I am Jack's burning love
I'd like to remind everyone that on Friday, we are having our House Warming Partay. It will be a potluck, but only if you can. No pressure. I'm fairly certain that I can come up with a few dishes, especially for those that helped us move who shouldn't worry about bringing anything at all. But...BYOB. I can't afford to get y'all drunk. If you want more details, just email me. Septapus@gmail.com.
I just said y'all. Good god I'm taken. Holy shit. I think I've just hit the next phase of my life.
I wouldn't...but I did...
The last few days have sort of been a blur of various imbibements and flurried activity...
Fenton's partay of poetic wonder was actually very fun. A lot of people showed up, and no one threw feces. I forecast many more of these coming in the future. It's cheap, and it's fun. Once I get my sub and my speakers hooked up to my computer, we could also dance ourselves stupid there too.
One thing I was also thinking of the other day, that would be fantastic, is THIS EVENT. Start paying attention now:
I propose we all gather at the square in whatever numbers (preferably large and assorted). As a large number of our comrades are camera nuts, what I am proposing is a big pool invasion. Just essentially goofing off in the wading pool and having an impromptu photo shoot of all your close friends acting like nine year olds. If you wanted to shake it up, wear a costume that you aren't afraid of getting wet. I suggest alcohol be imbibed before this. Hmm...it seemed like a good idea at the time, but it might be silly. I still want to do it. Perhaps best left to spontaneity?
Man...I've been in perpetual good cheer for the whole week. I really feel awesome about everything that's been happening to me lately. Everything is sort of ...amazing, right now.
This morning, I actually got to gang mow at work. AWESOME! First time of the year! And what a gorgeous thing to do at seven-thirty in the morning today. The sun was coming up and the dew covered grass I was cutting was next to the de-fogging river. It was really beautiful. Add the "fall light" we're getting now, and it was just amazing. Then again, everything around me looks amazing lately.
The only thing rankling me is an unresolved tiff. The involved party has gone underground and is ignoring me. And I'm starting to wonder if I maybe mistakenly busted out a machete to use against someone agitating me with a pocketknife.
When I was waiting for the bus on 101st yesterday, I was standing in the shadow of a sky scraper, right on the edge of the line that was the side of the building echoed on the ground. By the time the bus got there, the shadow had been pushed a good foot and a half behind me. It's not extraordinary, but I love seeing it happen.
And one more funny story before I hit the laundry pile:
I spent the night at WestJet's last night, because he offered to give me a ride to work in the morning. At one point in the evening, his brother (and roommate) returned from his Saturday night of debauchery at the bowling alley, and I was standing outside haveing a smoke when he just sort of sidled up to me and I got a bad feeling. And he asked me--pointblank-- if I wanted to sleep with him. It was flabbergasting, and awkward, especially upon my decline of the offer. And he just kept asking me, "are you sure? Are you absolutely sure? It'd be really nice..."
"Thanks for the offer bud, it's really nice of you, but...I'll pass."
I mean, come on...I shouldn't have even had to have said that. No means no! I felt cheapened by the event.
Ok, honestly...I'm not doing that well. Durran's in jail, and I'm worried sick about him. I don't know why, because he's been clean for ages and ages, but it was like, "well, I turn myself in tomorrow", and then he just disappeared. For three weeks. Yesterday, I found the phone numbers for all the correctional facilities in Portland. Tomorrow, I will find a way to phone them all, and track him down. The thing that bothers me the most is that I don't know why he's there. He was doing so well...and then, this.
Also, I'm having a bit of a dry spell with the writing. I've always known that I take the ability a bit for granted (what little that I have), and postpone a lot of things (all the projects and whatnot), but I've got NOTHING. And I'm actually starting to worry a bit about it. It's been a month and a half, and I haven't scribbled more then two poems, and basically little else.
The price of anonymity
Once upon a time, I moved to the big city. When I got there, I celebrated it, this newfound anonymity, this "action without reaching repercussion" state. Now, I find that it is no longer a viable existance. In short, I know too many damn people. I keep running into them everywhere. I'm happy that I know them, but at the same time, a small part of me is like, "you're being watched again", just like I always was in a small town. It sounds ridiculous, but for some reason it's bugging me a little. Couple that with the loss of meaning for my awesome pseudonym on here, and I'm starting to think I'm a sore thumb again.
