourage anyone reading to get out and do whatever you can to learn, teach, build, help, listen, demonstrate, grow, and/or give back. Almost everyone is in a position to do so, and we all have an hour to give sometime along the way.

Tyler and I then walked back down the Tikal steps back to our house, just two blocks away down a steep hill. We suited up, as did Nate, Ellyse and Renee, and we headed down to a nearby soccer pitch for a majenga (the Mastatal term for a pick-up soccer game). My ankle held up fine in its first real test, and we slid, slipped, and blasted our way through a misty afternoon with some decent competitive play. A homemade dinner and Indiana Jones 4 capped it off nicely.

The Tug Tavern

2008-06-08T14:16:00.001-07:00

Purple Rain

2008-06-06T00:14:00.000-07:00

I only wanted to one time see you laughing.

Swannie's

2008-06-05T23:45:00.001-07:00

My Endorsement

2008-05-17T18:55:00.000-07:00

I have decided to officially endorse Barack Obama for not only the Democratic nomination, but for President of the United States of America. This is obviously a huge boost for his campaign. Those who know me closely have known about my support for months, and I am finally silencing all critics by going public.

This campaign has certainly been a stepping stone already for our country. I hope a woman someday takes this office, but I also hope that it is not Hillary. We are not supposed to have dynasties in our political realm, and the time has come to say goodbye to the Clintons and Bushies. Do we really need people like Terry McAuliffe anywhere near anyone in a position of power? Obama is fresh, and he can move people to make change. I encourage everyone to vote for who you believe will push this country in the best direction, and I hope that your conscience plays a part in that decision. I won't go into all of the issues in my blog, but please take the time to see what these candidates are saying. Forget about the buzzwords and mudslinging for a minute and really try to listen to what's important.

"Focusing your life solely on making a buck shows a certain poverty of ambition. It asks too little of yourself. Because it's only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you realize your true potential."

-Barack Obama

Ankle Sprain

2008-05-17T09:55:00.001-07:00

Well, Doc Nguyen thinks it's a bad sprain. He sent me to the hospital to get x-rays yesterday, but I have not heard anything back on the results yet. I am guessing that means no change in prognosis. X-rays are crazy. The lead vest, although designed for protection, is not all that comforting. And my leg felt cold for about ten minutes afterwards... maybe it was mental, but it's still strange. For the next two weeks, I am supposed to stay completely off my feet... that means no extensive walking, no running for buses, no work. Yesterday, I watched the baseball game instead of running my stand, and it was much worse than actually slinging garlic fries at people. Mariners vs. Padres. A battle of the two worst teams in baseball. Yawn.

I suppose it's a good excuse to zip through some quality reading materials and work on a couple websites that are slowly being developed. My hope is that they will be ready for public viewing by the end of the week. I'll also be researching some grant possibilities and drafting letters, so limited mobility may actually create the motivation and forced situation that I needed to get the bike trip off the ground. Plus, the medication I'm on means no drinking for three weeks, which always creates a sharper mind and longer days of productivity. No pain no gain.

Dorsiflexion and Plantar Flexion of the Foot

2008-05-14T14:56:00.000-07:00

Well, two months later, I am finally taking everyone's advice and going to see a doctor about my ankle. While I am actually insured, I might as well use it wisely. My ankle injury has proven to be longer lasting than expected and extremely frustrating. As the weather warms, I want to be active. I want to start training for our bike trip immediately. The trouble is: every so often I make a small misstep, and weeks of rest go down the drain. The swelling and pain return. My lung capacity is decreasing, and I don't want motivation to dissipate with my amazing physical shape (laughter). In order to be the well-oiled machine that I once was, this thing that hinges my foot to my leg needs to heal. More to come as the prognosis develops.

Pic-a-nic Basket

2008-05-09T00:22:00.000-07:00

For my last full day in Cali, we decided to have a picnic. Liz and I actually decided on that the day before as we drove past some grassy hills dotted with the occasional shade tree on our way from Sanny Fran to V'ville. The plan was to go to the farmer's market in the morning and get the necessary goods, but we stayed too late in Modesto that night and subsequent morning to retain any energy for such a feat. We settled for rest.

Instead, we packed up some empty beer boxes full of the only food in Dickey and Kathy's apartment and Liz's car. That included bread, goat cheese, ricotta, pepper-jack, pepperoni, tomatoes, a red bell pepper, trail mix, outdated peanut butter, crackers, and a bag of fritos.

After a quick drive to some place whose name I don't remember, we hiked up a hill and set up a nice little spot under a shade tree. Kathy was freaking people out with talk of a Flat Stanley and asking them to be in a picture with a paper cut-out man. She even pissed off a horse. Dickey and Liz sneezed about a billion times because of some crazy allergies, and I was completely content in my flip-flops (news flash: it is finally approaching flip-flop season in Seattle). I don't know if life gets much better than it was on that hill.

Oatmeal Cookie Trees

2008-05-08T12:24:00.000-07:00

In her world, everything is possible. Thing is... she lives in the same world as the rest of us. She finds the best in everything and cultivates it, or else plants something good within it. Liz came down and met me in San Fran before coming out to Vacaville and Modesto with us while I was down in Cali. It had been about a year since we last saw each other (in Arcata, CA), but we have been in regular contact since. She is even better in person than she is on the phone.

We have spent a total of maybe a week or two actually in each other's presence, but have somehow formed an amazing bond. A couple days at a time. It is enough to get me high until the next time, and it makes me want to do better things for this world in the interim. I want to be nicer to people, smile more, hug strangers, and talk to daisies. I am constantly on the lookout for oatmeal cookie trees... and I think they just might exist.

Off the Air

2008-05-06T12:51:00.000-07:00

Dickey really is not an Airplane. I finally had the opportunity to see his full band play live when they headlined in Modesto, CA this past Friday night. They sounded great. Really, the entire line-up was impressive. A lot of people down there really love not an Airplane, their music, their attitude, their presence... but they love Dickey. Everyone approaches him for a word, an ear, a laugh, some inspiration, or even just acknowledgement. I enjoyed the crowd, and everyone was amazingly laid back, friendly, and social. As far out as Modesto may be and as little as there may be to do there, I can see why Dickey loves it. He is the man amongst great people, there is great talent to be shared and learned, and the atmosphere is welcoming. I'm glad I finally made it down for a show. He will be playing up here in Sea-town on August 22nd, so reserve that spot on your calendar and come check him out.

This video is of the band playing Less Heavy, off not an Airplane's debut album. An oldie but a goodie. Please realize that this was taken on my digital camera, so the sound and video quality do not exactly do the perfomance the justice it deserves.

The Haps for '09

2008-04-29T11:05:00.000-07:00

2009 is already being planned, and the schedule is filling up rather quickly. We leave San Diego on bicycle this December, around the 28th. From there, we head south towards Mastatal, Costa Rica. Again, more on this soon. The website is in the works. We should be in Mastatal by early Spring at the latest, and Nate and I have penciled ourselves in to the Ranch's schedule from our arrival point until late September (a good six-month stint). The reasons for taking off at the end of September are simple: that is when Tim and Robin return to the States, it's the rainy season in Costa Rica, and conditions are as welcoming as they come in Patagonia. After a few months of wandering no man's land in southern Argentina and Chile, who knows? Back to the Ranch, back to the States, stay put? Grad school ideas have already been put off for another year because of this plan, but the program is picked (Science and Natural History Filmmaking at Montana State in Bozeman)... it's just a matter of building up the portfolios through some good travels and projects in the meantime. Feel free to meet me down south... 2009 is happening completely outside of the US of A.

2008 is Great

2008-04-28T02:36:00.000-07:00

2008 is going to be the best year of my life so far. This is what I keep telling myself. This is what I keep telling everyone. So far, it has been a very true statement...

I first said it on New Year's Eve after being asked if I was from the South. Yes, this is true. Was it my time in Texas? Was it my time with Nate? Probably both. I did once use the word y'all without thinking twice while I lived in the Lonestar State, and I find myself quoting shit like "that kid's like a bull in china shop" while living with Mister Sander. All a good time.

The first day of the year meant a stalled breakfast. Nate and I started drinking immediately to create the image of immediate laziness. Our party hosts left for a breakfast diner. While our last host shook off her stupor from the night before, we cleaned their place like no man ain't never done it over the sounds of Bobby Brown and Blackstreet (alliteration intended). By the way, our last host is one of my favorite people in the world... and I don't never see her no more. Don't forget me Martha my dear.

The next couple months were spent hanging at the Ranch in Mastatal, Costa Rica. Most of my time was split between making films, music, and Alan and Geoff's new house. It has also set the stage for me spending most of my next couple years towards "helping" the Mastatal community. They don't ask for it. They don't need it. They are a happier people than I have seen anywhere in the States. Yet, I believe strongly that a Community Sharing and Learning Center is good for this place... allowing the women to strive, the children to learn, the area to thrive, the environment and culture to survive, and the surrounding region to develop from a positive example. Not that I am for development, but sometimes protection is about as good as ignorance.

Seattle is treating me well. The job is great. My bosses have been fair and content, the garlic still smells pungent, and it's not serious enough to make my life too intense. Meanwhile, I have jumped into the MCF project. Hopefully, I will play a major part in making their website work... and I will have a decent amount of say in what goes into their writing. Delfino and Desa have been amazing so far in making this work.

Our new pad in Seattle is spectacular. We have a horseshoe pit, art/film/music studio, large kitchen, and enough stories and laughter to get us through a couple hundred years easily. Training for the bike-trip commences soon. The ankle still hurts like hell.

Still, this life is a good one. Visitors this year (so far) include: Neil, Laura, Dickey, Roger, Mel, Lazelle, and Al. Bioneers Conference in Massachusetts, not an Airplane in Seattle, and an epic journey through Central America. Life remains ridicularious.

Today, I Painted Some Plywood

2008-04-20T19:46:00.000-07:00

My fingers are covered in paint, and broken white and gray chips are falling between letters on my keyboard as I type this. I want to document the evolution of a painting through my blog... though the process may be frustrating, exciting, challenging, and invigorating all at the same time.

Bohemian Pabstody

2008-04-20T17:44:00.000-07:00

My first full-fledged painting is underway with the help of Nate, my brilliant roomie. I have picked up eight million tips in the past hour and recommend checking out Basquiat, Rauschenberg, Twombly, and Beuys immediately if you plan to start your own project. Get your PBR in hand, find an artistic living partner, grab a brush, dip it in some paint, and roll with it! It's more fun than Earth Day parties!

Negatory

2008-04-20T16:19:00.001-07:00

http://www.newstatesman.com/200803130037

I am deeply saddened by this piece of pure shit libel. This is what happens when someone listens to manipulative individuals that intend nothing but self-serving results. You can find my response below the article... after the thirty other people that were as offended as I was.

Earth Day Blackout

2008-04-20T14:58:00.000-07:00

Last year for Earth Day, I bought a plant. It is still living large in our back room, enjoying lots of sunlight. This year, we threw a party. Our parties come with themes, and what better theme for an Earth Day party than Earth Day itself. In order to save on electricity, we informed our guests that our house would be lights out. Everyone was expected to bring a portable light source attached to his or her person.

Yesterday also marked the inauguration of our horseshoe pit, which we have dubbed The Elmer Hihl Campo de Pitching, cousin to Rancho Mastatal's Elmer Hohl. Sanders took the first two games over Porourke, 17-3 and 15-6. He also landed the Elmer Hihl's first ever pippang, or double-ringer. Porourke was left pippangless and even ringerless in an inaugural embarrassment.

Megs was, of course, the first guest to arrive with our boy Angus... and then the rest started to filter in. The group dynamic was a little strange, but enough to keep things rolling past midnight. The crowd disappeared earlier than usual, but it was enough to see almost all of my favorite Seattlites for the first time since returning to this fine city. Thanks everyone for coming... it's hard to believe that I live near so many amazing people. The bug has once again been planted for Nate and I to put on an art show at some point, hopefully along with Mandy, Ellyse, and Mickey. Let's make it happen.

California Roll!

2008-04-18T01:48:00.000-07:00

I just want to say how excited I am to be going to Cali in about a week and a half: very. Dickey, Kathy, not an Airplane live, Mingle, Rachel, and of course Liz!!! This life is a good one.

You'll Never Walk Alone

2008-04-10T20:10:00.001-07:00

Liverpool beat Arsenal a couple nights ago 4-2 in the Champions League quarterfinals. A Hyypia header, Torres blast, Stevie G PK, and Babel icer took the Reds onward in a real doozy. Nate and I converted Ellyse into a fan, we dressed in our finest red wear, and sprinted from 2nd and University to 3rd and Virginia (approximately six blocks) to catch the 28 to Fremont. The George and Dragon, the finest of our region’s English pubs, was packed inside and out. Karen and Yon (big Liverpool supporter from Norway) had somehow already managed to secure spots at the bar. Ellyse snuck through the back of the bar and claimed a standing spot between them. Nate and I sat on a rail outside (game being shown on their back porch as well) in close company with the annoying kid from Third Rock from the Sun and his long lost cousin. They were nice enough, and their bangers and mash actually looked pretty appetizing for some reason. To our right, a Roger look-a-like made us feel authenticated. Roger, if you do not already know, is one of my best buds from the Ranch. He is a British lad with a heart of gold and smile that makes women melt on sight. This September, he will be visiting Seattle for twelve days!

“You better be scared! Oh, you better be scared!” Arsenal had just tied it up 2-2, and their version of Waldo was finally ready to speak up. Total DB. Anything other than a 0-0 draw or win would have knocked us out. Time was running out. Within a minute, however, Gerrard was burying a PK into the left side net.

“You better be scared! Oh, you better be scared!” Nate and I started chanting back, and the place was going nuts. Karen joined us in our primitive cries as she braved the cool air with us outside for the entire second half. My voice was disappearing. Minutes later, Babel zipped downfield past the last defender and finessed a perfect ball into the lower corner. The George and Dragon was pure mayhem, a massive and turbulent sea of red. Waldo walked out the door. “You better be scared! Oh, you better be scared!” Party on Wayne. Go Reds!

Editor’s Note: Any baseball that I may have watched this season will be replaced with watching soccer. This is a good decision.

The New Pad

2008-04-09T12:24:00.000-07:00

At long last, here is a pic of our new place in West Seattle! What do you think? Sure, it could use a little work, but it's home.

This is the view I actually get everyday when I wake up. Trees! No more tall buildings and ambulance sirens!

This is our new pad for real. I'm loving it. The first picture is actually from Mastatal. Our good friend Alcides lived there but was recently kicked out by a complete asshole of a landlord. He now lives with his family in San Miguel just up the road, which has not been easy on him. Serves as a reminder to how lucky we are to have such easy access to a decent living situation. And to visit our friends in their decent living situations... our friends in Seattle. West Seattle. Come visit your friends in West Seattle.

Pike Place Market

2008-04-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

It has been a productive day in blogworld today. It occurs to me that I need to start posting more pictures. Here are some of one of my favorite places in Seattle, all taken by Nate.

2/3 of 4136 is Nate and Ellyse

2008-04-08T16:58:00.000-07:00

I thought some of you might like to see what the people I live with look like, so here you go. When I landed in Seattle, Nate and Ellyse decided to surprise me at the airport in the get-ups you see here. Unfortunately for them, I was on a bus heading downtown while they waited at the baggage claim. Unfortunately for me, it was freezing outside, I was wearing shorts, and the house was completely locked up. We met at an Irish pub about an hour later.

The Trees Have No Tongues

2008-04-08T16:24:00.000-07:00

This is what was lacking in my life this past year. We lived in the grid, that enormous electrical cellular paved grid dotted with wifi hotspots. The closest we got to nature was while laying on fake matted grass on the rooftop, watching dark clouds violently roll in from the Puget Sound and then disappear just as quickly. A complete day’s worth of sped-up video from Planet Earth but in an hour’s time. Cars ran through the streets below, but we imagined the sound as strong water current rushing through canyon walls. Still, there was that control tower lurking in the background, and someone was inside looking over the entire city. He was manipulating everything we sensed.

Karen called on Saturday morning and asked if I wanted to join her in a drive up to Anacortes. Twenty minutes later, Nate was on board too. We dropped some stuff off in Greg’s storage unit, ate some amazing nachos, and then headed for Deception Pass. A nice little hike took us to a little rock beach just below the bridges. We were not out in “the sticks,” but we were in the trees, getting our shoes dirty and actually skipping rocks. After a work stretch, it was just what we needed. It is something that will occur much more often in 2008… just getting “out.” My telltale tent is calling from the basement.

Third and Pike

2008-04-08T16:21:00.000-07:00

One of the greatest things about living in Seattle is that everybody talks. They talk to each other, they talk into those stupid ear-phones that people wear like its fashionable, and they talk to themselves. It’s so common that it’s contagious. I find myself involved in lengthy conversations at the bus stop, and no one else is within audible distance. The corner of Third and Pike is the epicenter of self-talkers and a great place to eavesdrop on multi-party conversations; it has more potential for people-watching than any American city corner I have known. Since my return from the tropics, these are my favorite three overheard quotes thus far from the Seattle streets…

“I saw her talking to the devil. He grabbed her by the arm and took her away!”

