Wednesday, November 29, 2006

The two of us lay in the snow, holding hands and looking up into the night sky. It was early evening and though the sun had dropped down behind the horizon, both the snow and the clouds had a way of straining the last bit of sunlight from the day and kicking it back and forth between them for a few extra hours.

Are you with me?

"Of course I'm with you," she said, but under those blue eyes I could clearly see that the cold had snuck in and swept her away. I wasn't about to get left behind either so I closed my eyes, squeezed her fingers and flew off to a bed in an apartment next to a busy road where she used to curl up behind me. But this time it wasn't the same. I was alone, the shade was blocking sun coming for me through the window and the only pieces of her I could detect were the smell of her perfume on the big pillow and a hair tie on the nightstand.

We weren't in the same place but that wasn't the problem. Of all the stories you hear it's very easy to miss one simple idea. Getting the perfect person in the perfect place doesn't matter all that much if the timing is all off.

It was too soon. The hour and the day and the year hadn't lined up the way my heart told me they should. Yes, it was too soon. So I opened my eyes and suddenly the snow wasn't insulating me anymore. My hands were freezing and I could barely feel her grip.

"what the.." She was with me for just a moment. She felt my hand futily squeezing but before I let go she was gone again and I was lying there, dark eyes hair and jacket sticking out so painfully distinct from the white snow.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

There are only three days left in NaBloPoMo and I have to admit that experiment has met with mixed success. It's true that I've slayed last's November's puny total of two posts but there was a passion that simmered in the days between back then and did't boil over until it was something special. The first post was about the way my brain is really just a trickery machine, bending my past back east into something I want to hide in once again. And the second post is all about what it was like to have my blood's oxygen capturing capacity measures. Both were written in a style that I've missed all of this month. Partly due to a different lifestyle partly due to the absence of motivation and partly due to the pressure of writing down something, anything, every single day.

If you've come to know The Truth Blog in November that's great. But do yourself a favor and explore what's here. There are colors stored in these pages that I haven't painted with in quite a while. Learn what it's like to fall in love. How it feels to really be rocking them. A post that would get me laid if girls I knew read them. How easy it is to get a checkout girl at the grocery store to quit and come with em to the winter olympics. And of course, how Living in LA got to me but still redeemed itself in the end.

Now that's the truth blog.

Sometimes I get antsy and I want to put this blog address on fliers and in emails and give it to all my friends and family and coworkers partly to say "oh really you did that? Well I wrote a post a day for all of November so suck it." and partly to bridge that gap between the life inside and the life outside.

A few things are for sure. I'd be getting more ass I'd be closer to some people who don't think we have anything in common and I'd get pushed away by a few others. And of course I'd be getting a lot more calls from my grandparents and the subjects would be far more awkward.

But I'm not writing here to blog any gap except the one between you and me so I'll suck it up and explain to my grandma that yes I could use a few more shirts for Hanukkah and Christmas and of course please remember to keep the receipts because the three ugly shirts she buys me before the holidays will turn into six stylish shirts when properly exchanged in January. I admit I would have liked to get her on the inside of the seamless socks joke but alas, what I saw as the final crescendo of the conversation fell on equal parts figurative and literal deaf ears.

I'm always a little bit jealous of those of you willing to bring the real world and the blog world together. There's this paranoia I can't get rid of when I imagine doing it myself. What if the wrong people find it? What if my job or some future jobs gets ruined by it? What if I want to run for political office one day and all this is still floating around all those servers?

And most importantly, What if no one in my real life gives a shit?

Show some love. We're going out of NBPM with a bang.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Everyone knows there's something about November even though they don't want to admit it. It's not about NaBloPoMo or socks or even going electric- and I seriously wish you could hear some of what's being cranked out around here to go along with what's being cranked out on here. Oh, right, that thing about November. I can't tell you what it is but I can tell you what it's like. It's like the way placing shiny things next to dull ones makes the shinier's shine even brighter. You put faces and places up in November and suddenly they start to twinkle for no apparent reason.

And for some reason I fight it every year. Why can't I just remember to give in? Each time it takes 30 days to submit. There's something about November. Thank god for that extra day.

