Dawson's Coffee House is a madhouse this morning. Take the normal freaky-high volume of Saturday caffeine addicts and throw in the new crowd of hot-cocoa-hungry kids downtown to see the holiday parade. There are all kinds of new faces in here: lots of fathers drug in to pacify screaming kids and antsy housewives. I think I've heard the phrase "Ameri-what-oh?, what the hell is that? Don't you have folgers or something?". Good times.
I am feeling quite a few things this morning, all in a positive light. I was scheduled to meet up with a group this morning over at Flying M to discuss the evils of consumerism and corporations... I guess they all had riots or boycotts to attend because no one showed. Water off the proverbial duck, however, and I relocated to my favorite java junction here on 8th street.
Looking out onto the street, seeing the thick-steam exhalations from mouths outdoors, I am reminded of the chilly holiday seasons, and the subconscious association of climate with family memories. We (the family) used to embrace post-Thanksgiving consumerism and venture up to Boise or over to Twin to get Christmas shopping done, and this morning I am recalling hordes of silly details about those trips. I remember the terrible dichotomy my father faced with shopping malls: must go there for selection but hate the crowds and waiting. The definition of immature ADD, my dad could never stand in line for more than ten minutes before throwing merchandise on the floor and spectacularly stomping out the door. Still, I and my sister and mother really looked forward to those trips, and the onset of winter promised at least one chance to get out of Elko and see the bigger waters of Boise, Salt Lake, or Twin Falls.
There is some sadness associated with that, of course, but the feeling is fleeting and soon replaced with anticipation of the future. I leave this Wednesday for Elko, to which I'll travel with my sister and return with my mother. The time at home will be so rejuvenating and I'm hungry for the family time. Strange feelings this morning.
11.20.2004
11.12.2004
House of the Rising Sun
With a title like that, you must be expecting some pretty philosophical scribbling; some insight, some revelations, some optimism. Well hey, that's not the case. It just happened to be the last song I heard on my way out the door this afternoon... which meant I was whistling it when my front tire washed out on my way across a damp bridge down by the university.
Now my elbow is raw and my wool pants, previously a forest green, appear identical to the weather-treated lumber they kissed when I went down. Nothing like a good wake up when you don't need to be woken up. The day has been funky anyway, and I didn't need that to supplement the crappiness.
Things are on the mend hopefully, and I'm really trying to reverse this downward-spiraling toilet-bowl mind-set. Holly is swinging by in a few to grab coffee and possibly a dollar movie with me. Maybe we can get there late so we miss all the consumerism-fueled previews and advertisements.
That is another thing thing feeding the fire this afternoon. I am already seeing Christmas banners and decorations up in businesses all over town. Do you think I see "Celebrate Jesus's Birthday"? Hardly... even the coffee cup I'm sipping out of has a fat Santa asking me to buy Starbucks for my loved ones this year. I am going to send out some propaganda from Adbusters.org to all my friends and loved ones to try and relay my thoughts about this embracing of consumerism. Buy more live more love more or else? If we really need an excuse to purchase, why blend it or mask it behind the facade of a prophetic celebration?
Breath. Just, chill. I've been in knots since watching ER with Lauren last night. Like I needed that: dude comes in off the street, drunker than Captain Morgan, passes out on the ER floor and proceeds to vomit blood from internal bleeding. The writers of ER proceeded to detail Mr. Morgan's battle with alcoholism: from widowed husband, to dysfunctional father, to incarcerated murderer. And now, here he is, dying from Liver/Kidney/Esophagal meltdown but finally realizing all his sins and wanting to make amends with his long-since alienated son.
I stayed calloused and unemotional until Lauren probed into how I could relate it to my own father. Shit. Leave it up to primetime TV to touch the nerves. I read Anna Kerinina for an hour before being able to drift off to sleep.
Holly is here. Take care.
Now my elbow is raw and my wool pants, previously a forest green, appear identical to the weather-treated lumber they kissed when I went down. Nothing like a good wake up when you don't need to be woken up. The day has been funky anyway, and I didn't need that to supplement the crappiness.
Things are on the mend hopefully, and I'm really trying to reverse this downward-spiraling toilet-bowl mind-set. Holly is swinging by in a few to grab coffee and possibly a dollar movie with me. Maybe we can get there late so we miss all the consumerism-fueled previews and advertisements.