Picture a woman with bright red lipstick smeared across her lips with an additional half a centimeter along their borders just to be safe. She has more blonde frizzes than strands of hair, and they are parted in an eighty-eighty-twenty isosceles triangle that shows too much skin and comes to a point just before her spinal cord enters her skull. Her eyes roll around in their sockets like clothes in a dryer window, and her paint-cracked fingernails are digging into some poor hipster sap’s brown corduroy jacket. Apparently, he decided to earn his elbow patches. He is the most patient hipster I have ever seen, which leads me to believe that the lady is either his nutty aunt or first social work case. The line above is the only part of the conversation that I overheard while walking down Pier 54 on the Puget Sound waterfront.

“Yeah, for a penguin!”

I was lucky enough to be the sole recipient of this quote. It was actually intended for me to hear and react. Everyone at Safeco Field was freaking out about opening day, which was just three days away. To add, they were all half-cranky about the weather. They got their other half crankiness from actually having to work, which made about ninety percent of the working force at Safeco Field fully cranky. I was lucky enough to find a happy fellow, and so I made a comment about how great the weather was. Peering out of a closing elevator door, he quickly calculated my sarcasm with the following formula: cold outside + wet snow falling + comment about weather being nice = sarcasm. After filing through his known cold-weather animals (polar bear, seal, penguin), he was ready to reply. He consequently almost let go one of those breathe-in laughs, made popular in Revenge of the Nerds. That fact + the feeling of cleverness that translated onto his face = me content.

“Heck of a world, isn’t it?”

Words from a bus driver. I don’t want to give away too much of the context because I feel like this is a quote that transcends that single moment. It can have a positive or negative connotation, and it needs no response. It is simple yet deeply reflective. I love it.

A Rancho Return Pt III: The Fun in Fundraising

2008-04-08T15:45:00.000-07:00

The next great adventure comes complete with a cause. For years now, we have been talking about building a library in Mastatal that also serves as a women’s center. The Mastate Charitable Foundation has been actively raising funds in order to make this become a reality, and the idea has really evolved. Hopefully, we will break ground as early as next year on the Community Learning and Sharing Center (CLSC). It will raise awareness of environmental and cultural issues within the area, and it will give the region’s women a place to gather, meet, share ideas and goods, and really just have a reason to get out of the house and into a social atmosphere. There is no way to know exactly what kind of opportunities this may create, but we are all very optimistic.

Two very amazing individuals down there, extremely motivated and very intelligent, began discussing possible fundraisers for the CLSC. One idea in particular really stood out, and details started building. Before anything had really even been set in stone, another visitor dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the table. The fundraiser became official. Ryan and David, the two “very amazing individuals down there,” then approached me with the idea. I jumped on board immediately, and everything is now moving forward. Beginning just a few days after Christmas, the three of us will be mounting our bicycles in San Diego and commencing our ride south to Mastatal. It appears that Nate and Ellyse (who is the other 33.3% of the magic that makes up my new living situation) will be joining us. We have been floating ideas back and forth stateside while Ryan and David are, no doubt, continuously discussing the same thing.

The goal is to find sponsorship and funding for the trip itself as well as enough to cover a good portion of the CLSC building project (which will cost an estimated $50,000… some of which has already been raised). My sister has already offered her own support through a fundraiser at her work, and Dwight has offered $100. Once again, let me reiterate how blessed I feel to have such supportive family and friends. I am waiting for some materials and information to come in from the Mastate Charitable Foundation (to which the majority of our funds will go and then be directed to the CLSC), and then a website will be published… keep your eyes peeled for Miles for Mastatal… linked soon right here in your favorite blog.

A Rancho Return Pt II: El Pueblo

2008-04-08T15:43:00.000-07:00

The Ranch continuously fills me with hope, motivation, and ideas. Spending time there refreshes my mind and body like no other place ever has. Finding it has limited my international travels due to the fact that I truly believe no place suits me more. This is not to say that my travels will cease, but I have found something that feels like home… at least the way home is supposed to feel in my mind. This time, we have decided to take it a step further…

Two good friends of mine, Geoff and Alan, have decided to build their own place on the Ranch’s property. Tim and Robin are cool with it because Geoff and Al give an immeasurable amount of time, energy, talent, love, and intangibles to the place. While I was down there this past couple months, we managed to clear their spot, do some planting for erosion control, dig some massive holes, and lay the foundation for a shared space (with earthen floor) and front porch. On either side of the shared space will eventually live two small cabins, one for each of them. The land overlooks the valley, which rises into La Cangreja (the mountain peak that defines the entire region) on the other side. There are no two perennial volunteers more worthy of such a picturesque spot. Of course, they are going to need new neighbors…

One day while exploring the immediate area, Tyler cleared a path down a slope just off the corner of Al and Geoff’s new spot. This trail led to another flat area, perfect for another small house. After discussing its potential with Timo and Robin, the area is now reserved for Tyler and me to build our own little place in the coming years. We have cleared the smaller stuff by machete, and it is right on. We are hoping to build appropriately by keeping the structure small, made of locally grown timber, and it will probably consist of only two bedrooms, a small workspace, and relatively short front porch. The design will go hand in hand with the new place that we have already started for our friends. The plan is to share the earthen floor living space and solar-powered beer fridge, and we’ll eventually build a shared composting toilet, outdoor shower, and small outdoor kitchen (possibly with thatched-roof). This means that we will have an established private and quiet abode to live in whenever we return to work and spend time in our favorite town. Like Geoff and Al’s, our little patch looks over the valley and sits meekly below La Cangreja. Pineapples currently grow to our shins, and a couple citrus trees stand just beyond what would be our front yard. In our absence, the new pad would be used for the Ranch’s long-term volunteers. While we’re there, we will part of the greatest pueblo within a pueblo known to man, and we will be in great company.

Pigeon Point Series II

2008-04-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

The basis for my first large-scale painting (in progress), this one was sent to an old friend from back home. She just got engaged and will be getting married next Spring. Within the image are three early memories with her. It is my favorite personal piece of artwork.

Pigeon Point Series I

2008-04-08T14:18:00.000-07:00

The addition of high speed internet and a scanner/printer to our art studio has opened me up to a new realm of possibilities. It allows me to find images all over the internet at a moment's notice, although I will continue to use the scraps from our little bucket of leftovers and found objects and papers. I can finally scan in the end product for higher quality images as well! No more lame-ass digital photos of postcards. And it's all for you!

Well, this one was actually sent back to the Ranch for a very amazing person. Everything in it relates to her and/or the place itself. Simultaneously, she sent me a postcard... on the front is the recipe for her favorite cookies. Yum!

A Rancho Return Pt I: The "Negatives"

2008-03-27T16:20:00.000-07:00

As usual, sorry for the delay in the update (one of these days, I will just add that line as a disclaimer at the top of this blog)... it actually just took a little g-kick from Meghann this morning to get me to take the time to actually write something. We were once acquainted in a little town called Smitheringtonville, but the place now sits desolate and wishful. Perhaps that cell buzz that is killing bees will bring life back to ole S'ville.

I am back from Costa Rica again. This most recent trip was my fourth over the course of the past three years, and by far the shortest of them all. Still, that does not mean that it was not just as memorable. For you worriers out there, suck on this: I got pretty sick when I arrived (nothing much worse than a twenty-four hour fever, sore throat, headache, persistent cough that lasted weeks, and a struggling voice). A few weeks later, I got my second ever pega (a local stomach bug that sends sharp, shooting pains through your gut, gives you projectile diarrhea, and makes you want to puke so bad that you just can't do it). Luckily, Lile (one of my favorite Mastatalenas) came to the rescue once again. She applied some oil, rubbed my arms and neck in certain spots a certain way, and I got light-headed and starting puking all over our front yard and the head to the catarata trail. By the time I left, I managed to catch the original cold's twin and am just now finally over it. On the side, I ordered a plump and tender, severely sprained ankle, fresh out of the community center's basketball court. There were a couple loud pops as I came down on Al's foot, and I dropped straight to the cement floor yelling expletives that I didn't even know existed. It gets better...

"We trust that your cranial scar has fully healed. The splatter on the rollbar has unfortunately created a permanent reminder of our little adventure." -Timo

This is the note that Timo left me in this month's newsletter for the Ranch. It started as a spur of the moment decision to get in the car and go to Puriscal. Timo was going to meet up with some old high school friends who were coming down for a visit, and my new Brit buddy Nic was pulling out all the stops to go watch Arsenal play in the Champion's League. Although he has bad taste, I swear he's a great guy. As the day wore on, Nic and I were having trouble finding anywhere to watch the game... until a crappy little internet gamers cafe said they would show it for him. No food and no beer meant no chance of me sticking around, so I went out to find Timo and his friends. His friends were easy to spot: they were standing in the middle of the road drinking Imperiales with a Tico, next to his pimped out ride. We went straight for another bar, watched some decent futbol, threw down a few more aguilas, and I slowly devoured a casado while practicing my Spanish over some great conversation with a Tica who once lived in Guatemala. Soon enough, I found myself piling into the back of a four-runner, laying on top of someone's stuffed backpack and trying not to stomp on our just-repaired sewing machine at my feet. We took a new route back because some douchebag informed Timo that morning while we were eating our pinto that the roads in that direction were good as new. Yeah, good as new and about as flat as the Andes and dry as Bico's Bar. Just after taking a wrong turn, we were hauling ass to gain momentum for an oncoming muddy slope when SMACK!!! I didn't really know what happened besides the fact that my head just slammed against a fat metal pole in the back of the truck. I was out cold for a few seconds before I heard the ruckus from the front, the cheers, laughter, holy shits, and disbelief. Timo immediately asked if everyone was ok, and I couldn't really figure out if I was or not at first. He ran back and said something like "hey dude, I think you're bleeding a bit." I looked down to see my right arm covered in blood, and he helped me out of the truck's back window before giving up the only clean shirt he owns to make the bleeding stop. Heads bleed more than they should... they are the overexaggeraters of body parts. We finished the trek (they let me sit shotgun) without driving off any cliffs, and Tyler iodized and butterflied me up upon our return. The tropics helped me heal quickly. Poor Timo felt horrible and thought about it in the ensuing days way too much, which is the worst part of it all. I have a sweet little scar and story... he should be proud.

One more thing while I'm on all the "negative" parts of the trip: my little buddy Pico almost died. He got extremely ill with what we and the vets believed to have been either distemper or kennel cough and was weakened to a point that I have rarely seen in any living creature. Never would I have expected him to pull through after seeing him in such a sorry state. Legs wobbling, eyes barely opening, and all energy being used in coughing up what sounded like his insides but amounted to mostly nothing at all. We administered shots, tried feeding him whenever possible, and gave him as much affection as possible. Finally, one weekend, he bounced back into it. Within weeks, he was talking like his old self and reclaiming his throne as king of Mastatal's doglands. He may still be missing a step, but it's one that most never had to start. And he's getting enough pancakes to make up for it.

¿Don´t You Know I´m Loco?

2008-01-24T08:53:00.001-08:00

I hope everyone has ignored many of the previous posts in the blog, the ones where I state that I had made decisions on my travels. I am not Maui, but rather Costa Rica once again. This is my fourth trip here, but will be the shortest stay of them all (a meager six weeks). Right now, I am just trying to waste time at an internet cafe in Puriscal while waiting for my bus to Mastatal. The place was blaring all of our ¨favorite¨GNR tunes when I walked in, but they have since switched to DMX. It´s driving me mildly insane... not to mention the fact that I am hearing Limp Bizkit teasers every few minutes.

The trip has been great so far. A stressed out stewardess on my first flight (Seattle to Atlanta) almost bit off my head, but then made up for it by hooking me up with lots of goodies. I sat between two ladies, one who works on helicopters and the other from Kenya. Good conversation, trivia, free grub... not so bad. In Atlanta, I was supposed to meet up with Nate´s good friend Liz Wasinger Smith, but she thought I was going to Fort Lauderdale for some reason and didn´t get to come. I spend my time instead with a giant burrito. On the next flight (to San José), I sat next to Heather... a complete bad ass girl from Portland who works in Moab and spends the rest of her time rockclimbing around the globe. She may either meet up with us for the superbowl or even make a visit to the Ranch. Upon arriving in San José, I busted through customs in no time at all (plus no checked luggage) and hailed a taxi. Minutes later, I was at the doorstep of my buddy Molly. We had only hung out once ever before, but she was nice enough to let me crash at her place. It was this fateful night that we realized that Christian Slater was in Austin Powers, yet neither of us remembered that until actually seeing it on screen again. Molly may also meet up for the superbowl, otherwise perhaps at a big celebration in Puntarenas.

Needless to say, I am stoked to be heading back to the Ranch in just a few hours. Hell, I´m even looking forward to the rickety bus ride. The thought of an Imperial makes my mouth water and of seeing my favorite All Stars and Mastataleños makes me so utterly content. I´m already feeling like I never really left... it still sort of feels like home. More to tell in the coming weeks.

Guest Post: T'Day with John Madden

2008-01-10T18:28:00.000-08:00

Doesn't every good story begin with Uncle Chuck? It should. He is, for lack of my own originality, the man of his time. Before I moved to Montana five years ago, my brothers and I tried to pay Chuck back for all the amazing things he has done for us throughout the years by taking him to a playoff game at Lambeau Field. The result: Packers suffer their first playoff defeat at home ever to Michael "the dog-killer" Vick and his dirty birds. Vick ran all over the field as if he were being chased by vengeful pitbulls... go figure. Regardless of the fact that I was once considered the bad luck charm for my gods in their green and gold, Chuck asked me to come out for the Packers/Panthers game the weekend before Thanksgiving. My boss (the wonderful Jeff Boyd) convinced me to take off the Seahawks home game against the Bears (who still suck) to go visit my fam in Wisconsin, mostly because he realizes the legend of Brett Favre. I was more than happy to oblige.

I decided to stay through the week so that I could spend the holiday with the fam. For his own review of the week, I would like to now turn this post over to John Madden....

Wow! Thanks a lot Sparky! Now, before we get started, let me just point out that we will indeed be giving out turkey legs to our week's MVPs right here in this blog (please note: these legs will be torn from my favorite dish: the turducken... exactly what it sounds like: a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed into a turkey). Wow! Now, we're only going to give away two turducken legs this year because I just remembered that birds only have two legs. Can you believe it? Boom!

Well, here we go. Sparky flew out to Wisconsin during hunting season. Watch out! Lucky those hunters didn't mistake his plane for a turducken. Man, I'm hungry. Now, I've gone ahead and circled the hunter-orange in this painting behind Sparky and his Uncles Marv and Dave. This is the unofficial color of the Green Bay Packers due to the fact that so many of their fans wear this orange to the games because it happens to be the color of their warmest clothes. I think that deer can not see orange, so it allows hunters to get closer to them before slitting their throats and eating their hearts, thus gaining their souls and power. The NFL still has no rules against eating deer hearts, so let it be known that the Packers are not cheaters like the New England Youtubers.

It was snowing the day Sparky landed in Appleton, WI. What a treat! Gameday did not bring snow, but it brought temperatures colder than John Gruden's facial expressions. Chuck handed out tickets to the host of this blog and his cousins: Andy and Tim. It was Chuck's dedication to the cause alone that got Sparky out there in the first place and all of them into Lambeau, and for that... he wins the first of the two turducken legs. Congratulations Chuck! Whoa! Yet, Tim is wearing no green, gold, or hunter-orange... what's with this guy?

Let me give you a quick breakdown... see, Tim grew up with some strange disease that made him detest the idea that everyone in Wisconsin had to love the Packers. It only affects one person in the entire state per year of birth. Instead, he became a fan of the 49ers. I never thought the bandwagon made stops in Hartford, WI but then BOOM!

Getting back to the game... the Packers had to score more points than the Panthers in order to win this game. 31, according to my math experts here in the booth, is a higher number than 17, so the Packers won the game. Is that right Pat?

(Pause).

BOOM! So, Sparky got to spend most of the week hanging out with his Aunt Susie and Uncle Marv in a nice quiet house away from everything. He caught up with Susie through hours and hours of conversation lasting well into the night on multiple occasions. And for her commitment to conversation and sacrifice of sleep, Susie wins the second turducken leg! Sometimes, someone just steps up... like a person on a ladder... or on steps. They even talked about actual family ties to Al Capone!

Sparky's grandmother seems to be doing well. She is in a home these days, and he got to go visit her. Although she was in the dementia wing while he was there, she showed them docs what's up and has since been moved to the normal side of things. Sources tell me that she is much happier there. Jenny, his cousin, is funnier than ever and drops comments that would leave Dennis Miller in her dust. Heidi, Jenny's sister, is great and really seemed to connect with him after too many years without seeing each other. To his pure bliss, she is flying out to Seattle to visit him this weekend. Kayanna kicks too much butt at dominoes to even really be in the same paragraph with the rest of these people.

To top things off, Mike (cousin) and Marie (his wife) came out from Minneapolis for the holiday. Mike and Sparky were best buds way back when they still played cops and robbers and basement nerf baseball. His wife has a wit that goes almost unnoticed with quick comments that float overhead. With these two, of course, comes Nintendo Wii... which means a family bowling tourney. Circled in this picture, you can see a Wii controller... this game system is designed to make you bowl as if you were bowling in real life, except it also makes sure that Uncle Chuck won't win because he can actually bowl in real life. Heidi ended up kicking Sparky's butt in a lackluster championship.