Saturday, November 25, 2006

NaBloPoMo Day 25

As part of NaBloPoMo I've been reading a lot of blogs lately looking for some new heavy hitters to write comments for. I must say the results have been less than impressive. Let me make it abundantly clear that I don't care how your day was or what exactly you did. I care even less about your household pet, your neighbor's children and you're current mood. Sure a blog is going to be about you and your life but it should also be about everyone and everything. Even though all the contents are yours I still want to be able to find something familiar. All I want is a shrug or a smile or a tear or an eyebrow raise. I'll write a part of me but it's still about you.

Take, for example, today's realization. I have not been able to figure out the perfect kind of person to compliment me. On one hand I dream about a nice girl. The kind who flosses everyday and send thank yo cards. She would ground me. But I also dream of a fiery girl. One who has way too many numbers in her phone for me to be comfortable with. All I finally came to realize was that I'll never decide on the the perfect fit until I finally fess up that maybe the kid I think I am isn't the real one. It isn't the one everyone else sees. I'm not ready to admit defeat and pick a path just yet. So until then I'll just keep running around looking at every different shape for one that fits this hole.

Now run along and apply this to your life or your friend or your significant other or you ex who dumped you for the flosser/punker.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Belief has alwayays been important but not a specific set of beliefs. Just a belief that makes sense to the believer. I was never confused growing learning the religion of my ancestors while my mother seemed to enjoy the social side more than the prayer and my father rarely came to temple with us because he was flying around the country to Buddhist retreats or mediating in our house's extra room filled with asian charms. I mastered speech at an astoundingly young age and my father was not surprised in the least when he asked if all this stuff confused me and I replied, "no, you like it and I like my own stuff too."

At the time I think maybe I meant I liked my Transformers and reversible Thundercat pajamas but the point came across better than that. Still today I'm rarely turned off by people who believe in ideas or dreams that I never will. Because at the heart of it all I'm pretty sure we're all trying to do what we think is right. Whether right comes from common sense or the bible or our parents or the shows on T.V.. That's why I love my friends even if they see the world with different eyes. That's why I can go on a date with a Mormon even though I think the Mormon Church oppresses women and keeps me from getting some and think gays are going hell and so are women who want a right to choose.

Friends and relatives and girls who you can connect with come around so rarely. There are always a million reasons for any two people not to get along. I try to grab onto those few little threads connecting us together. Especially people from my past. Because they're the only one's who can connect you from point A to now. I'm just trying to keep the strings nice and taught because it's easy to get pulled up and out and away. Stay here. Keep reading. Then someday you'll be able to help pull me back down.

Oh yeah, and Chokey Chicken is back.

Worked 11 hours and if you want to know what thanksgiving is it's not in the tips crappy people give you for working a holiday. It's family who want a piggyback ride and it's friends who borrow ipods (the 4th or 5th most expensive thing I own) and it's me happy to give it up and be tuneless because no amount of makeout music will get me anywhere with the Mormon. I already tried biycles and ice cream. No dice. Think about that while you reading the truth blog via your mobile phone in the stall next to the boss and hoping he doesn't hear you clicking the scroll button while you're both doing your business. Ha.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Despite the hype, Dream recorder's pictures and records of my sleep patterns are quite anticlimactic. It identifies the times that I dream and the time that I really get into that deep sleep but who cares. It can't tell me what's going on inside my head. It can't roll up it's sleeves and jump into those dreams where a travel down and each and every path I've imagined my life taking.

There's one filled with a big city and big love. There's one filled with snow and action and adventure. There's one filled with celebrities and big houses. There's one filled with the dirt from 10x5 foot hole in the ground. Each sliding down their own wire like a Hooters order on it's way from the waitress to the kitchen (I went there for the first time recently. Just about as blah as I expected.) and in every one there's always that voice pushing me to challenge something. Take it head on.

Does this mean I'm a person with a lot of regrets? I don't think so. I don't really know what kind of person I am. All I know is that I'm the kind of guy who will just stop calling a girl back. No, "It's not you it's me." No, "this just isn't working out." One day I'll just stop punching in the numbers. One day she'll just get one or two rings then it's straight to voicemail. Sure blame me. But I'm not even sure I'm the keeper of my own heart. I clipped it to the wire piece by piece and slid each one down the wire into the Hooters kitchen. I just hope they didn't throw it in the deep fryer.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Dear Hero's People:

Alright, lets get this out of the way. We all know you're ripping off X-men. So far I've been cool with it because It's kind of like an homage to the original in taking something old and making it something new. I think the rest of the US has been on your side too we even let you chock the thing full of commercials and add a horribly stupid catch-phrase.