I had dizzy spells this morning, I couldn't figure it out. I did come up with a rather far-fetched theory about my inner ear balance being disturbed by "swayage" of the building. Because everything sways.
It's been a really long day. The social gambit was almost a little much today. I couldn't even walk home by myself, as I got abducted by a co-worker for dub-night at New City before getting two blocks away from dropping off the C-Lady. Gin and tonic, short game of pool, and quick exit. I was sort of looking forward to a solo walk home (a long one) with just my music though. The co-worker, I am fairly fond of though, so I couldn't just balk out on it either. He's got some pretty cool friends too.
I can't wait to live here. It still seems so tenuous. My stuff is all here, but I still feel like I'm just on a sleep over, and that it could be taken away. Dumb.
forever, just a word that she said that means never
Today has been a good day. What revelations! After meeting up with Bento, we went to the new coffee shop on the Square. Oh my. It's a beautiful place, but almost too beautiful. Maybe even to the point of sterility. I'm sure any startled looks at the place upon walking in by any of the male population was related to instant impotence more then anything. It's just a visually cold and modern place. But the coffee was good, and they have some chairs, so chances are that I will return anyways, despite my complaints. But not for the expensive sandwhiches.
We also went to Red Strap today, which was one of the highlights. As far as art galleries/shameless hawking of wares areas, it is a great place. It's got a hodgepodge of all things kitschy to the most modern of art and concepts. Nothing was really grabbing my interest though, until we went upstairs. In a Tim Burton-esque fashion, this man, Joe Renaud, does sculpture in the form of several gothic-style dioramas ranging from "Irrational" to "politically incorrect" as well as many other 'themes'. They are incredibly intricate in structure, and formed in such a way that the husk draws you in closer to discover secret openings, or just windows, that reveal the innards of each sculpture, in a fashion similar to an extremely fucked up dollhouse. Each diorama has backstory to it that is readily explained in a placard, or merely by looking at the detailed insides (again, through the windows, orifices, or in a couple of cases, antique furnace vents that the viewer manipulates). Along with little figurines (usually skeletons, but sometimes other miscallaneous figures) he also has words all over the place. Little explanatory captions, exclamations, or even long poems. It was amazingly done, and now I'm curious about sculpture again.
I've always saved little bits and pieces, but I've never conglomerated them into something. Perhaps I'll start thinking about it more. Renaud made the bulk of his sculptures out of painted and glued cardboard too, which is exciting-- because finding art that can be done cheaply and accessibly is always exciting.
I've also been thinking about painting a lot lately too, and my thoughts are still returning back to Shane's picture. I really want to paint it. However, I also realize I should finish the other project I started last summer. Just a little bit left I think.
Later we went to The Fringe, which was also smashingly good. 'American Cake' (Ummm...don't quote me on that play name) was a one man show that totally exceeded my expectations. The guy was fucking awesome, and had a seriously wicked sense of humor. Except he kept looking at our corner where we were sitting (the second row of all of five rows), and it was a little unnerving, because I couldn't figure out why. However, I also lost a two dollar bet that his 'cake' was only metaphorical. Sure enough, he mangled a Betty Crocker lemon cake for the majority of the show. Usually you'd think that would be lame, having a real 'cake' for a play that was conveying a metaphor, but somehow it worked. And him talking with his mouth full occasionally only added to the hilarity. Lastly, the guy can sure imitate a frenchman well. Like, in the really funny way that only befits an imitation of a french guy.
I was wondering, if a one man show (After seeing this one) would be something I could try. I'm always amusing stand-up comedy in the back of my mind, and I love spoken word, but I also enjoy goofing off in front of an audience just as much. I guess I really also liked the story-telling aspect of this play tonight, and the intimacy that he was able to hold with the audience. I wouldn't even know where to begin past a script obviously, to do this though.
Am I easily influenced, or am I just really itching for creative outlets I slowly discover?
I think I've recovered from the trauma.
There are a few things that I've learned about weddings and life in general this week.
1. No one necessarily wants to hear about them.
2. Being involved in a wedding party and all the complications that this entails that I definately did not enjoy very much, apparently makes me seem "girly".
3. I can be girly. It's what you do when you have these chromosomes.
4. I was looking after a friend of mine's child very briefly over the weekend, and brought him to an art gallery with me. Having a four year old hold just one finger of your hand, and listen to you intently explain and point out the neat parts of Alex Janvier's art without getting bored, caused a very strong reaction in me, probably the strongest yet of these "maternal" pulls that I figure are just going to get worse. It really affected me how much I really want to be a mum in that particular moment.