I gotta go eat some turducken now! I think I'll run a slant pattern just past the mashed potatoes as the slot receiver out of a strong-I formation and catch the bird right down the middle. Wow!

Thanks for that John. Please retire now. I just want to say a couple quick things. First of all, thanks so much to everyone in Wisconsin who made my trip out there so amazing. It was amazing to be around the extended fam for a holiday, and it's been a long time. Secondly, Tim... when you go for your buck next season, make sure it weighs more than a turducken. Third, the Packers play the Seahawks this weekend. As many of you know, I work at Qwest Field... what you may not know is that I could not care less as to what happens on that field. I would rather watch the Green Bay score on the television tickers. Needless to say, I will be sporting my green and gold this saturday in a busy local sports bar and hopefully glow while Favre makes history once again. I am admittedly a little nervous, yet I'm excited beyond belief. Go Pack!

Blizzard of '07

2007-12-23T22:14:00.000-08:00

Lots to talk about once again... the trip to Wisconsin (Packers game, family time, Thanksgiving), the Xmas Xtravaganza blowout at our apartment, upcoming plans, and so on. However, I have lately been working by day and nightlifing by night and am flying out to Syracuse bright and early tomorrow, so it's going to have to wait a little longer. It's going to be a kick-ass Christmas. Call me if you're in the 'Cuse... if you're in Seattle, I'll be back before the ball drops. Happy holidays.

Election of Pigeons

2007-12-06T18:22:00.000-08:00

The debates are officially over. The Sparky Caucus has given me enough information to make a decision. Thank you to everyone who has made the effort to become part of this discussion. Phase I and II now both have clear direction.

Before getting into that, I would like to share something I saw today. After unloading a bunch of cooking oil and cambros into the last stand at work today, I began the final pallet jack tug to Qwest Field's warehouse. As I passed another one of our stands, I noticed a small cage on the councourse. Inside of the cage were three very confused looking pigeons. I left the pallet jack to rest and walked closer to the cage to inspect the scenario. It seems as though some asshole left seeds in the cage to attract the birds and then closed the top, thus trapping them inside of a space that probably couldn't fit more than six or seven pigeons in total. A spring lock kept the door from opening. As I reached for the lock, the pigeons started freaking out... wings flapping, heads bobbing, and bodies shaking in epileptic fashion. It was a little frightening to be honest, and I had to take a step back to regain my composure before finally popping open the lock by hand and subsequently the door. The birds immediately darted out and flew to freedom.

Without further ado, the results:

Phase I Winner: Maui
After reviewing my funds, Patagonia simply does not make much sense. Maui also offers the film possibility. If the film director backs out on the project, there is a chance that a new trip could be fashioned. This is not expected or all that likely. The current plan would be to fly out to Maui in late January and do some hiking and camping around the island(s) for a few weeks before the filming begins. I would then hang with Sam, Stuart, and crew while making what promises to be an interesting and original flick. Last night, I actually met a guy who spent a few years out there and picked up a few tips, suggestions, and general stokedness.

Phase II Winner: Seattle, WA
After all that talk, it looks like I will be staying put. I never heard back about the film editing in Santa Cruz, D.C. lacks a true driving factor towards what I consider to be my future, Boulder has everything that would keep me too content to actually push myself, Minneapolis is in the midwest, and Montclair is in the armpit of America. Obviously, the real reasons go deeper than the ones I offer, but I do not have the will or desire to offer any more.

The fact of the matter is this: I am happy in Seattle. My oblate spheroid of friends here is one that Wu-Tang Clan couldn't even fuck with. There are plenty of film possibilities here, volunteer opps all over the place, something to do every day and night of the week, the perfect roommate (we have actually been compared to "little puppies tumbling over each other playing"), continuous art projects, a band in the works (with my buddy Tyler and possibly his brother... we have our first gig next week), the chance to be part of a non-profit from the start and get some grant-writing experience, and there is just so much more to explore around the area before I pack up and go.

After my annual review at Ivar's last week, my boss has basically bent over backwards for me. What was supposed to last an hour ended up lasting two, and we both spoke candidly about what was, what could be, and what should be. After rattling off a bunch of changes that I thought could attract better management candidates, she eventually came back with solutions to everything I had said. She offered me the choice of areas to run at Safeco next year, non-seasonal status to begin immediately, vacation, insurance (medical (including natural medicine), dental, vision, and life insurance), a 401(K), paid holidays, paid sick days, and working hours while things are slow (basically finding things for me to do to keep me content). At least I don't have to look for a job when I get back from my trip.

Look over your 2008 calendars and start planning your trip to the great northwest. We'll still have a couple couches and hopefully a floor to put them on.

Early Favorites

2007-12-03T19:42:00.000-08:00

Over the past few days, Phase I has experienced a dramatic momentum shift. After extensive talks with many friends and loads of downtime and introspection, the path is becoming clearer. It is extremely difficult to turn down the opportunity to work on a film, especially when it is being shot in Maui. No tickets have been purchased, no plans have been set, but the scales are beginning to tilt in the direction of the Pacific. At least, that is what my gut-compass is telling me.

Phase II is obviously still up in the air. My boss just offered me a generous benefits package to stick around these parts. Alan just threw about five thousand reasons on the table to spend some time in Montclair, making the place with the biggest negative (it's in Jersey) skyrocket through the list of rankings based on potential. Revealing my own rankings at this time would be a waste, since we are looking at approximately four months before I end up sticking to a spot for a while (which may be a short while, getting back to the way I once was). Montclair offers a great roommate, free place to crash, space for film editing, a music studio, an art studio, free lessons on stained glass projects, an organic garden, brewing beer, building a cob oven, proximity to loads of friends, a great group of subjects for a documentary, a bunch of people with whom to collaborate on films, and easy access to NYC.

Sustainable Productions Blog

2007-12-03T09:41:00.000-08:00

I started a new blog for all of my film projects: Sustainable Productions. There will also be a permanent link on the left side of this blog.

Indecision, USA

2007-12-01T10:48:00.000-08:00

"The risk of a wrong decision is preferable to the terror of indecision."

-Maimonides

Options, options, options. What happens when the possibilities far outweigh our abilities? We have to make decisions. If we do nothing at all, nothing happens. I find myself swimming in possibility soup, ideas floating around in pasta form. I'm fucking hungry. I want to eat it all, but there isn't time for that. Sipping broth brings more hunger, so I have to pick and chew. There are two phases this time around, both with various options.

Phase I: Which Trip?

Patagonia
What can I say about this place? The idea of hiking and camping throughout the region is as overwhelming, mysterious, exciting as any place I can imagine. The sights, the physical excersize, the shock and awe would be unrivaled. A lot of preparation has already gone into this trip: the vaccinations, purchasing the gear, doing steps with thirty-five pounds on my back, the endless reading and discussions, and the psyching myself up for it in general. Nate, our buddy Chris, and I have all put a lot into it. That, and going to South America has always been a dream that ranks towards the top of the list.

The idea of bailing on two of my good friends is unpleasant, to say the least. Yet, one man dropping out of a trio of travelers, as I have learned, affects the other two in a more or less insignificant manner. They will still go forward with the plan; there is just one less decision-maker, one less personality added, one less. My funds are much lower than expected at this point in the game, and the trip would suffer for it (probably for more than just myself). Of course, I would find a way to make it work somehow, even if it meant two months of rice and beans cooked over my beer-can stove. So, why consider not going to Patagonia?

Maui
If you have read my most recent post prior, you know why Maui is an option. I would be in paradise, working on a film, and working with people I already know and get along with great. Sam has a great creative mind, and it would be great to work on another film project with him. Apparently, he has a short coming to the Seattle International Film Festival next year. Airfare would be about a third the cost I would be paying for the other trip, we would be staying at Stuart's place (I assume), and expenses would be minimal (in a place where people tend to spend lavishly). Maui, obviously, is another one of those natural wonders that just makes you say "whoa." There are also plenty of places to hike, camp, and do my own thing if I decided to go earlier or stay later than the film project necessitates.

The Debate

Of course, South America will always be there. Everyone keeps telling me that. What will not always be there are Nate and Chris, two travel partners that I know would make the trip amazing in every possible way. We all get along great, Nate and I get along better than Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and Chris is as laid back and psyched as they come. This Patagonia trip will never be like it will be come January. On the other hand, Maui offers the potential to work on a film and juice up the portfolio a little before I start applying to grad school (confidence in the portfolio has always been lacking, and that needs to change). It also offers a great travel partner, has no lack of amazing sights, and it wouldn't break the bank.

"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, the providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way."
-William Hutchinson Murray

Phase II: Then Where?

Seattle, WA

This would be the obvious choice. Biggest plus: the people I know. My circle of friends here is huge and amazing in so many ways. I have a job to come back to, but it's one that doesn't keep me content. It's not a horrible job by any means, but it doesn't inspire or drive me in any way whatsoever. There is so much more to explore here, and I feel like my time here is not done. My roommate is the best I have ever had, and he constantly keeps me going creatively (yes, this is rare). Another friend is starting a non-profit, and I would gain experience as a grantwriter (although on a volunteer basis). But, then again, Seattle isn't going anywhere. It is the situation that changes.

Santa Cruz, CA

This idea depends on what is going on with the footage from the documentary we shot in Finland. If another person is already working on it (in the editing studio located in Santa Cruz), this option will almost certainly be tossed out the window. The idea of the footage collecting dust bothers me. I would find a job, a temporary place to live, and stay until the film was completed. This place offers the beach, proximity to places like Big Sur, decent weather, and easy access to a multitude of friends (within SC and nearby).

Washington, D.C.

It is almost guaranteed that I could land myself a job in D.C. that makes me feel good about myself, something dealing with the environment or social justice. The jobs I have been looking at pay well, offer benefits, and seem to be somewhat challenging. That would be a nice change. I would probably end up living with my buddy Billy Massa, a good friend since middle school. Again, I know a bunch of great people there... making for an easy transition.

Boulder, CO

This is a progressive community, and one that would probably allow me to find employment that suits me. George would be the potential future roommate here, or at least a big part of a decent social base that I already have in the area (between Boulder, Denver, and Fort Collins). Mountains, hikes, the outdoors... an easy place to enjoy all three without a vehicle. My buddy Colin (from Rancho Mastatal) is starting up the Colorado Cob Company, so I could continue with my love for natural building. I know a lot of creative and inspiring minds here.

Minneapolis, MN

This option basically makes the list to humor my cousins Heidi and Mike, just in case they are actually reading this thing. Heidi offered a free place to stay in exchange for some fine home-cooking, which I love to do anyways. Heidi, Mike, Marie (Mike's wife), and the few other people I know in the area are great and would be a blast to be around. The question is: could I stay sane in a midwestern city?

Montclair, NJ

New Jersey pretty much blows. A move here would not be permanent, not even close. I have a place to stay with a very inspiring person (yo Alan!), and I would work wherever I could. The focus of this stay would be to make a documentary on an eclectic group of guys, who have formed a band called The Porchistas. Every single member of the band is an amazing character with a great story. The conversations to be had, the visuals, the music... this film writes itself, and it would be a blast to make.

"Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

So, that's that. My brain would have exploded yesterday thinking about all of this if I didn't have the chance to let it all out to my brother Kev, friend Meg, and old buddy Naomi. Last night really cleared my head and had me completely contented for the first time in days as Naomi (friend from Great Falls who now lives in Seattle) and I talked over lattes, strolled through the streets of downtown, passing by numerous Christmas-lighted trees, a guy playing Winter Wonderland on the sax, explored hotel lounges (including one with a live piano player playing holiday songs, huge Xmas tree, and giant gingerbread house replicating Pike Place Market), stared at a giant Charlie Brown Christmas tree which prompted an old man to tell us of the other holiday sights we just had to see (before also admitting that he, at seventy-eight years, has fallen flat on his face twice this week while enjoying the visuals), window-shopped for the lavish things that create not even an ounce of desire within, talked to a "city ambassador" (who was actually from Connecticut), and then lounged on a corner couch in the upstairs of a dim-lit mellow scene over a couple Beck's and cheese platter to the sounds of Grandmaster Flash. Today, it's snowing like crazy. Now, it's back to decision-making time, but I'm in a great mood... which makes for better choices.

The Dynamic Do I...?

2007-11-28T16:07:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the delay in writing. I spent almost the entire week of Thanksgiving in Wisconsin, and there is plenty to tell from that trip. It makes more sense to wait for the pictures to come rolling in before I post anything about it. Of course, they won't come until I actually ask for them to be sent. I'll get on that one. In the meantime, just know it was a great trip and continue with your nail-biting anticipation.

There is a lot to think about these days. Mainly... what am I doing? South America beckons, and plans have been laid. Sam, the other cameraman from the documentary I helped shoot in Finland, just got back in touch. Apparently, he is on his way to Maui in February to make a film about Stuart, the young old yogi that played such a big part in our Scandinavian adventure. Sam asked me to join him on the trip. A recent conversation with Liz included her reminding me that I have my own thing to go do to make the world a more beautiful place. Dickey's recent advice: I shouldn't think about what I want to do necessarily, but what I should do. I just had a long meeting with one of my bosses, and she's willing to do what it takes to keep me around... only, what it takes has not historically been enough to keep me around... anywhere. Another friend here in Seattle is starting up a non-profit foundation (basically helping dogs that need help), and I have talked to him about being his grant-writer (something I should gain experience in anyways).

So, what to do? South America, maybe Hawaii, then either back to Seattle or Cali or DC or Minneapolis or Colorado or... WARNING: System Overload! Ahh, decisions, options, goals... it's nice having these things in life, isn't it? There is so much left to do here in Seattle for which I somehow feel like I haven't had time, yet there is so much everywhere else that I have not even attempted.

My immediate solution: I'm going out to Fremont tonight to find enlightenment by watching Liverpool soccer at the George and Dragon Pub with a few good friends (good advice-friends too) and then maybe hitting up a poetry slam for some creative energy, which will most likely be offset by a generous amount of the finest porter this side of the Atlantic.

Long-term solution: To be determined and reported on right here in this very blog. Will the befuddled Sparky clobber and conquer his own villainous meandering of thought? Find out next week (no promises)! Same blog time, same blog channel.

Last Bit of Cork

2007-11-14T18:08:00.000-08:00

Once floated on cirrus streaks
Once sunk to the Challenger Deep
I drift on this last bit of cork

I created this earth once too
Never possessing actual means
Hands unceasingly occupied with others

Now grasping for substance
Dulling the edges of mass-produced daggers?
Or tucking myself into the material from which consortium is fashioned?

Feigning repose on liquid hips
Sanguine contemplation swiftly receding
Ebbing cha cha cha

Crystals shimmer from above
The unknown dares from below
Yet I neither leap nor plunge

Feral beings tamed perchance
Diminutive faces simper with limitless ironies
Tarry, toil, and plunder

I exist only in the purgatory between gravities
Of the troposphere and Mariana Trench
Standing on confused cork

The T and R Seattle Tour

2007-11-08T13:06:00.000-08:00

Timo and Robin (my good friends who run Rancho Mastatal) have been visiting Seattle since this past Friday. Needless to say, I have been ecstatic to be able to spend so much time with them in my own home (for now) city. The complete lack of hours at work lately (shrug) allows me loads of free time, which means more face time with two of the most inspiring people I know.

The majority of this time has been spent hanging with their old friends from the Seattle area. Tim and Robin used to live here, so they know about eight billion people (not to mention the fact that tons of Rancho students and vols are drawn from Sea-town). It is quite a collection of amazing individuals. Our down time has been spent cooking up some creative meals out of a rather barren kitchen, strolling around Green Lake, catching up on the past nine months or so, and watching Flight of the Conchords videos online (including Foux Da Fa Fa over and over).

One evening, we (the three of us plus Nate and Karen) headed down to North Bend for their friend's birthday party. If North Bend sounds familiar, it is most likely because you have seen an episode of Twin Peaks (which was filmed there). We got to hang out at a very large house with a big yard backing up to the woods, which led up to an amazing mountain backdrop. Mount Si appears basically right off of the yard. I actually knew a few people at the party (although through the same connection) and met a bunch more as the night progressed. We ate, we drank, we built a fire, and we listened to live Native American music. I even got to practice up on my Spanish with Faviola, a girl we met from Aguas Calientes through another mutual friend. Nate, Karen, and I spent most of the night enjoying the fresh air that comes with being outside of the city.

On Tuesday, I got on a ferry with T and R headed for Bainbridge Island where we would meet up with Jack, Tim's old lacrosse coach and easily their most conservative friend in the area (but a great guy nonetheless). From the ferry terminal, we wheeled down the road to IslandWood, an outdoor learning center for children and graduate students (as well as volunteers, family, and adults on a different scale), for our own private tour. This place began around the same time as the Ranch, has a lot of the same values and visions, but the scale of the operation is almost shocking. Once I put some thought into the comparison between the two places, however, it makes perfect sense. If the Ranch were to expand quickly and grow rapidly, it would affect the small community where it is located in detrimental ways culturally (too many gringos would mean almost an equal population of outsiders to natives). On Bainbridge Island, that is not such a concern. Groups can come in for a week, experience some intensive learning, and move on (hopefully bringing lessons back to their own communities). Both projects are impressive, to say the least. I would encourage everybody to find similar projects in your region and get involved, or at least take the time to see what is going on.

