Freak out on a Moonage Daydream

"Oh yeah"

Cold today. Cold yesterday. Probably be cold tomorrow. No ice yet, but it's frosty as a magic nugget. I've always liked seeing my breath. As an impressionable young lad, me and my crew would hold long pieces of barkdust like cigarettes and pretend to smoke, blowing the pretend secondhand out of our lungs in the form of crystallized clouds. That is what happens right? The moisture in your breath freezes? Makes sense to me. "I am the one Johnny Carcinogen" said NOFX. Man, every one statement I make leads to two questions. Tom Cruise can't handle the truth, but I can manhandle verity. I'm absorbent. Porous. Permeable.

Today I had a conversation with a deaf girl. That's right, a conversation. An exchange of words. A dialogue. An informal discussion. With none other than a deaf girl. She kinda reads lips, so that helped. Topics covered included, but were not limited to, the weather, electricity, last names, family relations, utilities and the holiday season. It was so cool. I've seen this girl before and watched her try to start and maintain conversations. This process is often difficult as many people don't want to make the effort. Think about her though; in a world of silence, she just wants some human interaction. Some shrug her off, others play dumb. It's sad but I don't want to feel sorry for her. I'll admit that I tend to avoid situations like these with the universal grin and nod. But today was different. She made the effort. So I complied somewhat begrudgingly and was later rewarded with a sense of content. We exchanged pleasantries and I struggled to decipher her rudimentary hand signals (thankfully, she dumbed down the sign language for me) and unrecognizable speech. Sensing our frustration at not being able to understand each other, she broke out the pen and paper. This is when the fun started. Writing short sentences, questions and answers, exlamations and expressions-we began to connect. Though the whole endeavor lasted only 15 minutes, we managed to scribble nearly 4 pages of hurried, chicken-scratched text. All of this was accompanied by nods, shrugs and other indicators that made the conversation just that.

Another good feeling I got the other day: I saw a middle-aged couple with two giant Costco carts full of children's books, toys and balls of all sorts. After a brief chat, I learned that they had no children and were planning to donate the nearly $700 dollars worth of merch they had purched to needy kids. That's the coolest. At the risk of sounding corny, that is the true spirit of the season-tis better to give than receive.

There's a draft. A cold wind a-blowing. Is that a Dylan song? nope, hard rain's a-gonna fall. bombs and stuff.

Just remembering being a young fella. Our neighborhood, however suburban [and it was (to the max)], was maybe like any other inner-city neighborhood. As I imagine it at least. ooooooooh, good song: quicksilver messenger service. Anyway, my hood was divided by blocks and the kids on your block who were of the same age made up your gang. I know it sounds silly, but shit was real mang. Copper Creek (my crew) had like maybe 5 or six dudes that were all within a four grade range. Rollin deep son. Like the other crews, we'd throw the ball, kick the can, and throw berries at the girls. Our jurisdiction was patrolled by bike and trespassers were dealt with. I hate ending sentences with prepositions. Is it sometimes grammatically correct? Or never ever? You ever blink your eyes really fast to make the strobe effect? it doesn't work as well. But back to the olden days, we'd ride dirty or hang out on the curb, I don't even know what we talked about, probably hot lunch or something. I remember too that each crew had girls, but everybody was too young to really comprehend. Just being kids. I actually remember peeing in front of this one girl like it was no biggie. She was looking at it the whole time. Then she went. We even conserved water-two pees, one flush. I bet we were like second or third grade. Wierd. At that age, I think I would've known the whole 'private' parts thing. Maybe we didn't care? Should a trained professional be asking these questions? No matter, it's nature. Once there was a rumble. It wasn't over turf either. These butthead kids, neighborhood enemies from a rival gang, were talking shit. Talking shit was how you proved your worth back then. Y'know in The Sandlot when all the kids are kinda going back and forth, throwing out insults and putdowns? That's what it was like. You'd make fun of other dudes to make you and your dudes feel cooler. Real mature-like. Anyway, these guys were fully making fun of the Remley clan. It was me, my brother, and our wussy neighbor, though nonetheless part of the crew, Jon. There were three of them, too. They were two brothers and a neighbor. So a chance encounter on the corner led to an exchange of words. A full verbal assault ensued. Both sides got heated, I don't remember what was said because it was like 15 or so years ago, but fools got hot man. I'm not an angry person in the least, never have been, but I remember something snapping. So we rumbled. Shit hit the fan, beef was confronted and it came to blows. This probably consisted of pre-pubescent wrestling with some body shots thrown in for good measure. I don't remember much besides Jon (read: wussy neighbor, unreliable ally) running away to cry in my garage while my brother and I worked three dudes, defended our honor and retained our Remley pride. I'm pretty sure I became friends with one of those guys down the road. We jumped out of the back of the bus on the last day of school and bonded over Lucky Charms. True story. Man, I'm opening the vaults here. I'm remembering shitloads; it's cool.