But this Monday you did not deliver. You did not live up to the hype and the hype was your own hype. You cheaped out on potentially brilliant plot moments, you drew out unimportant details and the cracks in the series started to show.

crack one: You don't really know where you're going

crack two: You're trying to stretch out what's there just to fill the space

crack three: You're losing cohesion. Not everyone needs drama and when we lost Hiro to his moral high ground we lost the most palatable ingredient.

crack four: Now you have to spend the next episode going backwards and there's nothing that screams "what now?" more than backtracking.

crack five: You have not yet hired me as a writer. I'm good. You'll see.

Monday, November 20, 2006

NaBloPoMo Day 20

I cannot believe it's day twenty already. I know I still owe you a part two and it'll be delivered but I just can't believe how fast time is flying here. I saw a girl this passed weekend I called the TMG right here on this very blog when it started more than two years ago. Wow. TMG stood for text message girl and she was called text message girl because we really got close after my phone kept sending her blank text messages from my pocket. It's funny how the little things like accidentally hitting the send key or showing up somewhere a few minutes early can make the biggest differences.

Back then when blogging started around here life was fun and easy and the best thing to blog about was girls and dreams and hope for things to come. These days life is fun and easy and the best thing to blog about is girls and dreams and hope for things to come. But both times there's a weird satisfaction that wasn't there in the interim. Bad to be satisfied with waiting tables, playing guitar and coaching little kids when you could be writing novels and running companies? Maybe. Some people told the the other day that your value is really measured by how many times stuff about you pops up in the first 3 pages of search results when you type your name into Google. There's a good football player in Florida who's gonna give me a run for it. There's plenty of days to come when I can fill those pages. But there's only 10 more in NaBloPoMo to fill this one.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

the most exciting part of my day was not the awkward messages or phone calls from employees. It was downloading Dream Recorder.
I can't wait to get to sleep and give this bad boy a whirl. who knows what dream it may induce.

I don't ever read my posts. Quick speel check and then the orange button. Shit is handled. Sometimes you think you have you shit handled and... actually it's always when you're pretty sure that your shit is handled that fate slaps you in the face. Sometimes you gotta work 13 hours straight and blog afterward because you feel guilty.

Last night a bunch of people from the restaurant had been planning to go downtown for one girls birthday. We'd lined it up a week in advance so that we could was to see another co-worker's improv comedy show at 7:30 and hit the town after. I Showed up just as we'd planned (well fashionably late as usual) just as the show was about to begin. I was dismayed, however, not to find a single familiar face in the small crowd. I walked up and I walked down and I couldn't find anyone. I decided to walk back into the bar and look around and that where I saw her. The Mormon. I asked her if she knew what was up. No, she told me that she had come to see the show just like me.

OK. Fine. Everything was fine. Past is the past. I made some calls. "oh, we totally changed to the 9:45 show. sorry dude. Fuck. OK. Fine. 2 hours and 15 minutes. Want to get a Want to get some Want to take a walk. She said yes. We walked. I tried to get her to talk. I am a sucker for girls who cover over everything inside with something simple. Problem is sometimes the simple is not a cover. It's the whole package. So I probed. Lived in Hawaii. Lived in San Diego. Lived in Utah. Converted. Parents aren't Mormon. Things are looking interesting. Familiar steps and buildings and just when maybe I am about to crack the simple into something more fun I look at my watch and realize it's 9:30. Fuck. Gotta hoof it. She moves quickly but never looses that look of comfort. Damn it. Blue eyes. Simple smiles. People see us arrive together and give me looks. I don't mind. Bar girls are a dime a dozen. Maybe I'll try something different.

Show ends. She's gone. Slipped out and I didn't even see. her off to her white car. Me to the black one. Another night. Wonder what tomorrow brings. Stupid four square.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Dear Church of Mormon,
This was the most random and crazy night ever. I respect you guys and all but I don't have enough time to explain. I just wanted to apologize to all of you guys. She's a convert. And I'm taking her back. Nothing personal.