Nate eventually met us out there, and we ended up crashing in a five million dollar house on the water. The woman who owns it was apparently married to the guy who started up Emerald Downs (see post: Navajo Gold), the area's horsetrack. We built a fire, drank some local brews, yacked it up with Jack, walked out on the dock at low-tide, listened to some Barry White, and just conversed into the morning hours. Never a dull moment with T and R in the mix.

I'm trying to kick this Halloween trick that got passed around at the party last week (see post: My Dummy and Me), some sort of flu or cold or virus, before this weekend's big bash in honor of our two visitors (guests are already lining up). Nate and I are still waiting for the heat to rise since getting our yellow fever shots yesterday (apparently a high fever is common after getting the immunization). Nothing noteworthy yet there. I'll be spending the day today sipping lemon Thera-Flu, pondering what the next step is, and making my next three sets of postcards. Watch your mailbox.

My Dummy and Me

2007-10-31T09:42:00.000-07:00

There was once a man with a vision. I say man, not boy, because this man has earned his patches. Michael stands in an empty room with dreams of the greatest dance party known to the ghouls, goblins, witches, and scantily clad individuals across the land. This room would ultimately be known as the Dance Dungeon. His dreams would become as glorified as they were haunting (please note: all pictures in this post were taken by our man above).

Let me try to paint a picture of the evening for you readers. Unfortunately, I can not do it with the simple stroke of a brush. Bob Ross disappeared from the party without leaving any lessons from his Joy of Painting.

I'll begin with our amazing hosts. You have already met one (our boy scout), but that only scratches the surface of the greatest collective living space in the greater Seattle area. Originally from Rainbowland, a glowing Rainbrow Brite greeted all guests without the help or any sightings of Starlite, that egotistical horse of hers. Who knew that she and Norma Jeane Mortenson were such good friends (and roomies to boot)? You may know Norma Jeane better as the beautiful and talented Marilyn Monroe, one of the only classics at the party. Brite's husband (downplayed in national news due to his and his buddy's "fuck it dude, let's go bowling" attitude on publicizing the whole thing) was also there, always drinking his caucasians. And, the dude's dog came dressed as a pumpkin (jury is still out as to whether it was the pumpkin who peed on the dude's rug later that night).

I put on my regular ole ventriloquism outfit, grabbed my dummy, and caught a bus up their place. Everyone was really nice about making Clarence (my dummy) feel like a real person. Some people even asked when he was going to "break character" so that they could have a real conversation with him. Most people seemed to feel really uncomfortable with the act and often said it was "a little freaky." Many of the conversations we had seemed to walk that tightrope between comedy and complete awkwardness. In other words... success!

At the stroke of midnight, the sight of Billie Holiday caused some Pinocchio shit to go down, and Clarence became a real boy! As he found his vocal chords, I pulled my hand back out of his ass. We were finally free to mingle.

I won't describe every single person we had the pleasure of talking to, dancing with, meeting that night, but I will share with you some of my favorites...

Pilotta Delicatessa Windowshade Mackrelmint Elfraim's Daughter Longstocking, also known as Pippi. She has probably the best personality to be found at any Halloween party outside of Ville Villekulla and could often be found rocking out in the Dance Dungeon. A party just is not a party without her.

The Mormon (or Jehovah's Witness). He just happened upon the door of the dude's house in search of converts. By accepting him into the party, Brite and gang may have made a huge error. My guess is that he will never stop appearing on their doorstep, book in hand, ready to speak the word of the Lord. Them Mormons sure do know how to drink though.

The Cavewoman. As fun as a modern woman, she could often be found searching for mammoth steaks in the refrigerator (an invention that had her flabbergasted) or shaking her bones on the dancefloor in the dungeon below.

Female Tenzing Norgay. She trekked all the way from Nepal to make the party and even brought her own water.

The Sister. As smooth as Jackie Brown walking across 110th Street, she could also be regularly found tearing up the dancefloor alongside the cavewoman, demonstrating "today's moves."

The Cow and the Aviator. Apparently, he was commissioned to bring her back after her failed attempt to jump over the moon. His heroics were enough to impress, and they have since utterly fallen in love.

The Leaf Girls. On the left, let me introduce you to Autumn and, on the right, a Tree... not that you needed any explanation. It is as clear as day in the picture.

The Mummy and the Animal Kingdom. Umm... the Mummy and the Animal Kingdom.

It was a party like no other. A billion people showed up and

drank all of their beer and a large portion of their wine, sake, kahlua, quetzalteca, and milk. Then, they pretty much left remnants all over the place. I think we got out of there sometime around 4AM after hours of dancing, mingling, laughing, peeing on the fence, and dancing some more. It was an amazing collection of great people, a perfect celebration for a Halloween done right.

More Sports, Less Sports

2007-10-29T22:23:00.000-07:00

Well, I try not to talk about my enthusiasm for sports too much in this blog because I know how boring that can get when you are not a fan of the same teams. Nobody likes to hear a person gloat about a team that he or she has no interest in. Working in that atmosphere makes it more difficult to keep my sports life separate from my blogging life. However, this post may change a lot of that. Dwight and George... feel free to bash me for this one.

Over the past few weeks, a couple things finally came to a head in respect to my love for sports. First of all, Joe Torre (manager of the Yankees) got the shaft and is no longer employed by the team. Joe is a likeable guy who has continuously led the team to the postseason. Unfortunately, George Steinbrenner (owner) has a head too big for any person's body. They now look to Joe Girardi to manage the team, therefore ole Georgie is again the most influential and powerful person in the organization because our pal J-T can no longer steal his spotlight (which he did by winning over fans on a personal level... oh no!). A-Rod just opted out of his contract in an attempt to prove a larger head than Steinbrenner. Next year's bobbleheads should include top-heavy versions of the two that neither stand nor bobble because the heads are too large and heavy to do anything but rest on your desk. Meanwhile, the best closer of all-time may bail alongside an amazing pitching-catching duo (Pettite-Posada).

It has come to a point where I hope that they all leave. I hope the Yankees go into a decade-long slump and Steinbrenner never lives to see another championship. He is as greedy as any businessman that ever lived and seems to lack love for the game itself. The Yankees need to switch toward relying on their youth, from top to bottom. Let the Steiny sons take over the biz and these amazing rookie pitchers to come in and take control. Forget about big salaries for a season or two and let the team build. Let this dynasty fade... you are the New York Yankees. Another one will come. I feel bad for Jeter, Cano, and Cabrera. They are what make the team so much fun to watch... they make me want to be a baseball fan.

Unfortunately, I have begun to truly lose my love for the game. The Yankees have become a chameleon wearing zebra skin. The pinstripes can not truly cloak an ever-changing cast. This season became exciting, but the ending makes me throw up into my mouth a little bit. Anything can happen in the postseason, and you can not always blame your cast for not bringing home the Oscar.

With this heavy on my mind, I watch Monday Night Football. The NFL, a game with a salary cap in an effort to keep things relatively equal (watch out Patriots... yikes). Did anyone else watch this game? I watched Brett Favre and remembered what it is that I love about watching sports (like any time I watch Syracuse basketball (college sports are all about the effort) or Jeter running down a foul fly face-first into the stands). Brett Favre is 38 years old, and he plays every game like he is still in high school. It is all about winning and making your fans, your team, your own face smile like a kid.

The Packers, now at 6-1 this season (winning 10 of their last 11 overall), are still often the underdogs as they were entering this contest against the Broncos (now 3-4). Favre smiled in the face of harsh criticism from recent critics who claim that he has reverted to the dangers of being a gunslinger. Guess what... the gunslinger mentality won this game as he converted on an 82-yard pass on the first play from scrimmage in overtime. He made a veteran call against the defensive line-up, threw the ball downfield with the guts and power of a twenty-five year-old, and then promptly celebrated like he was sixteen and just won his first game. Even the announcers on ESPN were giddy with excitement.

This is sports. This is what competition is supposed to be. This is the excitement that players, coaches, fans, and even commentators should feel. This is the shattering of backboard glass that Onuaku presented in a friendly college basketball Midnight Madness scrimmage at Syracuse University, while Paul Harris threw his shoes into the crowd and Eric Devendorf threw his jersey to a fan. This is a game with a beating heart. Forget Kobe, A-Rod, Steinbrenner, and the lot.

I would love to go see a game at Yankee Stadium before it is torn to the ground, which is also unbelievable. But, then again, maybe it is a sign of the direction of the sport. I can not believe that I am about to say this, but maybe Dickey was right... baseball is boring. There is more drama than I care to read about or watch anymore surrounding it (not that this is a big change over the years). I wish I could have seen Dimaggio, Aaron, Shoeless Joe, and Josh Gibson (who may actually be the only player to ever hit a fair ball out of Yankee Stadium, although the Negro leagues never got enough credit). I guess I still have Jeter, but that might be like sticking Aladdin into an episode of the Teletubbies.

I guess what I am saying is this... baseball does not have a Brett Favre. It does not have a Lambeau Leap. It does not have a team owned by the fans, for the fans, relatively equal to all others. It is a sport that only represents the national in our national pasttime in the respect that it alleviates success for the rich. I want the kid to strive again in the world of professional sports, not just collegiate. I want to be able to watch it and see even the smallest sign of innocence, of love for the game. I want to see more people hoist their teammates onto their shoulders, smiling, with their index finger pointed to the sky.

Five Hundred Bones

2007-10-24T12:03:00.000-07:00

I blew five-hundred dollars yesterday without leaving Seattle. Unless I'm purchasing a plane ticket or paying rent, that's a lot of money for me to spend in one day. This is how I did it...

The weather was absolutely perfect as if we had traveled back in time to July (this, after being promised by many city-dwellers that we would not see the sun again for the remainder of the year), and it was enough to motivate me to walk to REI. REI, in case you have not been, is a giant toy store for outdoor enthusiasts.

I won't go into every little detail of my lengthy shopping experience there, but I will tell you what I eventually bought:

Kelty Light Year 3D +25 Sleeping Bag (Regular)

I have had my eye on this guy for months and finally decided to go for it. It is rated down to 25 degrees (F), weighs just 2 lbs. 7 oz., compresses nicely, and is decent in wet conditions.

Therm-a-Rest Ridge Rest (Short)

This is basically just a simple sleeping pad (which will double as my chair while hiking). It doesn't inflate, so it can't pop, and I went for the shorter size to save on room (my head doesn't really need the padding as I will use something thicker for a pillow).

Sierra Designs Clip Flashlight CD Tent

I actually found this one in the "scratch and dent" section of the store, which is where all usable returns are placed at reduced prices. The reason this was returned is because the customer didn't like the amount of headroom. Nate has almost the exact same tent and loves it (used it along the A-T), so it was a no-brainer.

La Sportiva Trango Trek GTX Hiking Boots

I spent a good hour in the footwear section trying on different boots suitable to the conditions we will be facing in Patagonia. Admittedly, I had a lot of pre-favorites going in. Unfortunately, none of these pre-faves seemed to fit comfortably. One of the REI ladies suggested this boot, and it was easily the best fit, but something was still off in the heel. She suggested trying a new insole, and she nailed it. The Gore-Tex linings should keep my feet dry, they are not too heavy, and I basically forgot I was wearing them on a test run yesterday (more on this soon).

Superfeet Green Premium Insoles

These are the insoles that the foot magician recommended.

I feel like I have made leaps and bounds in my preparedness for our trip by spending one day at REI. I already have a decent pack, and I recently bought a new coat and winter hat (from the same store). Next up: socks and gloves.

To finish my spending spree, I headed over to M Street Grocery. This place has the friendliest staff in the history of grocery stores and prides itself on locally bought foods (many of which are organic). Last night, I kept it simple by buying a 12-pack of Rolling Rock (on sale), Life cereal, organic milk (for my Life cereal and protein shakes), Crystal hot sauce (Louisiana's Red Hot), a large onion and a bag of long-grain brown rice (for the mujadarrah we ate for dinner).

Holes to Heaven

2007-10-20T23:58:00.000-07:00

"The air was more than humid

and the heat was more than hungry

and the cars were square and spitting diesel fumes."

-Jack Johnson

We had a relatively harmless day at work today. Nate and I had to mix twenty buckets of garlic. Mixing garlic. It is an idea that almost everybody that works in the biz detests, avoids, ignores to a point. Even the chefs that maintain spotless white robes and bishop hats can not stand this "sewage" of mass ingredients. Our garlic is the slime that accumulates in the storm drains of professional and collegiate sports gluttony. It has a strong smell. Its bits stick like mini-leeches clinging to clothing with only hopes of finding death in laundry as opposed to greedy chomping teeth angrily mashing away the stress of burning pockets as hard-earned (or probably just slime-accumulated) cash disappears on overpriced garbage.

The threat of upper management looms on the horizon. Main players are sure to visit our stand during tomorrow's NFL game against the horrendous Rams, a team that I have no sympathy for. Emails pour in about performance from past games. Our sales were down last game (mainly because all credit card machines crashed). Our superiors assume it is because of some lack of readiness... not having food prepared ahead of time (which really has no bearing on anything because it can all fall apart regardless five minutes after the rush comes). Seriously, our lines extend from the front of our stand seemingly to the Puget Sound. Six fryers can not prepare enough to make up for thirty grand in sales within a three hour period, yet somehow we do it. Still, satisfaction only comes if we figure out how to cook fries and clams by the heat of drunken Seahawk fan breath. It is mine and my head cook's fault for not creating a Waterworld-like (piss-to-drinking water) contraption to utilize fan-breath-heat (breath-to-crisping oven) towards a golden fry. Did you know that their flavor comes from a test tube in New Jersey?

I look to the sky that lurks over all of this, menacing at times and promising at others. Unpredictable always. All I see are zeroes and ones... until I look a little deeper. I smile. The rain is as refreshing as the sun. They go hand in hand. Appreciation for warmth only comes from an understanding for dampness and cold. The rains bring color, life, and they wash away these meaningless worries and stress.

Lately, I am living in Patagonia. We have narrowed the focus of our trip to South America to Patagonia. Yeah, we are going to spend a lot of time in Tierra del Fuego. Sure, we may end up in Peru, Bolivia, and anywhere nearby. Nate and I have a tendency to make the right connections at the right time. Our other amigo is down for anything and is ready to go tomorrow. We have a good crew. We have a good vision. We have no real expectations, but also no limitations (except for money, but that can only limit you as much as you let it). There are so many ideas, possibilities, hopes, that I could speculate about here... but that would be a complete injustice to everything that this post deserves. As optimistic as I am for everything to come, reality deserves some credit. Right?

I just finished watching Thicker Than Water, a film by Jack Johnson. It is about surfing. Until this point, I never gave ole Jack enough credit. I thought of him as just another acoustic hearthrob who tells a story based on this or that, he or she, blah blah blah, on and on. My brother and his wife like him. People at the Ranch listen to him. Nate talks about him like he is an idol deserved of real appreciation. OK Nate, OK Jim and Britt, OK Rancho dorkos... I'm giving him his shot. I'm going to be tough on him though if he really thinks he can make a flick worthy of my attention (which really isn't as tough as you may think). Thicker Than Water. Jack Johnson is alive, he experiences some shit that most people will not appreciate, he won't spoil his favorite spots, but he knows what life is and how to convey it through his own means. Like his music or not, he is not someone to disregard.

I watch this forty-five minute flick with initial speculation but with a hint of intrigue because of the forceful push in the back from those I trust. Waves crash, surfers burn, but for the most part, they fucking stun. There are limbo moves that bounce back like a invincible slinky walking upstairs. The music slaps you in the face without leaving a mark, without even making you realize that you had even been slapped until the film's end when you realize that you had just been struck by about three hundred and eighty seven different amazing spectacles within the time that it takes you to shower, poop, shave, eat breakfast, and get your clothes on.

"These guys live this shit, and that's why it is fucking epic."

-Nate Sander

I'm giving our third-party a big pat on the back for joining this adventure even with a salary position beckoning and a vision that seems to differ greatly from my own. I can not say that having this wing-nut along does not make me even more of an optimist of things to come. The three of us future traveling companions just made some personal stoves out of PBR tall-boys like it was nothing. Denatured alcohol plus two PBR cans plus some duct tape equals a camping stove. We could have made that shit out of Coke cans, but we hate soda (which shall never be called pop in this blog ever).

"One day you wake up and realize just what you're after."

-Jim Pepper

A few months separate us from a ridiculous adventure. I just finished reading Into the Wild and have watched the film twice in the past few weeks. The end scene in the flick is maybe the most intense of its type I have ever seen. The book is great, even if Krakauer needs to input his own shit as if an author's name does not equate a signature. Maybe he is not so different than the title character. Both as stubborn and self-centered as they are impressionistic and brilliant.