TAKE PHOTOS. ReMEMBER. DRINK YOUR OLY.

Spaceball Ricochet

It worked. I was trying to think of a title for today's entry and decided a song title was the way to go. Next song that comes on is THE one, I thought. Sure enough, "all I do is play the spaceball ricochet."

Check it out. I went to the beach.EAT COOKIES, ROCK HARD

dinosaur sr.

I guess they found dinosaur bones on an Antarctic island.

[growing] up is hard to do

So I'm 25 years old now. Rad. It's wierd, birthdays used to be so fun, like "hooray for me, it's my day!" Now it's just another day. I'm not sad about getting older but it's just not that big of a whoop. Oh yeah, I worked all day too. My folks wanted to take me to lunch. Instead of something nice or classy, I chose the smoky hangout where day laborers go to hang out and drink beer on their lunch breaks. Gaffer's is awesome. The place has video poker, dirty bathrooms, a 70 year old waitress who chainsmokes and the best damn fish n chips. seriously, so good. Plus, while you eat you get to overhear the surly day laborers talk shit about illegal mexicans. My excellent girlfriend took me to dinner, too, and got me the perfect handkerchief to match the perfect jacket she got me.
Also, I fully bit my tongue yesterday when this old couple bought Bill O'Reilly's book. It's called Culture Warrior and these people wouldn't shut up about how intelligent and reasonable he is. They were telling me how I should really listen to him because he's "the only one out there right now who tells it like it is." I politely told them that I don't subscribe to his nonsense and asked who sold them that crock. Actually, I just said that I don't quite agree, but to have a good christmas regardless. They were schocked. They wanted to know if I went to school. When I told them that I was a college graduate, they said "you're probably from U of O in Eugene." Old people, man. The funny thing was that she was a sweet old lady the whole time. I hate how party ties divide people. I don't subscribe to either one. I align with both sides on different issues. Does that make me a traitor to the dems; it shouldn't.

Lost in the Supermarket

Working at a big box retailer affords me the opportunity to bear witness to a microcosm of society. I think the array of people I see everyday represent a pretty balanced look at the populace. And I've seen them all. They run the gamut like the gauntlet. There's the bitter old people, the clueless foreigners and the jaded employees counting the minutes until their next smoke break. There’s the yuppie assholes spending their yuppie money. There's the conservative coupon horders, smiling couples, and my favorite, the young family. Almost always made up of the same basic elements, these nuclear units come complete with two tired parents near the breaking point and their two to three screaming kids. The dad doesn't really care about much. He still talks about all the good times he had 'back in the day' and works long hours at a job he hates. His pay is meager and the only thing he looks forward to is a quiet evening on the couch. Content to play the part of the ambivalent father, he is quick to reply to his kids' requests with "I don't care, ask your mom." The mom typically wears sweatpants and a raincoat. She's often overweight and somewhat ungroomed because she no longer has time for herself; she has kids to look after. Her plight, whether chosen or not, is not one to be envied. She is in a constant state of fatigue. Her prime years cut short by [a possibly] accidental pregnancy and the subsequent child, she’s likely pissed at the world, and perhaps rightly so. This frustration is taken out on her dude; she’s short with the kids. Not everyone knows how hard it is to be a mama. Or a papa, for that matter. But I bet it's pretty hard. Both of their livelihoods are interrupted and sacrifices have to be made for the sake of their children. No more fun for mommy and daddy. The kids are blissfully oblivious to all of this. I find it funny when a kid throws a tantrum because mommy won’t buy him the toy he wants. It’s as if his little world is crumbling around him and he wants everyone within earshot to know it. Clearly, these young families have a tough row to hoe. I feel bad for them; too much too soon.

Watch this SNL sketch, it’s about moms. The best is "i'm not a woman anymore, i'm a mom." But it's a JOKE.

"tell me whose fault is that babe"

I got a really cool tossle cap today. it has a lil red puffball on the top; it's rad. $15 a good deal? I'm stoked to go snowboarding on friday. we're getting there early too, so maybe we'll lay some fresh tracks. either way, my dome will be warm. i'll be grabbing stale in no time. Did you know the John Cash song 'ira hayes' is about a real person? look it up man. Ira Hayes was a Pima indian. He was one of the men who raised the flag on Iwa Jima in that ultra-famous photo. Later, his likeness was cast in stone, or metal or something, in that monument of the same photo. the guy was honored and cheered for awhile when he got home, but he eventually drank himself to death. heavy stuff.