Friday, November 17, 2006

I have an addictive personality. I want to talk about it but I may not have internet tonight. Hopefully I will and we'll jump right in.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Sure there's always the dream of getting the inside out. I laid it all on the table yesterday . But the scariest thing in the world is the idea that you just get lost. All the ridiculous choices and chances you've made or taken only come together if you succeed. Otherwise everyone is more than happy to write them all off as the stupid mistakes and accidents of a lost cause. The most deathly frightening thing is to embody the mistake.

There's always the temptation to search for meaning in places where you're sure they already exist. To strap into something that's comfortable and familiar and take it for a a ride. To get people to notice something special about you, even if it's just your ability to make all your doubts and problems fade away at 50 mph without an engine.

I'm on the brink of going down a familiar rode to remember how much is still inside. Maybe I'll fight it. Maybe I'll accept it. Sometimes I'll move back. Charge the engines. Rev it up for the jump.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

The first time Ashleigh rolled up to my house in that Cabriolet everything was just starting to come together. I always knew she was coming because the car had come from a cousin who had pimped it out with big old rims and a racing exhaust. By the third time she came around I knew she was headed towards me with the top down and her red hair blowing across her face from the familiar sound of the exhaust half a neighborhood away.

Life was different then. Experiences were exciting, if only because they were always new and always accompanied different smells and sights and sounds. The smell of her perfume covering over the smell of cigarette smoke I thought was so cool. That stupid Nelly Furtado songs on repeat in the stereo. Getting lost in a big house with more rooms than either her or I knew what to do with.

It had taken a long time to come that far. To take all those amazing things inside me and get them out. Get them out and send them out in the right way. It's a delicate process bringing so much of what you are outside for everyone to see and doing in a way that makes them see the value and individuality and excitement. I was a cultivator for so long I had nearly forgotten what I was growing for. And bringing it out into the world let me live a whole different life outside, where it matters.

If there's anything that remains from those days it's hope. Because I've been growing something new for quite a long time now. Letting something different to take shape and nuturing it slowly. And doing a lot of that right here with you. Back then it took wood sealed to metal and plastic and a convertible and a girl with red hair to push the outside until it matched the in. This time I don't know what it's gonna take. Maybe it's this Macbook. Maybe it's you. Maybe, it's six strings or a plane ride or a phone call. Maybe it's something to simple to figure out just yet. But I'm waiting in that same room for the sound of someone's exhaust to come pick me up and get the inside out.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

I asked a few colleagues today if the fact that I have to consciously fight not to sing along with Corinne Bailey Rae songs makes me questionable? The musician said no, it's good stuff. The frat boy called me a flamer. The girl said no it's sexy. The mormon just smiled that same smile. The smug one that reminds that she's going to heaven and she's bummed because there's a big chance I won't be there with her. It's her preset smile.

Everyone has their presets and mine is still small. It's that first reaction when you walk into a big room, empty or filled. To be absorbing everything and becoming the center of that universe. Or to reflecting everything. Not even reflecting but refracting and diffusing because god forbid you shine back in someone's eyes.

Of course first reactions can be overridden. Flight can become fight and a smile can be forced. There are days I have to plug into the energy drink I.V. and fight it with every white tooth in my smile. And there are still days that people won't understand. When the front door has to stay closed and not a word needs to be spoken and the little corner the bed makes where it meets the wall isn't just inviting, it's inescapable. The measure of the man isn't in his weakest moments. After all, you don't really have to be kicking their ass... so long as they think you are.

She can go to heaven so long as I can order it on Pay-Per-View.

Monday, November 13, 2006

My Spanish leaves much to be desired but my Spanish accent is impeccable. This skill has come in handy while in Mexico, Spain, L.A. and dealing with all the people who help me make ridiculously good tips. Same goes for my Italian. In fact, I'm not only good at picking up accents, I'm good at picking up all kinds of different traits from all kinds of different people. For a while I worried whether I was a big fake. People talk endlessly about being yourself and showing that person to the world. What if I spend all my days putting on different faces? Am I a sellout?