5. My wedding is not going to be like her wedding at all. And additionally, there is no "if I get married" anymore. I've realized that I've been "letting the fear take the wheel and steer" when it comes to the fate of my love life-- something that didn't come easy, and involved getting very drunk on the stoop of a church that someone may or may not have been getting married at the next day, and a very horrible phone call. To return to the original point-- mine will be small. It will be fun. I will do things to please me and my significant other, and not other people, except for maybe my mom, partially. It will be simple, but there will be lots of gifts, because...I'm just kidding.
6. My maid of honor, will not be single.
7. My significant other's groomsmen can get as drunk as they want to, because I have to say, her hubbies groomsmen were hilarious at the reception, and the wedding--for which they were both drunk. Five boys jumping onto each other's back for "bucking bronco" during "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy"? Come on.
8. People that you haven't seen since grade five, don't really change. Except now, we delight in getting sauced together and recanting how to sing Ren and Stimpy songs.
9. Photos for any occasion, should not last for three hours. Nor do you need three photographers.
10. Bouquets should not ever be made heavy enough that a bridesmaid's hand falls asleep entirely, and horrifyingly, in the middle of the wedding service--right before she is handed the bride's bouquet that is ten times bigger, for the other hand.
11. Apparently I have "a good radio voice. You should go into radio instead of teaching."
12. If I ever have a spouse who beats me up in the parking lot because I caught the bouquet at the reception...holy crap.
13. In a rural town, if you are over the age of twenty-one and not in a serious relationship or unmarrried, and have no children (illegit ones)--more often then not, people think there's something wrong with you, and tread lightly. It is so much easier to be "old" and single in the city. Take heed young hipsters.
Seriously, this wedding was like every single bad wedding movie you could possibly ever see. Every single clash of humanity, excluding full out murder and genocide, occurred at this wedding.
Additionally, in regards to going home to the hometown--as usual, I had this sort of optomistic and somewhat nostalgic gleam in my eye when I returned, but again quickly realized why I don't like coming back, and going into town. "Into town" means being painfully aware of the racism that has become second nature to most anyone I know anymore. Most of all, "the wedded one", just gets more and more embittered towards minorities, and embarrassingly enough, tells tales of her disgust (no owned experiences mind you) to anyone unlucky enough to be within earshot. It disgusts me to see attitudes like that, and the worst part is, she'll pass it onto her kids. The worst part of it is that she knows it bothers me that she thinks like that, knows it makes me uncomfortable to hear her talk such shit, and she still does it. I almost wonder if she does it on purpose, like she's trying to convince me that that she's right, when it just makes her look more terrible in my eyes.
Lastly...more of a bitching then anything-- I took all the scores of film that I had to the developers, and out of the five that I had...only two turned out. One roll from the Canon (the point and shoot), and another roll from the old Canon. The old Canon shots are the ones from dirt biking and such though. Both rolls of film that I bought from the dollar store didn't turn out at ALL. And the last roll of Fuji that I used at Matt Good and the ensuing times after, didn't turn out AT ALL. Nothing. I think it was because I was like "bahhh...fuck my light meter, this will still work." And of course, it didn't. If only I could get my flash to work. I also have my dad's old Nikon as of late, but I haven't fiddled around with it yet. Maybe tomorrow or the day after, I will walk Jasper, and attempt all the same old shots AGAIN. For the THIRD time. FUCK. Does anyone know if it is ok to interchange Canon lenses with Nikon lenses?
Oh... and I decided against the guinea pig. For now. Things may change, we'll see.
I frown on your happiness
Have you ever felt like you weren't just living, but rather, taking part of a grandiose performance of life? It's three days into the "happy-happy-celebrate-many-marriages" week, nad I think the facade is starting to slip. I've sort of realized that I've come to peace with not finding anyone, but I've also realized that I don't like the social events involving marriages or anniversaries. Not because I'm "jealous" or "depressed" or some such rot, but because there are all these underlying things that go along with attending the event.
Some people come because they know that other people will be appalled if they don't show up, whether the other people like them or not. Others try and outdo each other with gifts. Others still, come to an event, talk to the honorary couple for five minutes and then dissappear to enjoy the free food and drink then leave. Compliments are insincere. Many underhanded comments are made. Family members fight and bicker, but have the one-way smile on at all times. And single girls get disapproving frowns, and plots are hatched.