Schumacher Furs, a fixture in Portland for over 100 years has decided to close their doors for a change of location. The family-owned business has endured years of harsh protests. Activists have been hanging around harassing people who go in and out and generally making a scene. I had some time to kill a few months back and went to see what all the hoopla was about. sure enough, a group of people holding signs were sitting on the sidewalk. it was like that seinfeld episode in which Kramer tries to put Kenny Rogers Chicken out of business by taking it to the streets; just yelling random stuff like "bad chicken" at whoever would listen. bad mojo, man. I don't like the fur trade but coon skin hats are pretty boss. hell, i eat meats. I'd read in the newspaper on several occasions how heated things had gotten there. It's looks like the owners, who vowed to hold their ground and remain steadfast, finally got fed up. Even though they said they're moving because of panhandlers pissing in the parking garage, we all know why they're hanging it up. DUH, the protesters were scaring away their customers and making it hard to turn a profit. I bet PETA's stoked. what about the ELF? ever heard of them? there's a fine line between activism and terrorism, but those ELF dudes have seriously taken it too far a couple times.This is the final resting place of my grandparents. They're my dad's folks. People always called Lucille Sal. She was Grandma Sal; a real sweet gal.
On a lighter note, working at costco gives me the distinct privilege of hearing an old guy take a dump at least twice a day. seriously, these old dudes come in to costco, mill about, maybe buy some glucosamine or some bananas and oatmeal and then get a hot dog. these hot dogs, mind you, are not for the faint of stomach. over time, I've built up an immunity to their digestive destruction and the gastrointestinal havoc that they can wreak on the weak-bellied. It seems that the elderly are particularly susceptible. I'll be peeing or washing my hands or something and, without fail, some old dude will hurriedly shuffle in, drop trow and let it fly. Though it may disgust some, I can't help but laugh.

DUDES: CUT THAT PONYTAIL. LiSTEN TO THE ROLLING STONES' AFTERMATH. TOTALLY TOTALITARIAN

fright night

This kid is gonna give me nightmares. http://youtube.com/watch?v=hGOTf3Xl6Qs I think the mask is really what scares me. I remember this odd dude in middle school, long ago, who could do that. he would pass girls and do it very conspicuously. The girls would react in some way and he would stop to perform for them. He could do all the moves this guy does, too. nature, man. bodies and stuff. I just picture his bones being jumbled around. you know how you can sometimes feel your bones moving around? this guy makes it happen on the daily. i suppose if i had some strange affliction, i'd make the best of it too.

I'm working on my capitilization. Time to use them pinkies for something. SHIFT

there once was a man...

That's a Gibson SG. i saw one on antiques roadshow last night appraised at something like $60,000. maybe it was $6,ooo or $16,000. i don't recall exactly, but it was a lot. i took this photo digitally in cory and beej's basement.

As of now, i'm listening iTunes. I always listen to it on shuffle and i'm rarely disappointed. perhaps my constant scrutiny of the contents of my music library have something to do with the fact that I don't dislike one song in the lot. this, of course, results in shuffled glory; never a dull moment. for instance, consider the Steely Dan song that just played. Fire in the Hole is a lost gem, a neglected classic from their oft-forgotten debut. but "my appetite ain't got no heart." different song.

Have you ever listened to James Brown? that dude makes some crazy sounds. sounds that will make you question whether or not they came from a man or an animal.

also, today i was reading the newspaper. there was an article about political figures not reporting trips in which they were wined and dined by lobbyists. awhile back, some oregon dudes got the business for failing to mention that tobacco and alcohol people had been wining and dining them. it's upsetting how easily some people can be bought. don't get me wrong, dough is nice, but if you're elected to represent your constituents and to serve their interests, shouldn't you do so without the influence of these outside forces? after all, they're just trying to make you see things their way.

ignore that last comment; i'm far from informed.

So i'm kind of getting into the hobo look. how cool is it becoming to be rich and look like your poor? the libertines sang about it and now i'm backing it. it reminds me of something i saw that was so out of place but so cool in the metro section today. it was an article about lumberjacks in the 1900s when oregon was hella rugged. these guys worked long days, hiked through thick NW forests, and chopped down trees. they lived in mobile camps, i.e. tents, and were like outlaw gangs. they'd get payed (paid?) on fridays and head to town to get drunk, get laid and get bathed. along the way they'd fight people and generally scare the hell out of the locals. I'd read a Kesey book along the same lines, albeit in a different time period and with somewhat more civilized citizenry, but the themes and ideas remained intact. what i'm trying to say is that i've always admired men who've worked hard and played hard. i'm not condoning their destructive behavior but it's cool for me to think about a crew of haggard mountain men strolling into town from a week of work, their pockets swollen with money to burn, just looking to get wasted and to fuck and fight. it's history man. my great-gramps was one of them loggers (a good one though) and my grandma and her sister were raised in logging camps in oregon and washington. they have some really cool stories about those days. she got polio and won. I think hardship can make a person stronger.

a great song just came on: "i'll be as gone as a wild goose in winter, then you'll understand your man."

READ SOMETIMES A GREAT NOTION AND LISTEN TO THE BEATLES.