But, then again, how do we judge a person that died following his/her dreams? Is there any better way to go than to follow the path that we set for ourself? I, for one, am fucking terrified of water. How does someone that so many people see as a wussy little pansy finger-picking lolly-gag-strumming groupie-magnet turn my head so much that my spine hurts so good my nerves just changed their tune? This isn't a guy that doesn't have access to the spackle of his broken heart; this is a guy that breaks waves larger than I can imagine to appease his soul. This is a guy that shreds the face of the unpredicable while I have barrelly (sp) treaded the whitewash (as far as I can tell).

So where does the common ground exist? There is an underlying feeling that we all have for every passion that exists beyone the human conciousness. Watch this film, Thicker Than Water. Although nothing is ever said about it, I ask you to look more closely at every ride. There is a common thread amongst many of these magicians, and it all happens to rest within the nerves inside of their fingertips. These surfers cut across water more efficiently than Pythagoras could slice a hypotenuse. Look at their hands. How many do you see that actually touch the water as they make this descent from crest to trough, from high to low and everywhere in between?

They are feeling for the soul of the wave. They are reaching into nature and leaving nothing untouched. There exists an unpredicatable force, one that challenges only the fiercest or most humble of competitors. The humble become strong as in the Bible, but the fierce seem to gain even more ground (unless succumbing to it like Chris McCandless from Into the Wild... go see the move and read the book). This is the literal and the supposed.

Live what you preach. That is all I ask. Die doing what you love. Live without fear of what comes next. Make the impossible possible. Nothing is beyond attempt. I do not live without fear. If I do not drown, my only fear is that I did not properly convey to you how to make this world better (or how to make yourself happy). There is no clear solution to any question. Fuck the supposed, embrace the believed, and make everything in between worthwhile.

Stranger Series II

2007-10-17T12:40:00.000-07:00

To one of the most positive influences in my life today, one of the only souls that truly knows how to embrace mine. This is sent as six separate postcards, each with a different message on the backside. This is a purpose-driven piece for a person in search of her own direction. She is unknowingly surrounded by everything she is looking for and heading down an amazing path. Everything glows in her presence, yet she remains humble enough not to see it. The image you see only contains pieces of this truth, and its intentions are focused on another theme that has played an important role in both of our lives.

Memory Bank, Withdrawal #0001 (The Tree)

2007-10-17T12:04:00.000-07:00

"You’ll need some lumberjack supplies, but the cool lumberjacks do not cut down trees."
–Nate’s friend Candice (advice on moving to the Pacific Northwest)

Some people like to say they have no regrets, just learning experiences. I say that this sounds nice, but it is not reality. Is there not a moment within a moment, somewhere in your personal history, that you wish you could go back and change? Even the most minute of details? Forget for a brief moment that one small change in the past can affect everything that follows. I ask y’all (a term I picked up from my time in Texas and have since perfected due to my current living situation with an actual Southerner), yes even y’all: Dickey and Neil, to forget the raining of donuts in The Simpsons (although that might actually help my point here). Let us pretend that we can still have these same thoughts and lessons learned from our previous non-participation in certain events.

One that eats away at me to this day took place over a decade ago. That is over one third of my life, and the moment still occupies a space in my brain that is much better suited for butterflies or even vacancy. I had just begun to explore the world according to alcohol, and many of these early adventures happened with a good friend of mine from elementary school (to remain nameless for now). This is not something I am ready to regret. Alcohol has been part of some good times, helped me forget about some of the worst, and it has brought me everywhere in between (whether that is good or bad… stay tuned for future memory bank installments). Nothing, from this point on, is to be left out of my already self-centered writings here in this blog (the five of you who read can take it or leave it).

This installment follows the story of a high-school kid in search of a brand new meeting place for fellow underage drinkers. Liverpool High School… I saw someone every day that I did not already know, but I never really felt out of place. Going out to random parties, many of which took place in random outdoor hot-spots, helped quite a bit. The Grounds, the Beach, the Barn… we could make a new hot-spot and become anonymous legends, like a nameless football hero. The legacy would live on like a blank jersey.

We took a hatchet into the woods behind one of our local neighborhoods and cut down a tree that was much taller than us and had lived many more years. We hacked and hacked through peeling skin off of the parts of our hands that would have already been calloused if we were as big of men as we were about to "prove." After what seemed like hours, the tree crashed to the ground, and we fashioned out some not so impressive benches. Legend has it that the spot has actually been used since… but never in our day.

In any case, it was a waste. It was a completely unnecessary move, and I wish I never had a hand in cutting down that tree. Neither the intentions nor results were positive. We could have used any number of ready materials from those woods or even our own homes. We could have built something that made sense or, better yet, let the idea dissipate into nothingness. That thing was massive and very much alive, and I played a part in destroying it. I can only hope that it has since decomposed and subsequently sprouted into new life. I suppose many things can transform over the course of ten years.

To Everyone I Know and Who May Be Reading

2007-10-08T16:38:00.000-07:00

My anthropological sense perplexes me to no end. Then again, is there any sense in a discipline so young? What discipline, social or otherwise, truly has sense at its core if not for Anthropology? Or maybe it is lack of sense that drives me and perhaps even the sciences.

Nevertheless, I observe my surroundings, the people in them, and I study them incessantly. Whether or not to remain as a fly on the wall is a question that eats at me, constantly regurgitated and eaten again without ever really fully digesting. I go through both phases, sometimes by the week, sometimes within the hour.

This is a society where people beleaguered by self-inflicted impositions fail to recognize beauty unless it slaps them in the face. It is around every corner; it is directly in front of us. Why is it that we rarely see it? We do not properly see things that we can not feel. Somewhere along the way, we have all lost something seemingly innate. Something that far too often appears as inherent only when we are looking in the mirror. Is it love?

When did people start standing with arms crossed instead of open? There is something deep within those crossed arms, straight lips, and stern eyes begging for escape, for some malfunction in the central nervous system that twitches our shoulders, elbows, wrists and knuckles just at the right moment for an embrace.

Sometimes I feel like an outsider, and that can happen in just about any company at any time. It just depends on my internal music, that thing that sings to me about whatever it is I need to hear at that exact moment in time. More often than not, it calls me toward something better and bigger. Is there such thing? Didn’t I just say beauty is always right in front of us? If I believed it in its most simple form, I would have never left anywhere. Yet, I ceaselessly ramble. I am far from home.

Home is a term that deserves more attention. We compact it into something the size of our fist, which just so happens to anatomically reflect the size of our heart. It is primarily the individual, then the family, the neighborhood, the town, the city, the state, the country, and so on. Why? What makes any of us different, really? There are tight borders, fences around neighborhood communities, doors closed to neighbors and even within the confines of our houses. Privacy, lack of trust, habit. Habit gets us nowhere but where we already are.

There is a force that lingers within us all. A desire for adventure on some scale, whether it be traveling to Jupiter or watching actors do it on television. We want to know more, one way or another, about the unknown. We want it to relate back to ourselves. Isn’t that why people watch reality TV? I urge you to destroy that box and take a step outside. Enter an unknown scenario for yourself and find out how you would act. Are you surprised at the results? Remember that you are adaptable; we all are.

The unknown is all around us, but it is tangible. Observe. Study. Touch things. Interact with them. Pick up a fallen leaf and consider it for a brief moment. Consider everything it represents. The autumn season is upon us, and many of us celebrate the changing colors. This is life and death. This is change. This is natural. When we think of nature, we often think of the circle of life, but we have a difficult time applying the term to our own existence. We are part of the same cycle and not at all above it. Our timeline does not have to be linear if we can respect ourselves and our surroundings enough to change its shape.

Let us begin with respecting ourselves. Even that idea is more complex than it may appear. Ourselves is a term that may pertain to mankind, although I suppose that would technically be our self, in general or ourselves as individuals, which would also be our self. Then again, does self not refer to the individual? So then, by our self as mankind, the group becomes one.

Let us start with the former, our self that is mankind. This is a topic too broad. We all know that humans are supposedly the most intelligent beings on Earth. We can speak, we can reason, we have emotions and can ponder these emotions. Perhaps most dangerously, it seems as though we know no boundaries. Our perceptions of boundaries differ from person to person, from group to group, from culture to culture. It can be seen in the way Mexican laborers attempt to walk through fences or in American politicians ignoring international environmental standards. Of course, our boundaries are not limited to this. From the American West to Outer Space, we have broken borders and perceived boundaries already. From habitat destruction and extinction to breakthrough advances and cures in the medical world, we are breaking more.

What limits should we place on our self? If we are not cooperating, we are competing. That nervous twitch still has us putting our guard up, hands clenched. We have the ability to reason, to think critically of our actions, to feel good or bad about them, to communicate, to grab on to flailing limbs and grasping fingers instead of swatting them away. We have the responsibility to be compassionate in the midst of all our abilities as Homo sapiens. We may stretch across the globe, but we have not been around long enough to be considered the most successful species. We do not properly use our self.

We can love. That statement makes the majority of readers want to stop reading this right now. Love is a word that makes many of us cringe, feel weak, gag, roll our eyes, or take a step back. It is, in reality, not something that any of us should avoid in any way throughout any moment of our existence. It is something that can bond each one of us together. It can give us a feeling of overwhelming unity. And this is where the Anthropologist in me wants to disappear, to stop respecting the presence of hatred in any culture, to blindfold and gag a representative from every culture on the planet and throw them all into a labyrinth, bound to each other until a way out is discovered. I want them all to struggle throughout every turn, to make decisions together, to falter as a group, to feel despair and hope all as one. Ultimately, the ropes, blindfolds, and gags are removed, so they can all see each other and reflect. I hope that love comes from every corner of the globe directed at every other, communicated without a word. It begins with understanding.

Our self, the individual (the latter), is too stubborn too often. It can be said, and I think with good reason, that many of us are a product of our environment. We are born into a situation over which we have no control, assuming we do not believe in reincarnation (in which case, you should strive to be a good person regardless). Time and again, negative experiences from our past permeate our being and are later reciprocated, thus affecting the next individual. We need to look deep within our psyche and accept our past for the good or bad, and we need to be able to affect others positively. A positive influence can and will also be reciprocated.

And when we get to this point where we can love and promote positive encouragement, I ask that we erase more boundaries. Look into our environment within another context. Does nature not encompass all life? Why then, is there a separation between our self and our environment? Why does nature have to end at our sidewalks? Is the human world an artificial one?
We, as humans, are conscious. Earth, on a much larger scale, is conscious too. Although the artificial things sometimes make life more convenient, we survive because of the natural phenomena around us. Mother Nature feels our consequences as much as we do hers, and there is no action without consequence. What a disaster it would be to allow nature to feel our hatred, our disregard, our lack of passion toward positive growth! Remember, all actions are reciprocated.

I will outlive many of you because of my friendship with nature. I will die before many of you because of my compassion for mankind. Or do I have it backwards? There exists beauty in both ideas, and the two concepts should really never have so much separation, not sensibly at least. I will live my life, I will appreciate its beauty, I will embrace it, I will explore, I will tie myself to every other person, I will always feel at home, and I will love it all.

Love everything and inspire others to do the same.

Your friend,

Sparky

The Holiday Season

2007-10-03T13:06:00.000-07:00

The holiday season is officially upon us. I know that many of you believe the season starts around Thanksgiving, but that is because you fail to realize the brilliance of Halloween. Yes, I am already thinking about what to carve into my pumpkin this year, trading my mini milk chocolate bars for special dark minis, and of course, what the hell to dress up as this year. Nate and I are tearing at the walls for ideas, and we are trying to come up with a tandom theme. We have already been invited to two potentially ridiculous rippers on the 27th and 31st and are holding ourselves responsible for at least thirty percent of the entertainment value based on our costume personalities alone. Please, send us your ideas.

This Thanksgiving will be the first one I have spent with family in years. I did have a semi-recent opportunity but opted to spend it with one of my best buds instead, and it was amazing (even though tofurkey is pretty bad). Thanks George. On November 17th, I will be flying into Appleton, Wisconsin to spend a week with my mother's side of the family. They are some of the most sincerely kind people you could ever imagine meeting, and they are truly a blast to be around. My Uncle Chuck called me a few months back and told me that he was getting his hands on some Packers tickets on the 18th. After a little internal debate, I booked my ticket. The excitement of seeing family and Favre all in one week is almost unbearable.

Christmas has me flying back to Syracuse to spend the most popular of holidays with two of my siblings and their families for the first time in five years. Their kids are getting to an age where their personalities are really beginning to show and their interests are becoming unique. I am pumped for the upcoming shopping experience as I search for gifts suitable to each one. Ideas are running rampantly through my mind. I'll also see a lot of great friends that I see far too rarely, which admittedly is something I bring upon myself. I can't lie... the idea of random snowball fights, some hot cocoa, a football game between the Soule Road Elementary and Saint John's Church properties, sledding, and sporting some Cosby-style sweaters over some egg-nog and Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas plus the ensuing catching-up of recent events makes me happier than a kid getting his first Radio Flyer.

I will not, however, be sticking around the 'Cuse for New Year's Eve. Seattle has been so amazing to me in so many ways, but almost overwhelmingly so because of my social circle. New city, new friends... just seems right to spend the beginning of the new year right here. I can not express enough how much I really appreciate the people that have made this place so comfortable for me. If only all of my worlds could collide... I guess that may be too much to handle all at once.

This holiday season promises to be the best I have had in a long time simply because of all of the wonderful people I get to spend it with. If anyone will be in any of these locations around any of these times, please let me know if I don't know already. Otherwise, please consider a trip to the northwest anytime in between.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Clambake

2007-09-30T07:27:00.000-07:00

I woke up today like a kid on Christmas. A chill nipped at my toes, which just barely protruded from the usual afghan creeping up my feet. The sky was barely turning a lighter shade of gray from the black night sky once vaguely bubbled by orange glows, reminiscent of that old Syracuse canvas that stretches overhead unpainted throughout much of the year. No tinsel, bulbs, or presents waiting under that dying pine. Just a Charlie Brown monkey plant in a five-inch ceramic pot that tries too hard to look beaten and well-used, cloaking the potential of the life that it holds. A cold rain falls heavy enough to show itself over certain backgrounds like snow in a street-lamp, dressing the buildings across the street in more pronounced browns and brick reds and tree leaves in new greens.

My cell phone clock read 6:3oAM, and the ceiling seemed to be slapping me awake. A million thoughts rushed into my brain, and that same ceiling began to read them out loud as they scrolled through my eyes like those old cartoon pirate slot machine jackpot gazes upon finding some long awaited treasure chest. I closed them and tried to think of nothing, which is almost worse because that actually involved effort. A good forty-five minutes of this led to me giving in to the pure excitement that I am feeling for this very special day.

Today, my friends, is the last day of regular season baseball. In other words, today is the last game of the season that I have to work at Safeco Field. Of course, there are days of cleaning and inventory to follow, but those days do not carry with them the weight of customer complaints, flow of operations, stressed out bosses and fellow employees, possible health department visits, running out of stock, and the eight million other gameday threats and problems that consistently arise. Eighty one games down. One to go.

Afterwards, the "in-crowd" gets to exit the stadium and walk immediately over to our Clambake Corner. At the Clambake, there will be four different flavors of already tapped kegs as well as various bottled beers that all remain from the end of this homestand. We have been kindly invited to finish them all off. The more quickly we get our stuff done at the end of the game, the sooner the party gets started. We are floating through this one. My boss is throwing out the first pitch and has offered me some time in one of the VIP boxes today. We seem to be slightly overstaffed. Playoffs do not loom on the horizon. It is indeed a day to celebrate. I am already mentally posted up at the Slambake.

Stars Shining Love

2007-09-29T10:33:00.000-07:00

Recently published in The Stranger, the greatest horoscope I have ever seen (and yes was directed to my Taurus sign) has actually had me feeling quite introspective. I have broken this down a thousand times in my head and have plummeted much deeper into what it says than even the author of this 'scope offers (which I believe to be the intention). I will not offer my own interpretations in this post, but I mostly like where it has brought me. Without further ado:

"The secret to success is to always be in love," said educator and ex-army officer John H. Stanford. "Staying in love gives you the fire to ignite other people, to see inside other people, to have a greater desire to get things done than other people." Did Stanford mean that you should forever be infatuated with some irresistible human being? Or was he referring to a more all-purpose phenomenon, like being in love with life? I urge you to meditate with great diligence and exuberance on this matter, Taurus, because you are, in my astrological opinion, going through a phase when love is EVERYTHING. It's the question and the answer, the hammer and the nail, the dreamy necessity and the pragmatic mystery.

Picture Me Rollin'

2007-09-23T21:16:00.000-07:00

Today was a great day. Sure, I had to work a ten-hour, high-stress, ridiculously busy pro-football game while the CEO tossed in a bit of micro-management (not so bad all things considered), but the atmosphere in which my place of employment is situated really pulled through for me on this Sunday. What atmosphere? Sports. Sports. Sports!

I'm still stuck on them. I always have been. I take a lot of pride in my favorite teams. The Orange, the Yanks, the Pack... yeah, I might just bleed their colors depending on the season (although it may all mix into an autumn brown while seasons overlap). Knowing that my hometown Syracuse Orange upset Louisville after a dismal past three years, I could have taken on any crapshoot of angry customers, drunken fanatics, the peeping toms of alcohol enforcement, the looming threat of a possible visit by health department narcs or the condiment gestapo, or even my own eyes crossing after crunching and re-crunching ending inventory numbers... and then crunching them a little more.