The other day a girl at a bar said something that hit me. Some people are great senders and some people are great receivers. Her explanation was that some people constantly sending out what they've got inside and other's are great at picking that stuff up. There isn't a lot of in between. I'd imagine that's because the senders are too busy sending to ever pay attention to what could be received and the receivers realize how ridiculous the senders look flaunting that stuff all around.

I'm a receiver. I'm great at taking what You've sent me, processing it, and sending a little bit back at you in the way you'll best understand. The best place to hit people is on their same wavelength. So I'll place the one dollar bets in the kitchen with the bussers, trade rants with old friends, stand tough by the Jersey kids, talk shop with the journalists, talk workout with the old sports crew and go out with a faux hawk on a Friday night for laughs with too cool kids.

Some people are easy reads. This one goes a little deeper. I can be anything. Would have been a great actor but good thing I know better. I'll spend my time breaking hearts instead. Aye-yay-yay.

I Just can't keep up. God knows I'm trying. I'll get er done soon.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Tonight two separate people told me that I reminded them of the newest Superman. First time that's ever happened. I haven't seen the flick yet but who wouldn't take that as a compliment? Only similarity is that my bite is also much worse than my bark. 13 hour work day but you know I wouldn't leave you hanging. Back tomorrow with goodies.
-TD at the TB

Friday, November 10, 2006

Sure it's after midnight but you try to work 14 hours, get home at 11:59 and still blog a post worth reading.

The sky starts to do something funny this time of year. Winds blow in from the north and west quickly and subtly. By the time I pull myself from bed it's too late. They're here and as they swoop over the mountains at those ridiculous altitudes a space forms underneath where the air sits deadly still and stagnant. Sometimes I feel like I have to move every few minutes just to keep from choking on my own carbon dioxide. What's worse, all the pollution doesn't get carried up and away to whatever happy place it usually ends up. So I sit here in my gross soup of carbon with some dioxide and monoxide trying like hell not to add any methane to the bunch for fear of killing some poor passerby.

Sure it's depressing as hell but what's the use throwing punches at the breezes up a few thousand feet? There's really no way to know how long this lasts but there's always that anticipation. Not just to be free of the muck but of that first morning in the crisp air. And then it happens in an instant. The same way I wake up one morning and my dreams have all started to change. Suddenly the big plan tucked up inside my sleeve doesn't matter so much anymore when the view is so clear that I'm almost positive I can reach up and touch the tip of the mountain. It's not the kind of morning when packing your life into boxes and shipping them somewhere else makes a single lick of sense. No. Dreams sneak in and slip away in the night. In that split second where your heart and your head loose track of each other.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

It's NaBloPoMo: Day 9, Do you know where your blog is? Mine's lost. I think he's out picking up poor, lost girls.

Nice nails. Are they real?


Oh...oh,uh, well they're nice I guess.

(Son of a bitch stole my line. He turns around and she follows him.)

Hey, what's you're name?

Me, oh, I'm just a guy who wants to be someplace else, just like you.

So now you're calling me a guy?

I'd ask you to prove me wrong but we just met.

Right. And how do you know I want to be someplace else?

Sure. Take your palm here. This line, this is your destiny line. (I roll my eyes seeing the bullshit smile come across my blog's face.

Really? (I roll them again when I see her perk up.)

Yes. See how it's thin over here towards your wrist and then it gets really deep before it crosses this other line here?


Well that's your life there. Things are going along fine now but something's going to happen. A turning point. And since it changes so fast right here you probably won't even see it coming.

Wow, this is so cool. (I nearly vomit in my mouth)

Could be next week or next year. Who knows. But I can tell by the way you hold your head and keep your eyes looking a little down and to the left that you're waiting for something to change. What do you do?

Me? Well I wait tables and I bartend and I used to work at a store that sold cell phones.

Does anyone ever get confused when you tell them you sell cell phones?

Hehe. Yes. They totally do!

Oh, while I got you here, I need a female opinion...

(and off he goes. My blog is in. That motherfucker. See what happens when you give him too much attention?)

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Can it already be day 8? Did you know there's a randomizer to check out other NaBloPoMo Blogs? Loving it.