I think I want to go home now. I've spent too much time worrying about home, and now I just want to go there and make sure everything is ok.
In other news, I might be acquiring a long-haired guinea pig named Gonzo. He's seriously the sweetest rodent I've ever seen, other then the white rabbit at Fenton's mom's house. And, before Gonzo, I'd never heard a Guinea pig purr before, but awww....He's seriously awesome. Fenton, how about it?
It was a dark and stormy night...
What do you get when you combine a "confirmation that Windigo 'exists'" with a non-fiction book about canadian mountain men that put the Ozarks to shame, an over reactive imagination, and a drafty dark bunkroom facing nothing but vast forest?
Simply put, not much sleep. The worst part is that since I've never seen "the artist's conception" of what a Windigo  looks like, of course I would spend the night coming up with my own detailed and horrifying idea. In retrospect, it would make a good comic strip (the actual creature as I see it), but damn.
Yesterday I brought the Junior  out by myself. I lost the sheet for the head sail up the mast however, so was only availed of the mainsail for the trip. Which made it ridiculously easy to sail, but it was still fun. It was gusty enough (and surprisingly "Fall" like) that I had a good run.
 The Windigo is originally a Cree myth that involved a half werewolf, half vampiric person with a constantly freezing heart, who ran around sucking the blood of the innocent, or animals. However, as I read in the Journal the other day, it is somewhat verifiable of an idea, if not flawed. There is a type of paranoid schizophrenia, or a trait, rather, of some mentally ill that is something akin to self-cannibalism. Add that to the very real possibility that there were still mentally ill people running amok back in the day also, and Windigo is highly feasible. If it was a bad enough case, I imagine that villages would probably turf them into the wild to fend for themselves also. The kicker of the story in the Journal was that apparently, the guy was trying to disprove his grandmother's belief in the creature, but actually found a grave surrounded in barbed-wire where the "original" beheaded Windigo man was.
When you look at that though, it's pretty debunkable. You don't want your relatives graves desecrated by animals or thieves? Surround it with barbed wire, right? Anyways... This is all just a lot of filler. The IDEA of the Windigo man is what robbed me of sleep.
 The Junior (J-12) is the twelve foot sailboat that my dad has. It's teeny tiny, and a hell of a lot more exciting to sail then the Tanzer 26 (T-26) which tops 26 feet. I think that the 'letter-#' thing should be pretty self explanatory, but some of my readers never cease to amaze me...
I was weedeating in Larkspur park at about eight a.m. last thursday, and I suddenly stood up and felt the trimming string slapping rhythmically against the power box as I realized,
"The girl you met when you were five in a sandbox, who used to pee her pants and sulk constantly in the 'human meatball' position, and walk around entire days with orange kool-aid moustaches....is soon to be married. In front of a church, in front of people, and very possibly...she will be procreating mini-figs shortly thereafter."
Yeah, I knew it was coming, but I didn't know that
was coming. I still have no toast "planned", but I'm guessing the actual reality *WHAM* I had on thursday should not be included.
I spent today out at a home made dirt bike course, shooting a roll of film for a future moto-cross superstar who is very ambitious with the ladies (I don't think the seventeen year old knew she was twenty-two when he smiled and gave her his phone number). The more time I spent watching him under a blue sky, weaving in and out of the primarily clover covered field trails (mouthful? I don't care.) I started regretting that I never had done this. I've always known that I've wanted to race something, but I never knew what. A machine, and a fast one, but I suppose I never had the opportunity granted. In anycase, this kid Dustin, he's got major talent. He was doing 95 foot table jumps like it was nothing. I would be interested in riding one to see just how awesome the suspension on those bikes could be. And the speed. I've always had a thing for "set it for STUPID FAST Scotty!" In anycase, I got about half a roll of him achieving big air and other such things, it was good. The other half of the roll was spent on insect magnification shots. Should be interesting.
I've read three books this weekend, front to back. Right now is "On South Mountain: Dark Secrets of the Goler Clan" which is a non-fiction about Annapolis mountain men and the *hijinkered buggery best not mentioned*. It's interesting but scary, like a Rob Zombie movie come to life.