The good news was that my highway over this cul-de-sac (which, by the way, literally translates to bottom of a sack in French) just got refabricated, its potholes refilled, and its lines repainted. I glanced at a television and saw something brilliant. The Green Bay Packers had just defeated the pre-season Super Bowl fave San Diego Chargers 31-24. Then the light got brighter. Brett "the greatest player of all-time" Favre tied Dan Marino for most touchdown passes ever (please note: Marino never won a Super Bowl, and since he retired a long time ago, probably never will). I could pretty much coast in neutral through the rest of my workday. I could if it wasn't for that immaculate glare on my windshield that told me GB is 3-0.

The Spaghetti Junction of whatever it is I do to get paid all came to an end eventually, and then I realized that I was on cruise control over a pinstriped one-way... and I wasn't even heading into oncoming traffic. In fact, I think I can now see a Red Sox bumper sticker on that crappy '78 Pinto Wagon just ahead. Anyone remember baseball in 1978? I think the car even had a couple "bucky" dents and monster green patches of putty obscuring the rust. Who got this car back on the road, and why is the rear-view mirror so fucking big? The driver keeps looking back in his best selling sub-compact, whatever that means. Yeah, I'm crawlin' up your back door bitch. The big slab ain't big enough for the both of us you little beaver bean popper, so back 'em up 'cuz y'all on the backslide to the durned shit-pot. In other words, Yanks win... 1 1/2 games back.

It is now pushing 11PM, and I am running on empty. 11 o'clock. Anyone remember sports 11 years ago? That was the season the Yanks scalped the Bravos and the Pack tea-bagged the Patriots. Yeah, it's been a great day.

One thing I don't get though... why has every sign on this road been reading Argentina, Argentina, Argentina?!

Y'all come back now ya' hear? Over 'n' out.

A Plan Evolves

2007-09-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

This whole thing is taking on a mind of its own, and we are racing ahead toward a plan that may or not make sense. I can not speak for Nate or our other traveling partner(s), but it is becoming quite apparent that whatever is to come early next year is guaranteed to be my own greatest adventure to date.

We found an extremely cheap flight deal, which would take us from Seattle to Buenos Aires, overland travel to Ushuaia (our base camp for exploring Tierra del Fuego, Patagonia, and hopefully Antarctica), fly to Santiago, Chile and then travel overland to Peru, and fly from Lima to Seattle. According to this planned itinerary, it would take approximately four months. This is a time-frame and plan that will probably change multiple times, but at least we have begun to etch something into this giant piece of granite that rests in front of us.

Antarctica is ridiculously expensive. There are a limited number of ships that offer excursions to the continent, and so prices are around three grand for the cheapest of trips. I'm already considering the idea of taking on another job to make this happen. How could we come so close without going? We can't. Additional inspiration has come from some kid's blog, which you should read if you have some time to kill.

I am psyched out of my mind and am having trouble focusing on anything else right now. My mind wanders off in the middle of conversations and takes me to a place I want to know more. This time, there are no nervous twitches. There are only butterflies on speed. I'm already flying.

Broken Shoe Diaries

2007-09-12T12:50:00.000-07:00

After months of deliberation, a decision has finally been made. Perhaps decision is not the best term. I like the word destination better. After months of deliberation, a destination has finally been chosen. In January, two things happen: my lease is up, and my potential working hours basically disappear at my current job (due to the off-season for both football and baseball). In my head, this all equates to the idea that I should go somewhere far away for a while. This time around, far away is South America.

It is the continent that has been calling me far longer than any other, and I am tired of not answering. Just looking at it on the map that stretches across the wall in front of me gives me an adrenaline rush. My heart pounds violently out of my chest for this place like a wild beast trapped in a cage, desperate for escape. Only, in this case, the door is wide open. The hallway in front of it takes approximately four more months to walk, but I am actually enjoying the stroll.

Joining me (at the very least) will be Nate and a newer buddy from Seattle. All it took for a final decision to be made was a couple pitchers of Kiltlifter and one very generic dive bar, complete with a few townies and a plethora of overplayed jukebox tunes.

The plan: travel really far.

The method: dunno.

Objective: Explore the Latin American continent that we only know by books.

That’s about it so far. We have talked about Ecuador, Peru, Chile, Bolivia, Argentina, and Brazil, but we are not completely dedicating or limiting ourselves to these particular countries. One possible itinerary would add another continent to the trip. Clue: it is very cold and has lots of penguins. If you think you know the place, please send your answer and $50 in a sealed envelope to:

Sparky the Nomad
801 Spring St 2-801
Seattle, WA 98104

Stranger Series I

2007-09-08T01:20:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to a friend that I haven't seen in a while. She just moved to Arizona where there just so happens to be some supposedly amazing Day of the Dead celebrations. This postcard is my representation of that celebration through images that I found in a local free Seattle publication known as The Stranger. The sent card is my attempt at getting this person and her friends to become part of the event in person and in force. The image wasn't copied here as well as I had hoped, but it is the best that we could do with the technology at hand. For more information, please check out: Dia de los Difuntos.

Telephone Pole Series I

2007-09-04T21:38:00.000-07:00

The latest series of creative projects in my apartment revolves around the creation of postcards from things we find around town. Send me your addy, and you may get one soon. This one was made from a series of found pieces of art that we found on telephone poles on a walk home after saying goodbye to a new friend. It is symbolic of the time and conversations I have had with this person thus far.

Antler and Chair

2007-09-04T20:19:00.000-07:00

After years of deliberation, I finally found a symbol worthy of being on my body for the duration of my existence. I always knew that I wanted something that symbolized family, at least my version of it. I knew I wanted something that symbolized my mother above all, being the one who has shaped me into who I am as an individual more than anyone (at least the better parts of me). My siblings had to be represented as well (they have been amazing to me throughout my entire life in so many ways). Nate started talking to me about symbols that have been important to him, what they meant, and led me through an exploration of his own tattoo and the one that would be next. The symbol ultimately came to me from a story that I have carried for ten years...

When my mother passed away, my world should have crumbled into nothing... at least, that's what I thought would happen. It was my biggest nightmare. One day, it came like a fucking bullet. The shot echoed through my suddenly empty being, and the world dropped from underneath. There is nothing like it. Nothing. But, my world came back and hit damn hard. All of us kids dealt with it in a different way. We had been through something similar before, but this shit was unreal, intense. I had a difficult time even crying for a while. My siblings were almost too worried about me, being the baby of the family... but damn I was worried about them. As openly emotional as I can be at times, I'm not as fragile as one might think. Still, this one was hard to grasp for all of us. Before the funeral, I stood in the parking lot with my siblings and uncle, and we looked into the woods on the far side of the parking lot of the funeral home, just hugging each other for comfort in some sort of effort to focus on what was happening. We were trying to lay her to rest, but how do you go back to sleep when you're in the middle of a waking nightmare? Just then, a deer slowly stepped out of the trees into the parking lot and stopped to look at us. It was the most beautiful and peaceful creature I have ever seen in my life. It blinked a couple of times as if to say "it's ok," and then it slowly turned and leapt back into the trees from which it came. That's how you lay someone to rest. Come to a peaceful understanding. For us (or me at the very least), it took a white-tailed deer.

Now, that experience is etched forever in my left forearm as an antler. There is a point for each of us siblings. I found the shape of the image that I really wanted in a book from the library and turned to an artist that connects me to Rancho Mastatal, the place that has made me feel better about humanity, nature, and everything in between than any other. This tattoo artist is a fellow former volunteer to the Ranch and friends with many mutual friends. Nate and I decided that we would get our tatts by the same guy on the same day. Brian was kind enough to put an entire evening aside just for us. He is a person that is excited about life, about his surroundings, and about just about everything that he sees. You can read it in his expressions, in his art, in the way he asks questions, in the way he hugs, and in his worn jeans.I gave him my ideas and a couple images, and he ran with them. Within about a half hour, we had come to a sketch that I fell in love with. Another half hour later meant that it was stenciled on my arm. Before I knew it, a needle was rapidly jabbing my forearm back and forth. It hurt a lot less than I expected. I even watched the damn thing go. For fifteen minutes, I was fine. Then, I started thinking about what was happening. That and the fact that I hadn't eaten anything all day threw me into a light-headed whirlpool of fading vision and green skin. Some fresh air and a Snickers bar had me back on top and ready for some more pain on purpose (not really pain though... just an irritating feeling... I swear it really does not hurt). The rest of the tattoo process went smoothly and without incident. We actually played Picnic and The Name Game throughout and laughed like we would have around the front porch on a random Ranch night (by we, I mean Brian, Nate, myself, and Karen... basically our sister from another mister out here). And then, it's all done. That's it. Besides the fact that my arm was more red than Chris Sabo's hat, my arm looked great. Better than I could have imagined. Some ooze and plastic wrap meant I was ready to go.

Nate's turn. He had been through this before, a couple times. On his right forearm is a human karyotype. If I tried to explain the meaning, I would not do it justice. I can offer you something better though... call me and ask to talk to Nate. He will gladly tell you the story. Seriously. I just asked him. This time around, he would be getting a Shaker chair on the inside of his left bicep. It is a symbol of simplicity. Again, you want the details? Make the phone call already... he's a great guy. As simple as the meaning may seem, it is somehow much more complex. It was easy to tell when Brian hit a tender spot on him, but at least he didn't need a Snickers.

So, we got an antler and a chair. Both firsts for Brian, but he loved doing them both. He appreciated the ideas. The entire experience was well worth it. It was two weeks ago, and it is just now reaching complete normality. It takes a lot of care after you send your skin into complete shock, like an open wound. Once it heals however, you have a piece of art with which you better be sure you fall in love. Thanks Bri. I think I'm in love.

Bumbershoot and Ridicularity

2007-09-04T13:00:00.000-07:00

I woke up Sunday morning, as usual when I'm not working, to the sound of the church bells across the street. After eating a heaping mound of Life cereal covered in soy milk, I checked my email. George had sent something that pretty much floored Nate and me. It was hilarious, ridiculous, and it was just for the boys. And, furthermore, it prompted me to declare my day as being devoted to finding my own slice of ridicularity.

Nate and I finally left the apartment (after a couple episodes of Lost) at about 1:30PM and hopped on a bus headed for Queen Anne (the area of Seattle where the Seattle Center is, which is home to the Space Needle). Every year, the Seattle Center is home to a large music festival called Bumbershoot. Headlining this year would be Wu-Tang and The Shins, but we were attending the one day that neither of those two groups would be playing.

Instead, we headed straight for the beer garden in front of the stage that would welcome the Watson Twins. You may know them from their accompaniment with Jenny Lewis. I don't really know where to begin with these two, so I'll just say this... they're fucking hot. Nate claimed dibbs on the one in the red, while I settled for the more talented one who could actually play the guitar (and was not limited to shaking a tamborine). Either way, one great voice automatically increases the attractiveness of a female. Dressing like a rock star also factors well. Having a double increases it tenfold. It was a great way to start the day, nice and mellow, melodic, and it even enticed us for a brief moment to wait in a long line to have them autograph our bodies. Instead, food and a larger stage beckoned.

The main stage brought us gyros and pizza, not to mention the Kings of Leon. If it weren't for the scorching sun and sweat-drenched privates and lack of vampires in general, I would have sworn that I was in the middle of the party in Lost Boys, only the sax player is replaced by Bruce Springsteen, the guitarist by Slash, and Corey Haim by Nate. Nate had seen them before in a much smaller venue, and I'm sure much gets lost in translation during a larger scale outdoor daytime show. I still wouldn't say it was wasted time. What, between the taper jean girl in front of us just trying to get a glimpse over Joe's head while completely jamming out to Holy Roller Novocaine and the kid passed out to our right from drinking a bucket full of milk. I wouldn't be surprised if she laid there until the red morning light.

We had to go. It was enough, plus Gabriel Teodros was spittin' rhymes on the next stage over. Representin' 206! This guy is supposedly paving the way for Northwest hip-hop. It became readily apparent that all you need to be a succesful hip-hopper in the PNW is to be able to throw a giant party on stage with all of your closest friends in matching t-shirts while getting the crowd to constantly "throw their hands up." Nah dogg, it ain't goin' down like that. I believe in giving credit where credit is due. This guy had a great voice and smooth flow. His best buddy had a slight streak of DMX-style anger to let out, another seemed to have the sole purpose of hyping up the crowd by whacking around his braids and hopping around like Busta, the main female vocalist apparently painted her shirt on that morning with no good reason (at least if the band's van blew a tire, she'd have a spare... but the girl truly had some pipes), and numerous others with some equally strange personalities that couldn't overshadow their talent. Gabriel, you have some potential. Good lookin' out kid.

Alright, so Gabriel took his posse off stage. Party over right? Hell no... the party was just getting started, and Barrington Levy was about to take the helm. I've loved reggae as long as I can really remember appreciating music, and this guy is as close as most performing reggae artists come to legendary status these days. Seeaaaaaa-aatle! Are you sleeping? Noooo--ohhh! Everyone snapped into it like a rasta Slim Jim, and I was ready to catch the next red-eye to Kingston mon. This dude had everyone screaming, singing along, throwing their hands up, and feeling so fucking wonderful that he could have shot us all in the foot and we would have just been happy enough to have another one. I skipped out on the Apples in Stereo for this guy, and I was utterly content with the decision. I felt Irie!

The next spot in the lineup was difficult to choose, only because we didn't really give two shits about anyone performing and were drunk enough to go with the flow by this point. So, we stayed put. The next dude cancelled because he was apparently snowed in at O'Hare, so the Blue Scholars (another collective hip-hop movement) decided to jump in his window. Repping Washington, Cali, and the Mile High City, they took the stage by storm, yet another hip-hop party had commenced. There's not much more to say besides the fact that there was no Gin and Powerade on tap or malt liquor. They made up for it though with their own great white hype, full of talent yet lacking the bling that represents the downward spiral of today's urban music scene... the antonym to your Eminem, but still rocking the thesaurus like nobody's biznass since the days of the Hiphopapotamus and Rhymocerous.

Nate was then supposed to attend the Bumbershoot spelling bee with Monica, a graphic artist from LA that we had just met on a lunch date with our friend Rachael. Because my cell is too stupid to receive text messages, he missed out on something potentially exceptional, e-x-s-e-p-s-h-u-n-a-l, exceptional. This night, it just wasn't meant to be. You'll get 'em next time killer.

So here's a new question: what do you get when you cross a classically trained violinist with a younger Beck (with sense) and loops the likes of Meddle? If you didn't answer Andrew Bird, you obviously weren't at Bumbershoot. This guy blew our fucking minds. His studio stuff is pretty damn good, but seeing him live is almost harrowing it's so brilliant. Nothing that I say can do this performance justice. I wasn't as energized as I was seeing Barrington Levy, but the entire crowd watched in awe, and I wouldn't have been surprised to see people in tears throughout much of the performance. The Space Needle illuminated a night sky behind him as he shined light into a musical realm that I had never heard explored. Well done sir.

Party over. We were exhausted, so we began the long trek home. Rachael and company had invited us out for their last hurrah before moving back down to Cali, but Lost, shmack and cheese, and a pair of comfy couches had also seduced us. Halfway through the first episode, I sank into a deep slumber. When I woke, Nate had visions of sugar plums and had already moved to the comfort of his own twin bed. I glanced at my cell: 12:15AM. I had a great day, but I had yet to find the ridicularity I promised Georgie. One chance remained, and it included some cute girls at an Irish pub in Pioneer Square. I threw on my black derby cap, grabbed a black sweater (apparently feeling hipsterish), laced up my PF Flyers, and strolled to Fado. Rachael, Monica, Fish 'n' Chips, Daniel, and Santiago were surprised with open arms. A few glasses of Smithwick's had me re-primed and ready to rock out to some live Irish renditions of Social Distortion and U-2, culminating in an all-out dance party to Sunday Bloody Sunday.

The bar was closing, and I was spent. Alas, I gave in to some peer pressure and jumped in Daniel's car headed for Capitol Hill. The motivation: let's go dancing at Neighbor's. Neighbor's is a gay dance club that stays open until the wee hours of morning (they just stop serving at 2AM). Dance clubs aren't necessarily my forte, and this one came complete with guy in leather vest, greased hair, and chaps dancing in a cage just above us. It was the first time I had ever seen a long line exiting the men's bathroom because all of the guys were so set on proper handwashing and hygiene. This place was indeed ridicularious. Yeah, I cut a rug or two for a good hour or so before deciding that it was time for sugarplums of my own. I bid farewell to the gang and realized how much I'll miss the presence of my new-found friends here in Seattle. Just a few more reasons to make the trip down to California. Dickey, Kathy, Mc, Liz, Erin, Colleen, Rachael, Fish 'n' Chips, Monica, Rimmers... clear your schedule, keep us posted on any upcoming spelling bee's, notify the gay bars, iron your best Sunday clothes, and put on your drinking caps... coming soon: the Nate and Sparky Traveling Medicine Show (dates TBA).