Well, a little over two years ago I called my father before election night to talk a little politics. After all, he is the mosh pit of knowledge. We talked for the better part of two hours about the last four years, about where we hoped the nation was heading and about how we were going to vote. And if anything that stood out of the conversation, it was the statement that angered me most at the time but rings so utterly true today. What did he say?

A part of me wishes that George Bush will get reelected and the republicans will keep congress?
Because I know that if they do, they're going to fuck things up so bad in the next four years that they'll give up the presidency and congress for a good long while.


Sure. If it splits now we'll keep going back and forth for the next 10 years. As sad as it is everyone needs a kick in the ass.

You're just blowing smoke. If people are buying it now why wont' they keep buying it for four more years?

Right, I wouldn't listen to the american history major from Amherst either.

And that was the only time my dad ever pulled rank on me. You can argue with the mosh pit of knowledge but in the end he just knows to damn much. We got our kick in the ass. I guess now we just have to wait and see if anything useful will change.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

It's the first Tuesday in November and today I cast my electronic and completely insecure vote. The nice lady at the sign in table asked me to use one of the newer machines because they don't leave "lots of papers and pages to go through later." Greeeeaaaat. So I pushed my buttons and moved the green arrows to the boxes for senators and judges and referendums. Then I pushed the red buttons and all the lights disappeared.

I grew up under a democratic roof in a republican neighborhood. I wouldn't blame the people here for continuing to vote republicans. Everyone has nice houses in a comfortable neighborhood with well paved streets and no crimes. There are rules about what color you can paint your house, there are SUV's in almost every garage and a parade and party every 4th of July. Life is good, no one has been sent to Iraq and people's stock portfolios are going up. If I were voting solely on protecting my own little place in the world I'd probably have voted differently.

But as the green arrows fell, I ended up voting for a democratic senator, a democratic governor, a republican congressman, a republican sheriff and coroner, and an independent for the board of our state's university. Sure I love life around here. But if I've learned anything this year it's that the world isn't as big as we think. So I shut up and vote my mind hoping that these people can put half the effort into changing things that they put into digging up dirt for their ad bashing.

I've got a lot of respect for people on both sides of the aisle. A little balance does a lot of good. Sure there are plenty of crazies out there. All of them are loud and all of them are the first ones to see and bee seen. But I know that most of us sit a little closer to the middle. We all want our streets to stay safe and our gas to keep flowing. We want to take a vacation and retire and enjoy everyday. And we all want to make the rest of the world a little better, one piece at a time. I know we're all out there. I think everything will work out, as long as we don't give up. Can't wait to see what happens.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Day Six- Fall Cleaning

I clean out my blog roll even less often than I remove old numbers from the cell. But everyone has to clean house eventually and it's always a chance to boot out the old and reconnect with blogs that have slipped through the cracks. Take a sec and check some of them out. There's old faces and new acquaintances. I even reconnected with some of my own posts from the past and the comments that first me to other blogs.

I've come to realize that comments are more than half of what makes this whole thing fun. So as part of NaBloPoMo I've decided not only to post at least once a day but also to leave at least one comment on someone else's blog each day for the remainder of November. I know how much it means to me when someone tells me that they get it. When they admit they're on my page. Whether they live one cul-de-sac over or a few thousand miles away (say Norway) it still helps bring me back

There are two comments I can remember that continue to hit home. The first was from Eric, who responded to a post where I rubbed my youthful freedom and indiscretion in his everyone's face. The ass kicking he served up wasn't even about me, it was about him and it didn't even kick my ass until much, much later.

"that freedom you speak of wasn't much freedom for me. It was purposelessness (I don't know if that's an actual word). I think that's the key to freedom. Having purpose."

For someone who understands working hard at what he loves this makes so much sense. Because a worker who can't seem to figure out his work has never felt more useless. Even though I haven't heard from Eric in a while I think I'm coming around to his side.

The second comment was an E-mail I think. I can't remember exactly ( I am a deleter) but I think it was from Madeleine. She has since retired and then returned and then left for Australia but I think the first words of hers I ever read was an e-mail she was bold enough to send that asked. If not everything can make you cry or make you laugh or make you think back to something you loved or hated or wondered about. She had to ask whether the crap deserves to get printed right there alongside the gold.