That is another thing thing feeding the fire this afternoon. I am already seeing Christmas banners and decorations up in businesses all over town. Do you think I see "Celebrate Jesus's Birthday"? Hardly... even the coffee cup I'm sipping out of has a fat Santa asking me to buy Starbucks for my loved ones this year. I am going to send out some propaganda from Adbusters.org to all my friends and loved ones to try and relay my thoughts about this embracing of consumerism. Buy more live more love more or else? If we really need an excuse to purchase, why blend it or mask it behind the facade of a prophetic celebration?
Breath. Just, chill. I've been in knots since watching ER with Lauren last night. Like I needed that: dude comes in off the street, drunker than Captain Morgan, passes out on the ER floor and proceeds to vomit blood from internal bleeding. The writers of ER proceeded to detail Mr. Morgan's battle with alcoholism: from widowed husband, to dysfunctional father, to incarcerated murderer. And now, here he is, dying from Liver/Kidney/Esophagal meltdown but finally realizing all his sins and wanting to make amends with his long-since alienated son.
I stayed calloused and unemotional until Lauren probed into how I could relate it to my own father. Shit. Leave it up to primetime TV to touch the nerves. I read Anna Kerinina for an hour before being able to drift off to sleep.
Holly is here. Take care.
11.11.2004
A month?
Has it really been more than a month since I've last typed? Not good, not good at all, considering this thing is supposed to be set up as an online vent/therapy session. That either means I have experienced exceptional mental clarity and a seamless lifestyle... or I've botteled everything up.
The whole idea was to scribble daily notes from my relentlessly undulating frame of mind... but in that regard the amplitude has waned considerably. Not so many highs, not so many lows, but a general sense of progress and more confidence in the future.
Today was a wet-chamois day on the bike. Accuweather.com claims a temp of 42 degrees here in the valley. 42 degrees and raining makes for a short ride, typically, though today I managed to log an hour and a half. Jason Dykstra, a team mate and riding buddy, would call my ride today a Gilligan Ride, ie no plan or purpose or time frame; just feeling it out and podunking along. I swung by to see Remi, simply curious whether I would find him alive or not since it has been so long. He is, of course, alive. It is always good and troubling to see him all at once. I hope that he finds some balance someday, not because I doubt his cycling abilities, but because I know the dangers of placing all your eggs in one basket. It is akward to not have anything except riding to talk about, and with Remi we often find dead spots in the conversation.
Things back at the Ranch are tense, but that is all part of living with roommates and living with a significant other. I've never been in the situation I am in now, so there is no retrospection to help me decide the correct way to act or feel. I sometimes wish there was a neutral third party overwatching my life and relationships, helping to sort out when I overstep and when I am stepped on. I won't embellish the relationship topic, but things are OK just hard.
Blah. Most boring entry to date. Hard to feel creative when the weather is so gloomy. Hard to do anything but eat, sleep, and drink hot beverages when the weather is gloomy. Seattle has a whole lot of damn good restaurants and four billion coffee shops for that very reason. Class is calling for me, unfortunately.
The whole idea was to scribble daily notes from my relentlessly undulating frame of mind... but in that regard the amplitude has waned considerably. Not so many highs, not so many lows, but a general sense of progress and more confidence in the future.
Today was a wet-chamois day on the bike. Accuweather.com claims a temp of 42 degrees here in the valley. 42 degrees and raining makes for a short ride, typically, though today I managed to log an hour and a half. Jason Dykstra, a team mate and riding buddy, would call my ride today a Gilligan Ride, ie no plan or purpose or time frame; just feeling it out and podunking along. I swung by to see Remi, simply curious whether I would find him alive or not since it has been so long. He is, of course, alive. It is always good and troubling to see him all at once. I hope that he finds some balance someday, not because I doubt his cycling abilities, but because I know the dangers of placing all your eggs in one basket. It is akward to not have anything except riding to talk about, and with Remi we often find dead spots in the conversation.
Things back at the Ranch are tense, but that is all part of living with roommates and living with a significant other. I've never been in the situation I am in now, so there is no retrospection to help me decide the correct way to act or feel. I sometimes wish there was a neutral third party overwatching my life and relationships, helping to sort out when I overstep and when I am stepped on. I won't embellish the relationship topic, but things are OK just hard.
Blah. Most boring entry to date. Hard to feel creative when the weather is so gloomy. Hard to do anything but eat, sleep, and drink hot beverages when the weather is gloomy. Seattle has a whole lot of damn good restaurants and four billion coffee shops for that very reason. Class is calling for me, unfortunately.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