When Life is Good: Havana Nights

2007-09-02T02:13:00.000-07:00

My steps sweep Spring like brushstrokes on a high-hat. No paint, but the rhythm tells me that life is good. Miss bitter dances on my tastebuds while I am in sync with something sweeter. A whirlwind of disaster and beauty just swept me off my feet, tossing me into a torrent of past and future. The dots on that thin black line just smeared across the whole damn thing, and I'm not sure where I started or when it all ends. All that is apparent is this new dot on the map, somewhere between failed expectations and new breath. Beginnings and ends fade into a sphere, and all that matter are north, south, east, and west. Fuck it. This grid is jacked any way you spin it. Feet don't tread well on marbles, and I am fairly certain that my grip slipped, so I'm back to my back. Which are the stars and who the dreams? Why the uncertain instead of the seen? Tap tap tap; my door is cracked. The rabbit enters just to tell me the road once again beckons. It is a dotted line. Sometimes it just happens.

Mad for Grad V

2007-08-15T00:21:00.000-07:00

It's off for another year officially. Fall 2009 is the new maybe. I still haven't taken the GREs or prepared for them in any way whatsoever. Of course, I don't have the funding either (but there are always ways around that... like committing to a zillion year long PhD program). Sorry to all my favorite Brits, but it looks as though my education with an accent is at least postponed. Feel free to find me a well paying job out there though... as long as you're ok with me going fucking nuts every time Gerrard scores a goal for Liverpool... and I'm in. Otherwise, Seattle may just keep its grasp... although I heard the Galapagos are hiring.

I've Got Wings On My Shoes (and Thoughts)

2007-08-12T19:25:00.000-07:00

It's about that time again. The time when I bring everything that I'm doing with myself into question. Any why does this happen? I'm making decent money for the first time ever really, I absolutely love Seattle, my social base is ridiculous here, there are plenty of opportunities to volunteer around these parts (which I will be doing for the arboretum), my living situation is great, etc., etc., etc.

So what is the problem? I guess I'm just not feeling challenged enough. My job carries enough weight between the long hours and stress, but seriously... it's glorified fast food. How much of that weight can I really carry home? Of course, it can be argued that the only one that can challenge myself in the situation I'm in is me. But, I feel like I've done pretty well thus far and don't really waste much time even outside of work.

I wish I could just be happy in one spot eternally. It's just these damn feet of mine that seem to have grown their own brains. My left is all super-ego and my right pure id. What's going to happen when football season is over and my lease is up come January? Can I really work this job another year? Can I stay somewhere that makes me feel so damn comfortable that it's almost irritating? I've never been much of a fan of comfort. Foreign lands beckon, and I'm already growing weary of unanswered calls. I guess time will tell... it always does.

Breaking News: Fast Food Now Good For You

2007-08-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

A couple months ago, I sent out a mass email to the Rancho Mastatal fanbase asking for the support of all Seattleites and/or visitors to this fair city. What would this support entail exactly? Slinging hot dogs and garlic fries to fans of our national pasttime. A few hours, one day out of the year (or more if desired), taking orders and feeding these hungry beasts of baseball spectation, and cash money for the Mastate Charitable Foundation (all funds going directly to efforts in Mastatal).

The reaction has been great, and we've already raised a few hundred dollars. Thanks everyone who has come thus far (especially you multi-game all-stars). Football season is rapidly approaching with more need for volunteers and more opportunity to raise even more money for our favorite little town.

Meanwhile, I have been talking to one of the big bosses about raising the price of our garlic fries by twenty-five cents on the menu. It's an idea he had a while back, so now I'm trying to prod it through the gates at both Qwest and Safeco Fields. With every order, this extra quarter would be donated to a single charity. After crunching some numbers, we are thinking it could bring in $50,000 to $80,000 a year. The charity would change each year, and I'm hoping to change continents each year as well. Ideally, we would document where all of this money goes and show a short documentary in film festivals, etc. The hope is that other stands and stadiums would see this initiative and follow with their own. That's a potential of millions toward good causes across the globe all because of interest in some sporting events! I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Springfield, WA

2007-08-09T18:41:00.000-07:00

Shown above is an accurate Simspons character portrayal (by Dickey) of everyone crashing at my place for The Simpsons Movie opening weekend. Dickey and Kathy flew in from Vacaville (CA), Neil from Charlotte (NC), McMahon from San Diego (CA), and Dwight from Fort Worth (TX) on his way out to go live near Missoula (MT).

It was an amazing weekend, regardless of the fact that I still had to work a billion hours at the stadium. Catching up with the gang is something that hasn't happened since Thanksgiving and something that should happen much more often (as Neil repeatedly said). In any case, this trip included drinking lots of Buzz Cola, Duff Beer (really just regular beer that we labeled Duff), amazing donuts from Pike Place, watching old episodes of the Simpsons, going to a Mariners game at Safeco (I actually got to sit and watch instead of work), hitting up a few random bars, seeing some of Spoon live at the Capitol Hill Block Party, laughing our asses off, and seeing The Simpsons Movie.

Seeing this brilliant flick was the pinnacle of many of our friendships. Sitting next to Neil at the theater and hearing/seeing/feeling him laugh and convulse brought me back to some of the happiest moments in my young life... you know the times... like when Homer says "I'm not going to lie to you Marge," and then he just walks away from her without explanation. Or when Homer mashes the keypad with hand because his fingers are too fat. Or when Homer... you get the idea. Only, at the same time, I got to see Homer on the big screen. It was everything I imagined and more. There is no need for me to write a review... you can and should go see it for yourself. Or just read Dickey's review on his blog (use your drinking bird to click on the link on the left). I laughed through the movie and beyond and am still experiencing the occasional tremor.

Thanks everyone for coming out. Who would have thought that ultimately I would be the one working the weekend that The Simpsons Movie would finally arrive? Doesn't make much sense is all. Thanks again for accomodating my schedule guys... you're the world's greatest.

Lonesome Dove

2007-08-09T17:36:00.000-07:00

Imperial, our favorite Costa Rican blend of barley and hops, has a tendency to make you do and/or say just about anything. At least, it allows you that excuse. One night at the Pulperia in my favorite little town of Mastatal, my buddy Nate and I pounded a promise to each other...

"We should move somewhere cool when we get back to the States," Nate said to me. Ideas and possibilities started floating around... San Francisco, Oakland, Madison. I've done this with friends before and ended up somewhere completely different solo just about every time.

"Fuck it dude, let's just move to Seattle," I said over a cold one.

"OK." We pounded fists, and that was that.

So, here we are. It is now August, and we have been living together on the fringe of downtown Seattle since early June. The living situation thus far is about as perfect as they come. No fights, no major annoyances, and the occasional beatings that you would give a brother. Sure, we throw shoes, tackle each other in the hallway, and break pool cues over each other in that little hole-in-the-wall across the street, but that's all in good fun.

Nate is now my assistant manager at Safeco Field, and we've already been asked to run the largest stand at Qwest Field for football season. Our hours are long, but there is no business tension whatsoever. We just rock it out and leave it on the field. Then, we generally go home late at night and watch an episode of LOST, The Simpsons, Arrested Development, Lonesome Dove, or a bad Asian horror movie before crashing. Outside of work, we also spend approximately 99.9% of waking moments together. And yet, life is good. And happy.

Creativity runs rampantly through our little bachelor pad. It is not uncommon for us to make our own postcards for random friends, paint, create other pieces of art, plan short films, write songs, cook some delicious food, or work on other various projects. This is simply the type of living situation that suits me. There is little room for laziness (only when needed) but no limit to possibility.

We are the Augustus "Gus" McCrae and Woodrow F. Call of Seattle, relatively unexplored territory for us until moving here. We give each other a lot of shit, but never seriously. Somehow, that Ranch where we both started moves relationships quickly and strengthens the bonds of friendship more rapidly than any other place I know. Now, we are two people that carry on the mentality every visitor acquires at the ranch, but we are living in a completely different situation... but not necessarily one where it is any less valuable. I have only known Nate since December. He is already one of the best friends I could imagine having. My perspective on just about everything I see is changing even more than usual today because he allows me to look at things through his eyes too, and it all looks pretty positive. When you come across this world, you'll see a sign that reads: uva uvam vivendo varia fit. Please stop in... it's been one hell of a party.

Slainte!

2007-08-09T16:33:00.000-07:00

"Whatever. It doesn't matter to us. We're happy with anything. We're just happy to be spending time with you." This is the answer I got when asking Jim and Brittny where they would like to eat the night they arrived in Seattle about two months ago (editor's note: my concept of the passing of time is about as good now as it was while I was lost in the rainforest). This answer was almost identical to Dwight's attitude the first time he visited. How am I so lucky to be surrounded by such great people so often?

We ended up at Hot Mama's that night. Mine and Jim's love for a nice slice of thin-crust New York Style Pizza dates back to growing up in upstate New York under those beautiful gray skies of Syracuse that reek of the greasy mozzarella and homemade sauces of Avicolli's and Gino and Joe's. If only they could have precipitated pizza between snowstorms. Hot Mama's is about as close as you can get to that pleasure anywhere west of the 315 area code (with exception to the wonderful Mama Mia's in Geneseo). Pagliacci's is the other amazing and close-but-no-cigar call here in Seattle.

They were only here for a couple days and nights, but it was amazing. We were able to relax and just catch up on the past year and a half or so (since their wedding... the last time I was able to spend more than 24 hours with the happy couple). It is difficult to pick a highlight of the weekend, especially since that entire weekend is forever highlighted on my calendar as the first time a family member (or two in this case) has ever come to visit me. Granted, I make this feat extremely difficult to accomplish since I remain in one place about as long as I remained interested in the pod race scene of Star Wars... and often end up in places outside of most people's comfort levels. In any case, it really meant a lot.

Jim just landed his own store through CED (his employer). I was really hoping that this promotion would land him in Annacortes, Washington (just a couple hours north of here in a town where I recently attended a "Shipwreck Sale," where I scored a couple great t-shirts and the classic boardgame Battleship for two dollars). Instead, he was shipped off to Sheridan, Wyoming. Lucky for him, he has an extremely supportive wife who was willing to make the move. Those two are great.

We did get to eat some good Irish pub food at Fado, which was also the spot where I rekindled my friendship with Mike Lee (my best friend until he moved away in fifth grade). Fado also has Smithwick's on tap, which suits me just fine. Just being in an Irish pub with my brother and Britt made my day... my month... my year. But it does raise one important question: when the fuck are all of us siblings and significants going to buck up and go to Ireland together?

WARNING: Slew of Posts to Follow

2007-08-09T16:23:00.000-07:00

That day has finally arrived: the one where I catch up on everything that I haven't written about recently. There is a lot to tell, so I'm sure that I will forget at least ninety percent of the details. Here goes...

Who Needs the Kwik-E-Mart?

2007-07-04T09:11:00.000-07:00

I do.

Here's the deal: 7-Elevens Transform into Kwik-E-Marts.

A few days ago, Dickey sent me an email explaining how great it was that they chose Seattle as the meeting place for the Simpsons movie. Who is they? They would include Dickey, Kathy, Neil, and McMahon... and they are all coming out at the end of July. Yes, the movie is that important.

The Simpsons is that thing that bonded all of us together. The smell of delicious Indian food was enough to send us into the clouds (already as happy as if we had each just sucked down a balloon full of nitrous), and then 11 big beautiful yellow letters would break the clouds... throwing us straight into Springfield, USA. It's a pea-sized town with lima-bean-sized expectations. Kathy hadn't yet laid her eyes upon her werewolf boy toy, but the rest of us were stuck to the Prakash household leather couches. Peeling our thighs off each cushion after a season-(insert season number here) marathon like a rubber boot in tar on a hot summer day.

Half our conversations with each other were straight quotes from the show. Neil and I gave announcements at our high school annex for National Honor Society fundraisers, but all we ever really did was quote a few lines from Radioactive Man, Comic Book Guy, or numerous other characters before coming to an awkward pause... ending with something like "uh, so bring in your change for Pasta for Pennies."

Of course, Dickey and Neil have a knowledge of the show that far surpasses that of McMahon or me. I'm sure that once they get here, just like back in the day, Dickey and Neil will be having one of their conversations completely derived from an episode I haven't seen in years, and McMahon and I will give our courtesy chuckles... praying that neither one of them notices we have no clue what episode they are referring to. Then, we'll blow our cover by laughing harder at the ones we do know... most likely entering the conversation and screwing up one small word, only to be corrected by the know-it-alls. It is Dickey's belief that he and Neil can no longer be friends after this film... what more do they have to live for? Is there anything left to talk about? Our group of friends is based on this animated family... and they are about to hit the big screen. The only thing that could beat it is if they actually walk out of the screen and hang out with us.

OK, so they're all coming to Seattle. We all love the show. Kearney isn't flying in from Taiwan for some reason to join us. We do plan on watching the show non-stop once they all get here, dressing up like Simpsons characters (Dickey called Maggie... I haven't quite decided yet), riding around in a limo, drinking the champagne of beers, and getting Squishees at our local Kwik-E-Mart. I've already gone in and ordered an All-Syrup Super Squishee (I had to settle for the next closest thing... high energy citrus)... whoa that's good Squishee. Let's just hope they open up a Moe's Tavern in time.

Dwight is the Nunchukus Against Rain

2007-06-18T16:06:00.000-07:00

The past month has been one giant smoothie. The days and nights blend together into some delicious flavor of life inside a seemingly endless mug. Of course, for a few days, someone threw a sweet little strawberry into the mix... one you may know better as our good friend Dwight. He flew in around midnight or so one night, and my friend Martha was nice enough to take me down to Sea-Tac to go get him. I don't think we did much that night except drink a couple beers and try to watch Supercroc... yes, it is just as bad as it sounds.

The next day, we got up and decided to rent a car so that we could drive out to Montana and surprise my brother and his wife in Great Falls. The drive is better than I remembered. Just outside of Seattle, everything turns green, and the ground rises into amazing mountainsides full of tall pines. Eastern Washington kind of blows, so I tried to speed through it as Dwight talked business on a conference call. Little did I know that the highway patrol on that side of the state are apparently expert aircraft speedbusters. They caught me from above doing 80, 82, and 83 in a 70. The dude wrote me up for 10 over, threatened to impound the rental car since it was in Dwight's name and not mine, and then kindly sent us on our way. In any case, it made Dwight's conference call much more entertaining than it would have otherwise been. Idaho marks the start of more natural beauty, and Montana still kicks ass. Taking 200 through the mountain passes from Missoula to Great Falls remains one of my favorite stretches of road in the country, and this time it was accentuated by a freakin' snowstorm!

Dear Montana,

It's not supposed to snow when June is just days away.

Love,

Sparky

At about 9:30PM, we pulled up to Jim and Britt's house and knocked. A little furball named Penelope (pee-nah-lohp) started yipping up a storm as Britt's jaw dropped and her arms swung around us. Instant happiness for all of us. She changed into some "going out" clothes, and we headed out to Club Bighouse (my old stompin' grounds) where my brother was jockeying discs. Dwight walked up to the booth to request a song, which promptly warranted a stunned look on Jim's face... instant joy once again. I had called him for his address earlier that night but had devised a clever plan of incoming UPS gifts to fool him (which he fell for like the sucker that he is). The incoming package was two of the coolest people known to man.

I was unbelievably psyched to see Amy as well. We sat down on the Brick side of the bar (sports bar where we had once wasted many hours on useless trivia, sports games, and slots) and caught up as quickly as possible. We have since re-created a friendship that should have never faded in the first place. Amy is easily one of the greatest people I have ever met in my life... ever. I also got to catch up with Kyle and Jenna, which was sweet.

Afterwards, we headed back to Jim and Britt's to chill for a while. I think we fell asleep watching a crappy movie. I honestly don't remember what we watched, but then again, Jim can actually be entertained by Heath Ledger movies... so who cares what we were watching? A Knight's Tale... are you serious? It's a good thing I have a tighter bond with him than the Three Amigos do with each other.

Our ride back was uneventful to the normal person, although Dwight and I got to catch up and see the most sweet-ass landscape that anyone who has eyes could enjoy. Our plans for a sing-along night at a piano bar fell through, so we did other stuff. My memory fails me as to exactly whta happened (see Dwight's blog for details... maybe). I do know that we hit up a German bar with delicious beer and pretzels with our friend Dan (Dwight made some remarks that may offend anyone without a twisted cross on their arms), and we incessantly stared at the greatest invention known to man (although it was made naturally). I then fake duct-taped Dan in a blue-bowl before we headed up to FolkFest.

It was there that I saw one of the first five people I met at the Ranch in Costa Rica... Chris Lemmon. While hanging out in a random beer garden, I saw this hippy dressed exactly like me (the only difference was the hairline that actually reached to the front). I walked over to him, said hi, and we were friends again. About two hours later, I met another Ranchoer at a karaoke bar just after singing Gilligan's Island or Brady Bunch and just before Rudolph. The mood was upbeat and amazing until I grabbed the mic... both times. That's how talented I am.

One day, Dwight and I got to take a cruise around the Puget Sound for about a third of the price as usual... mostly because he brought Indiana weather with him... aka... raining Gary-poo. It did allow us to buy beer from unattractive females while sailing the high seas. I also learned 3 things about Seattle... but I have to take the cruise again to remember them. Dwight?