Who am I kidding? I missed my friends all weekend, for the most part. I don't need 'em, but I missed them. For those not in the know, we are planning a housewarming party (no gifts please) for probably September 2nd, just so you know that after our moving day we weren't giggling behind the door going "YES! FREE LABOUR. WE ARE UNGRATEFUL!" Well. One of us wasn't. Harem? Please come, it would be wonderful. Bento? Mad? Vasyl? Bento's boy? Come one come all, just don't break stuff.
On my way to the week of r & r + impending doom, this is Emerson Emergency signing off. No amount of alcohol will be enough, coupled with having seven days left until the big ___ ______ day. At least I'm not a nut that thinks it's "part of my personality" to stick a burning stick between her lips and suck. Think of the possibilities of that lie.
Have you ever been introduced to someone whom you automatically know doesn't care about you, never will, and could really care less if you were even there? Has it ever been a friend of a friend? It makes me feel stupid, because I always am willing to give someone a chance, and yet, we undergo these social tortures of this specific type every day. Or maybe it's just me. Can't you be grateful that I'm not treating you the same way you treat me? Rant complete.
The weekend has, if anything, been quite productive. I pushed things around and opened more boxes. It was like christmas, or having my own personal flea market while blindfolded.
"What the fuck? What is that? Why do I have it?"
Like my parents wedding photos that weirdly showed up in a box. Oh sure, I'll just put those on the coffee table because it won't be weird.
Additionally, I also helped my aunt paint her two bedrooms at her new house. The previous owner had some hideous mustard/diarrhea color for one, and then (oh, it only gets better) for the other one, a strong and slightly disorienting shade of orange for the master bedroom. Apparently he was an Oiler's fanatic who had never heard of primer. I've seen bad paint jobs, but wow. Even if I wasn't technically allowed to--if the paint in our apartment was that bad, I'd redo it. It was awful. She now has a very pleasing pale pale sea foam teal color, and a warm rosy cream for the other. The latter is a little boring, but it is a seriously rich and nice looking color. Wow. Like watching paint dry. In anycase, if my secondary education plans don't work out, I've decided that I'd be cool with being a housepainter, as long as I didn't have to lay down the plastic on the floor. I'd get someone else to do it, because for some reason, I hate doing that.
Lastly, the weekend has been pretty exhausting, but still pretty fun. I walked around downtown last night during the torrential downpour, and it's weird yes, but I really enjoyed it. It was suprisingly quiet, and just nice and relaxing.
Highlight of the weekend? Spending from thursday to last night at the apartment- so awesome.
One thing I feel really bad about however, is that I was supposed to hang out avec Hydrasses harem, and our friday night turned into a gong show that didn't bring us anywhere close to Whyte. I really sort of regret not being able to see those guys, especially after running into old Grant Mac consorts and wanting to thus knife myself in the stomach shortly thereafter. It was good, but it wasn't good...it was fucking weird.
Woke up this morning...
and it was like this big physical weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I seriously felt light and airy and relaxed, and it was wonderful.
We moved out yesterday. Well, technically. Fenton is the only one actually "living" there until I'm done work, which now, seriously isn't that far away. I suppose I should get on the whole ITP "pick yo school" thing soon before I forget. "I don't know my address" is no longer an excuse. Corny, yes, but holy crap. I live in a place where I don't have to answer to anyone but my roommate --the roommate who has near synchronous thinking patterns at times--a place that has a terrific location, a place blissfully far from the ground and the insignificant people who live there (ahh..ha..) but mostly...it's so damn awesome. I could go on forever, and additionally, our place ain't no wonderland of perfection, but it's a place, and it's our place, and it's wonderful. Everything is wonderful.
I did the priority garbage truck route today, which consists of driving through all the parks and dumping cans into the garbage truck and compacting them (the bags and dog poo, not the cans). It was wonderful. I also got to drive the garbage truck by myself a lot, which was also wonderful. Drive from the right! Drive from the left! Drive from the right? Drive from the RIGHT!  Crushy! By the time I was done with that thing, it was like the incredibly large diesel powered juicing machine with-- you don't need details, but I'm guessing the end result is not marketable in any way.
Lastly, my apologies for the last two posts which are literally identical, although I was in a better mood for one apparently. I had a little 'stun and switch' moment with blogger, and have currently been either too lazy or too busy to fix it. And since no one really reads this dirt, I also don't really care.
 For you who are not easily amused as I, garbage trucks have two steering wheels. One is normal, and one is this hot little race car number. Yeah, I steered both. And I was better at driving the truck then my co-worker, which immediately equals boasting. Sorry.