I've thought about that a lot lately with the 30 days of posts and few comments and more visitors. I cold give you a line about the crap making the gold shine brighter or lie and say that I respect the organic flow of info that streams out there. But we all know the internet is 99% crap, be it .blogspot or .org or .gov. Either way people come and they put things up and few of them think their work is meaningless.

I never sit down at the screen and think "today I need to make them cry." I just sit down and start rolling with the first thing that pops out. I take that, spice it up with sentenced that start with prepositions and conjunctions even though my teachers told me not to and turn it into something I hope you want to read. Do the same and you'll probably show up on the blogroll here too. Just don't stop. Don't ever stop.

We've got 25 more days so I see no rush to speed along to part two. But just let you know it's entitled Stockholm to My Home: How two Swedish blondes can ruin everything.

Right now let me tell you a cautionary tale. I remember there was a moment a long time ago when I realized the tingly sensation some girls gave my stomach wasn't the first sign of a deadly case of cooties. Of course these were the same days I lived in a tiny house with my parents and my sister, my father worked the night shift and my mother still dressed me. I was no ladies man. But after a few girls had come and gone I started to think maybe I kind of had an idea what this girl thing was about. Just then a tall pretty blonde showed up in class, showing off her white smile and kicking my ass at four square. She wasn't one of those kids who made up ridiculous rules like atomic bombs either. She would just beat us all fair and square.

I was young and smart and understood multiplication so life back then was good. Best of all I could tell she was digging me. I think she even let me win a few times. But just when things were about to get fun something happened. She cold-shouldered me. I didn't get it but I had to know why. So what better thing to do then to ask her best friends. "Um, she's Mormon. They have rules about dating and touching and everything. She can't even drink pop!"

I remember thinking to myself, no problem, my parents barely ever keep pop at our house. I could totally stop drinking it. But sadly that was not enough. Her parents were not the strictest Mormons but she would not be getting close to any boys before she was 16 and certainly not ones that weren't Mormon.

So when this shy, stunning dark-haired, blue-eyed girl from work told me she didn't drink I was cautious but not worried. And when she showed up at the club where the band was playing last night I tried not to make a big deal. And when I noticed she wore a long sleeve shirt I got nervous. And when she sat down next to me I started to think about four square. And since I don't plan to convert or marry I had to know so I smiled at her and asked her either to have a drink or give me a kiss. She smiled and ordered a sprite. She ordered a pop! Ah the relief. Then I asked her if she had to work this morning. "No,' she said, "It's sunday. I have to go church with my parents."
Oh, so you are catholic or something, I said, in my pure Jewish ignorance of the Jesus peoples.

"No. Didn't I tell you? I'm mormon"
It's hard swimming in a sea of goyim and try not to drown.

I worked 16 hours today. This is the closest thing you are gong to get on day four. Good news though I am offically on the NaBloPoMo roster. Suck it Trebeck..

Friday, November 03, 2006

NaBloPoMo- Day trois

The European adventures seem so very very far away by now. I've been back more than three months now. Wow. I guess it has been a while. Time to start leaking a few stories that you definitely never heard. This one I kept under lock and key... until now. Wait, maybe this needs to be a two-parter. Yes, I'll roll it back a little further. Maybe this you did hear. But we've got 27 days so lets get to it.

Part 1.

The bus was hot, I was tired and there weren't many days left in our two-month trip. My traveling partner had sacrificed his camera to the travel gods a few days before and I had just made my own personal contribution. My super fancy sunglasses (I got them free, remember?) weren't with me anymore. They were now somewhere along the Vltava riverbed somewhere in the vicinity of Cesky Krumlov in the Czech Republic. The bus was rolling its way back towards Prague and from the bus station it would only be two trains to Berlin. Of course we had already been to Berlin and this time we were hoping the stopover wouldn't last much longer than 45 minutes.

Our train rolled into the city's brand new station, though we could have sworn it was a spaceship. The giant domed ceiling of opaque glass rose over five separate open stories, each with overhangs and glass railing and of course with at least two sets of trains train tracks stringing off in more directions than my eyes could track. Neither of us had qualms about hopping on the next train. Our first time through Germany we had learned that reservations were unnecessary, trains were clean, new and always on time.