The real point of this story is that one of the best friends you can imagine came to visit me in my new home. He was the first one to do it, which speaks volumes about his personality. Dwight is one of the most loyal, hilarious, smelly, clever, and honest people I know. I wish he could have come while I was living in my new pad, but beggars can't be choosers. Having Dwight around is like having family... there is no need for effort... just being around is enough. When you have company and don't need to worry about entertaining, you know you are in the midst of comfort. I wish Dwight was still here.

Updates

2007-06-05T11:37:00.000-07:00

Posts categorized as in production. I will not get to any of this until Wednesday evening at the earliest as I am working for the majority of the next 30 hours. Updates will include:

A Visit to Seattle by Dwight (Including a Quick Montana Trip)
Mad for Grad
New Apartment and Roomie
Anticipation for the Simpson's Movie
Safeco Field Fundraiser for Rancho Mastatal

I stole the update blog idea for the day from Dwight. If you aren't him or don't live in WA, you probably need to visit CheapAir and book yourself a flight to Seattle because you are officially a loser until you do. Dwight, welcome to the winner's circle.

Call the Locksmith

2007-06-01T02:26:00.000-07:00

Apparently, they changed all of the exterior locks on the apartment building where I am living at the moment. I still have Emily's keys from before her trip to South America (which began two months ago), so that is creating a problem (still because of the fact that there exists a felon with the same name as me in Texas, thus not allowing my new move into a sweet pad just yet). It took me an hour to get in after getting back from work tonight after some post-game social time. If it wasn't for the laptop in my bag, I would have been sleeping in the bushes... but I finally managed to somehow jimmy the door open (a must since nobody in this building believes in any sort of nightlife?). It's actually kind of funny. The rest of the week is going to be interesting. I wish I were skinny enough to fit under the door... almost but not quite.

Update: I got a new key! So much for going on a diet.

When Life is Good (on a Blockbuster Video Return)

2007-05-30T22:33:00.000-07:00

I float down Broadway like an unseen ghost. Hipsters and fags (and I say that endearingly) pass by without even a glance. Even the bums aren't shaking my pockets for change tonight. My happiness is so apparent that it is transparent. Maybe it's rubbing off or it rubbed off on me from another source. Everyone is in tune, but with what? Nobody else on 10th is listening to Harry Connick Jr. Is it the weather? The bronze footsteps in the sidewalk tell us how to dance, but everyone is already in a jam session with no chosen song. Head nods all around, a little shimmy, and a smile. I'm a ghost alright, but I'm wearing tap shoes and playing slalom between lamp-posts like Gene Kelly. It isn't raining, but I wouldn't notice even if it was. Take my umbrella if you feel the downpour. I'm sliding across sand like Fred Astaire so eloquently that it sounds like I'm telling secrets. Maybe I'm still floating above broken glass, but only if my feet are so calloused that the rest of my body is tickled. I have the recipe for love but with noone in particular. It doesn't need sugar 'cause it's already sweet. You taste it? Let your brain go and try it with your senses. It will keep you coming back for more.

On the Run from Johnny Law

2007-05-30T20:51:00.001-07:00

So, I've been trying to get accepted into an amazing apartment complex downtown with my buddy Nate (who is finally on his way up here). The biggest snag in the process has been the fact that someone with my name was apparently convicted of a felony or sexual offense in Tarrant County, Texas (where I once lived). Holy annoying. I've never been so mad at Brian O'Rourke.

Seattle Social Needle

2007-05-30T19:21:00.000-07:00

Moving to a new place always brings the excitement and anxiety of "starting over." New job? Always doable... I feel very lucky to have found mine just after arriving. It's all about timing. Seriously, what isn't? Getting your bearings? A few random bus-rides and strolls around the city quickly take care of that. Seattle is no longer upside down, backwards, and leaving me feeling like I just spun around ten times with my head on the end of a whiffle-ball bat. Good places to eat? Try finding a bad place to eat around here. If you do, quickly wash it down with a slice of pizza from Pagliacci's. It cures all. Social circle? Always the most exciting in my mind, but this move has been a little different...

After about two and a half months of being a Seattlite (has it been that long?), my social base has become fairly ridiculous. Yeah, it happens almost wherever I go. I like people. I get along with everyone. But I still generally feel like it takes a little bit of effort to thread together that web... sitting there in the middle, moving quickly to create a new corner, stringing it to the next connection, reinforcing it between, and catching whoever happens to be walking by... thus making he or she the next corner. Obviously, there are favorite spots within this web to hang out, corners of web that collect cobwebs, and so on and so on. What it comes down to is that I can't express my appreciation for the ease of creating this thing I have going in Seattle enough. It has created itself, and much of it was done before I arrived.

It started with connections through the Ranch and the wonderful Timo and Robeen (Em, Meg, Em, Gus, Erin, Christian, Holly, Courtney, Shannon, Kris, Jake... the ones I've seen so far). More Mastatal connections elude me thus far, but I'm confident they'll pop up (Timothy, Kimberly, Kat, Kristen, Margaret, and many more). Others, I have discovered (one recently at karaoke) or rediscovered (Lemmon... randomly at Folkfest the same night). Rancho Mastatal has molded the majority of my social base here. And, unsurprisingly, all of these people have been amazing at making me comfortable, have shown me an unparalleled great time, and so on and so on and so on.

More friendships have developed through my job (David, Jeff, Molly, Chris, Jeff, and others). A day at the races, Sonics' games, after-work beers at the Siren, and the list could continue for pages. As crazy as my work can be, everyone seems to know how to let loose and have a good time when it counts.

Then there are the friendships that have sprouted from the roots that had already been planted in these fields of comradery (Dan, Martha, Grace), and I am looking forward to getting to know others more (Daniel, Luis, planes to Florida, Lea, Michael, Vlad and the College Inn Gang). Don't be mad if you are reading and have been left out... for you are surely not forgotten. Nice disclaimer Sparky, you fucking politician.

It call came to head on my birthday (May 19). I was working late because of a baseball game at the stadium. Luckily, I managed to finish my numbers at a somewhat decent hour in order to make it over to Eastlake in time for the "Sparkalicious Party." Yeah, that's right... there was a Sparkalicious Party in Seattle, and you probably missed it. Meg was sending out evites for this party and still didn't have a theme... once realizing the day coincided with my bday, the theme was a lock... though still extremely vague (since the majority of attendees did not know me... fine in my book). As I approached the party, I was asked "are you Sparky?"

"Why yes I am," I replied candidly.

"Welcome to your party!"

I entered an apartment that somehow expanded in size since I had last visited (when Martha made a bomb-ass dinner for a bunch of us). What was once fitting about five or six of us comfortably was packed with at least eight billion people. I turned myself into water and flowed past the crowd into the kitchen, where I solidified back into human form. Dan picked me up into a bear hug (his plane to Florida broke that night so that he could make the party), Meg handed me a Corona, and then the place exploded into Happy Birthday. Unreal. Before I knew it, silver bullets and Rainiers were falling empty from my hand and Dan was switching me to a quality brew, probably called Falarfarabeshtugen. I kept meeting and hugging more and more people without ever making it more than twelve feet out of the kitchen. I think I walked back to Capitol Hill later that night.

I worked early the next morning (I think four hours later). After a long arduous day of slinging garlic, some work friends took me out for drinks to celebrate.

Why is Seattle so cool? Oh, that's right... because my friends here all kick ass, and they have a bunch of kick-ass friends who have friends that kick ass. It kicks ass. I'm having a kick-ass time here.

Nacho Burrito

2007-05-19T00:08:00.000-07:00

During the one-day break in the middle of a very lengthy and very hectic homestand, I discovered something unbelievable with my good buddy Dan. We had a craving for nachos and thirst for a fine pale ale, so we went to one of our favorite spots on Capitol Hill: Linda's. First, we ordered our pitcher. The waitress set it on our table but forgot our glasses. Torture. We just sat there, staring and drooling, praying that the beer would just jump out like Popeye's spinach into our mouths. Glasses came just minutes later, and we ordered nachos. Waiting is the hardest part. Guts rumbling. Conversation about whatever it took to get our minds off of the lack of food inside of us. They arrived. Something was different than usual... the plate was one large round metal dish instead of the oblong oval-style. Holy fucking tortilla shell! Yes, it is true. These masters of bar food decided to start serving nachos on top of a large flour tortilla. You can eat a large heap of nachos and still end up with a sizeable burrito. I didn't leave a scrap. Simple innovation, full stomach... que bueno!

Rubber to Pavement, Sea-Town to Cali

2007-05-14T16:30:00.000-07:00

It cost me a couple hundred bones to rent a Ford Focus from the Thrifty on pier 48. The fuel efficiency of this little guy eased the pain of paying at the pump as I sped down Interstate 5. Traffic wasn't so bad on my way out of Seattle, and I laughed at the morning commuters heading north as they seemingly flipped me off with frequently illuminating tail-lights in my rear-view. Even Tacoma and Portland seemed to open lanes sans traffic just for me. Southern Oregon and northern Cali brought on tree-covered hills and roadside lakes, allowing for some deep reflection. In all actuality, the trip allowed for twelve hours of intermittent personal reflection (broken up by stops for gas and getting pissed off at my iPod FM transmitter as the signal sporadically broke). Finally, I made it to Vacaville, home of Dickey and Kathy.

I jumped in the shower and washed off all road dust and any remnants of garlic, which seem recently to ooze out of my pores. Kathy and I then hopped in the car and burned rubber toward Modesto, where Dickey would be performing at an impressive outdoor coffee shop venue. We parked just down the street and could hear him playing, but only barely because of the noise coming from our grumbling stomachs. Mexican place closed. Pizza shop closed. Meditteranean open for business! I love spending time with Kathy and am able to open up to her on all fronts. Talking over some hummous, babaganoush, and Red Stripe was just what I needed. We made it over to the coffee house, guts filled, just in time to see the ending of Tara Tinsley's act (female acoustic act who often shares the stage with Dickey's Not an Airplane). Meeting up with Dickey is like meeting up with a brother after long periods apart, only I see and talk to him much more often... so it also seems like we're never really that far away. In any case, I humped his leg to show him just how much I miss him... all this to the sounds of the song Sparky, Tara's remake of her own song, originally entitled Jamie. The night concluded with a nervous yet talented emo duo followed by drinks over conversation full of Wayne's World and Metallica references, Denny's, and a night at a seedy Modesto motel.

We woke up just in time for a semi-punctual check out and dropped our stuff off at a local friend's place. This guy may be the friendliest and most giving dude in Modesto, even though he is plagued with a shitty story of heartbreak and failing health. He still remains astonishingly thankful and optimistic. He made us spaghetti that night over margaritas and Mexican beer, which really hit the spot. That afternoon, we went downtown and watched some band that Dickey has made some connections with (some good guys it seems and talented musicians for sure) play mostly overplayed crowd-pleasers. Luckily, there was a Mexican joint across the street that served us burritos and margaritas. Sensing a theme? Yes, it was Cinco de Mayo. I still don't know why we didn't just drive the extra nine hours to Tijuana for a Mariachi band. We also went to the theater and watched Hot Fuzz, which may be the funniest spoof on American action movies ever made.

That night, we went to a place called Tresetti's to actually see Dickey perform. He is still getting better every time I see him, which is a great sign. Usually, this means that the person has a lot of room for improvement... sure, most musicians do... but Dickey has reached a level where he can truly hold the stage on his own and impress a crowd. He no longer needs Yoshimi or Psycho Killer to make it happen. If you haven't heard his album yet, you need to click on that link above and check it out.

Sunday morning existed solely for the purpose of me catching up on missed episodes of The Office and Lost. How The Office is able to continuously top itself and all other television programs is beyond me. I'm thankful that it is still on the air... while other greats like Arrested Development have gone down because the average couch potato would rather watch Blake (who just visited Seattle... lucky us) sing crappy songs only to get ridiculed by a dude in a tight black shirt, praised by the washed-up, and be told that his performance was either "tight" or "just aight." There is little art inside that box that sits in most living rooms, many bedrooms, some kitchens, and the occasional bathroom.

The afternoon led our escape to the beach just south of San Fran. A wall of cliffs extends down the length of the beach, with parking at the top. After making our way down a not-so-intimidating path, we strolled through fish-rot to a hidden natural toilet. We then turned and wandered down the nicer smelling area as large grains of sand massaged our feet. Dickey doesn't particulary like nature or sights but was kind enough to let Kathy and I get our kicks. We then appeased him with deep-dish Chicago-style pizza in Berkeley. It was my last night with those two lovebirds, which usually means a full night of booze and nintendo wii... but a morning of me behind the wheel meant an earlier, less exciting night.

I got up bright and early to pack my car with my computer (yay film editing possibilities again!), mandolin guitar (which my brother Jim so graciously gifted me one year), and other various items once left behind. I headed back up the 5 and then cut across toward the Pacific. The drive down this two-lane road curved and dipped constantly through tall pines and alongside endless mountains. The smell brought me back to Montana during an unspecific time, a nameless mountainside, a cleansing yet forgotten hike. Pure contentment started creeping in somewhere along that road, between long pauses and slow climbs as men in orange vests and white helmets cleared fallen debris from eroding cliffs.

Arcata was my next stop. I first heard about it from two volunteers at the Ranch, Liz and Caleb from the deep south. Two more vols would soon join us at the Ranch, also from Arcata... all of them making me want to visit the place. An Australian (Guy... one of the funniest people on the planet), also in Mastatal, had been working on a comedic musical based on the things he had heard about Arcata... how could I not go? I met up with Liz at her house. We had a brief yet powerful connection while in Mastatal. What probably should have been a relatively quick lunch (based on my road schedule) turned into a few hours of walking, talking, eating local delicious food at a pleasant little restaurant, and relaxing on lawn chairs in her backyard next to her very own garden. Arcata is a great place full of like-minded people, environmentally and socially conscious, people who want better things for the planet. Liz is one of the most optimistic and positive examples I know of someone moving toward making these ideals a reality. It is inspiring, and the few hours I spent there brought me back to the mindset of Rancho Mastatal... that place that exists not only in the rural mountains of Costa Rica, but somewhere deep within my soul.

Next stop: Portland. My buddy Don got a hold of me because of a bulletin on Myspace that said I would be traveling through the area, so I stayed at his place for the night. Don is an old hipsterish friend of mine from Montana who I haven't seen in years. As it was in past, we chilled over my fine brew and his rum and coke while re-living shared memories, catching up on new ones, and laughing over the usual random spatterings of spoken thought.

I was heading back stop-and-go into Seattle early the next morning with renewed optimism, revived ideas, and new-found contentment... while simultaneously flicking off the southbounders on I-5 with my tail-lights.

Mad for Grad IV: More Perspectives from the UK

2007-04-24T12:03:00.000-07:00

Garry has one of the most original comedic personalities I have ever met and is better known by his alias G-Unit. Oftentimes, you will see him rocking the Mister T mohawk and hear him exclaming "G-Unit, yeah!" The following are excerpts from his take on this whole thing...

-Basically I live in Manchester and believe that it is a cool, young great city. I personally do not like London much, because it is so large and Famous. OK after the tourist sites (a weekend) I do not believe that there is much there, and what there is is very expensive. Beer etc (and accom, food, transport, etc) costs far more. I am sure you can appreciate the difference in cities in the US of A. LA for example is famous but...

-Manchester is predominately wet and over cast. London has some smog, not that bad anymore. Oxford is the smaller but the English countryside is easily accessible, it is but a small country.

I should mention here that Roger also stated the following in his email to me:

-Don't listen to Gary's call to Manchester, it is a selfish and hollow one.

Dave, who you may know as Cupboard Crowe, is currently Garry's traveling partner through Central and South America (yes, I also met both of them at the Ranch). He is the taller Welsh brand of a similar humor... perhaps a darker yet subtler blend than you are used to. Without further ado...

-Oxford in particular is a great place even if it is packed with bloody know-it-alls. Manchester, home of the G is however a shit whole of the highest calibre and really should be avoided. London? London. I'd go for Oxford. And it's probably the closest to my neck of the woods, Wales. I can introduce you to the famous Welsh loathing for anything not Welsh, and indeed, most things Welsh.

Clare was the second half of the funny Brit tandem I first met at the Ranch (Rog being the other). She has been a major influence in the addition of "proper" English words into my vocabulary, such as cheers, bollocks, and wanker. An optimistic and cheerful artsy little bugger. After telling me enthusiastically how close she lives to Manchester and that I would get on with her boyfriend (a documentary filmmaker residing in Manchester) like a house on fire, she had this to say...

-Don't go to Oxford its well boring and full of posh idiots and I doubt that there wil be as much open mic nights for you to circulate! And London is just well too hectic!!!! Manchester in my opinion is definety the best out of the three and near me!!!

So far, all my UKers have been jockeying for their closest locations to finish first. But, they have all also at least hinted at what they really think, which is all I can really ask of them. I love my friends all over the world and selfishly wish they could all be in one place at any given time, but that's just not how things work. So, I continue to do my thing. I hope your thing shares a common stretch sometime soon, you bloody wankers.