One thing we were not prepared for was the lack of ticket windows. The new station was so 21st century that they didn't feel the need to have any real faces attending to your needs after 5 p.m. It was rolling up towards ten o'clock and the list of remaining trains leaving the station continued to shorten with each passing minute. There was a sudden sense of urgency so the two of us snatched up a couple giant German Donners (you gotta go there to get this one), a few beers and headed to our track.

Nether of us expected to see what we did sitting on track 24. It was not a beautifully sleek, long and clean german train. Oh no. The two, yes two, cars of this clunker could not have contrasted more with the futuristic station. This was the night train from Berlin to Malmo, Sweden. A stopover on the way to Stockholm. The two sleepers cars were filled with young high school and college kids. Filled nearly to the brim. My stomach started to sink. We had to get on this train. Where else could we go? With little more than ten minutes left until departure I found the conductor and, with my best half-english/half-sign language, signaled that we wanted two beds on the train. "Nein. No more. Train is full." I said it was just two. What if someone doesn't show? "Nein. Full." The germans sure got to the point.

We laid or backpacks on the ground beside the track and sat, dejected. We cracked the beers. Might as well take a moment enjoy what we could. Who knows were we would end up tonight. Who knows how we would get to Stockholm to get the planes to London to get the plane to jersey to get the plane home.

The whistle blew. We joked about sleeping on the floor of the space station. And just then something amazing happened. The train's door slid open. And the conductor motioned to me. I ran over.

"Zvei?" He asked. Yes, just two, I said. "Come." I ran to grab my bag, told my friend to get his shit together and left a little Donner mess on the squeaky clean spaceship floor. And jumped on the train. The door closed and we started to move. The conductor showed us to two small bunks in a compartment with two german beer drinking and guitar playing hippies. Tomorrow, Sweden. More beers all around. I can't believe fate works like this....

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Two hours left in day two of NaBloPoMo and while I'm not officially on the roster, I can assure you that I will still be boring everyone with a good month's worth of overshare. Let's break it down to it's component parts. We have flight attendant issues unrelated to little yellow masks or inserting the metal clip into the buckle. We've got pangs of sadness over the loss of Mr. Ecko. We've got some wiring issues with the electric. We've got no more Moto GP. Oh dear god. Daylight savings hits like a sledgehammer.

I'd imagine that it's an awesome feeling to get on stage and play a song that inspires everyone to clap on the down beats. In a perfect world I would be able to achieve the writing equivalent of a clap along. I guess comments are as close as I'm gonna get. What a downer.

Bumped into an old roommate. A girl. She told me all about the new guy she's seeing and I said, "you're always in a relationship. Don't you ever get sick of it?" And in a stellar moment of genius for an otherwise dumb blonde she looked me in the eye and said, "You're always alone, or running away from girls who fall for you, or whining about how badly you need to get out of a relationship. Don't you ever get lonely?" And for a second I thought I'd have to concede to Ms. Goldilocks. But then it hit me. I remembered that it's always so much easier to fall in than it is to get out. I can't help it that I'm willing to fight my way uphill when she's to weak to do anything but sit tight.

We all fall in. How do you think I ended up in NaBloPoMo?

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

So it's officially sock awareness month and oh the surprises we have in store. Needless to say you should be on the lookout for the poorly crafted Tommy Hilfinger Socks that looks exactly like the nearly seamless ones but which cannot fool my feet. I'm calling you out Hilfinger.

It also turns out that November is going to be NaBloPoMo (National Blog Post Month, duh.) A post a day for all of November. Ha. I'll give it a shot. I found out about all this at One Child Left Behind, who has announced that he will be retiring the blog. When? Now? No. 150 or so days from now. I'm going to soak it all up while I can. Every time I read his posts I think to myself,
"oh, yes, this is what a real writer sounds like." It's so damn simple but still cuts right to it.

The best part of being a creator is creating. Sitting there watching stuff pop out and loving it. It's thinking, "wow, listen to that. That's coming from me." It's sending tingles down your own spine. These are all the feeling I hope to have when I slip on my first pair of seamless socks.

November is NaBloPoMo and sock awareness and electric. I miss the acoustic already. A Post a day. I apologize beforehand.