Communiqué Soufflé

Reel Gain

2012-01-03T14:33:00.002-06:00

Nothing gets me more down in the dumps then the two months beginning any year. January and February are together a despairing concoction of terrible weather, lackluster excitement, and empty gaps that are living proof of the words "numb" and "void". All of which is stirred by pangs of yesteryear remembrances. Blah. Arg. The only good thing is that February is a short one. So to help me though this I have complied a list of movies that I shall attempt to watch for the first five weeks:

1.) Avanti!
2.) Smoke/Blue in the Face
3.) The Straight Story
4.) The Fisher King
5.) Down by Law
6.) Ikiru
7.) Big Night
8.) Shoulin Soccer
9.) Together
10.) Tokyo Story

Tally

2011-11-30T09:42:00.000-06:00

A boy and his friend, A man and his companion

2011-11-23T12:00:00.001-06:00

Lucas Drescher woke just before dawn, as he had for most the season. The usual sheet of dew across the field laid thin, thinner than the past week. A good sign for a mild day. Clouds were moving in, their grey outline suggested rain.

Peering out the window of the three room wooden shack, Lucas saw his father wrestling with the water cistern. Scurrying past his mother, he leapt past his breakfast and out the door to offer a hand. "I can hold the jug while you draw the water." Lucas longingly offered. His father smiled and patted him on the head, "Thanks son."

Slightly wet, Lucas went on, "Where will you be today? The Amsel's? The Hirsch's? Frey's? I saw mister Frey bought a new Mule, does that mean you'll be home earlier today?" His father grabbed the now full jug and his tools. "Unfortunately that mule came down sick, gotta clear that field by ourselves." his father said heading down the road, adding "You run inside and help your mom now. And say your morning prayers."

________________

The Drescher's had little, and having little meant there was little for Lucas to actually help. What material things they lacked, they made up for in niceties and a prime location for greeting towns folk. Along the side of their house lay the nearest spring fed pond. The road that lead to their house was main thoroughfare. The foot traffic begot friends and friends begot food. Either surplus from the harvest or unsold goods from the market but more likely, generous donations out of pity or kindness. Lucas' mom kicked him out after breakfast. Urged him to breath in the air and find something to do.

Often days, he would spend time along the bends in the creek that led to his family's pond, acting out scenes he read in nickel novels. Spies, Traitors, Marauders, and Outlaws wielding intellect and implements against daring Cowboys, Priests, Sheriffs, and all matter of rank the Army offered. No pets and no boys for miles. At church he would see peers but much too shy to approach. Plus they wore nice outfits and his tattered clothes were welcomed with questions and concerned looks. The creek was friendly and the sun stayed hid behind the low trees, vines, and brush.

The previous night he had decided he would walk as far up the creek and find its source and while the rain was a possibility, his pack was ready for the sojourn. Off he went.

________________

Crossing the stone bridge and spiraling down the miniature valley, Lucas continued along all manor of fluvial landforms reaching crests of ridges and shallows of gullies. Glancing up he saw a spear of sunlight pierce thought the trees, the clouds had moved away. Soon the town was swallowed up and only a trace line indicated the dirt road. It was a thread, horses and men road upon, bouncing up and down till they too were black dots under the sun. When Lucas sufficiently did not recognized his surroundings, he plopped down for quick lunch. A grasshopper joined the picnic. The warmth of the day allowed Lucas to remove his jacket. Wasting little time he continued. Further on, the stream gathered speed and the hills steepened. The air tasted sweet. Rocks would tumble underfoot and breath grew heavy.

Suddenly the ground leveled and a clearing presented itself. From the center, light poured in and a pool of cool spring water sprouted. Hands outstretched he proclaimed, "Here I have found water! And here on this will be named Lucas' Well!" He gave a look around as if addressing masses of people. The trees returned no applause and the birds went about their business. Before Lucas could continue his deliverance, a bolder voice from within the rocks questioned, "How can this be so? I have lived here nearly most my life and all my belongings are well stowed."
Lucas staggered, eyes darting to every inch of the forest around him. His mouth dried up and laid agape.
The voice continued, "Tongue tied I see. Well I was going to offer tea when I saw you coming but since you boldly took claim to my home, I am at a loss of how to play host to you."

Trembling Lucas mustered, "Who aa-are you?"

Floating above the springs source was a body of a person. A small person old in age. He was wearing a straw hat and holding a pipe as well as a book. Thick glasses were supported by a thick nose and a warm smile matched the sweet eyes. Lucas at first thought it may have been santa clause. If that were true, santa shrunk considerably, shaved all his beard, and loss a fair amount of weight. From the suspended body, "Well some call me Henki and others Genio. A long time ago I was known as Ruh, but you ... you can call me Glen."

Glen outstretched his hand to make formal acquaintance with Lucas. "And you must be?" He inquired.

"My name is Lucas and I'm from the town where this spring leads to." Lucas Smiled.
"Well, Lucas, today is your lucky day. Since you have found me and at my wonderful home, I offer you one wish. Anything and it is yours. Simply tell me now."
Lucas gathered himself on the forest floor. Excited, "I've read about things like you. In books! You aren't mean, are you?"
Glen cheerfully replied, "Oh, no, not me. Others that I have known like me, yes they were mean. Greedy and full guile. I am simply here to delight those who stop by. And especially good natured souls like yourself."

Lucas thought at this and came back with "But there's something I must do, right?"
Glen frowned, " Well, yes and no. It all depends on what you ask for and what resources I have to offer you. Sorta like a business."

Each sat in quite and anticipation. Lucas thought long and hard. Glen talked with a bird that perched itself on his shoulder. Eventually Lucas came out with, "I would like a farm of my own, a successful one, one that I will work hard at and that will produce all over this valley so my family will be happy and I won't have to work in the fields like my father."

Glen smiled, "Oh what a nice wish, yes I believe that can easily be done. But will you promise to work hard and always take care of what your hands bring fourth? I need to know in order to trust you."
"Why yes," Lucas answered, "It's the only thing I want more in the whole world. It will be my life."

"Very well then" Glen said and let out a loud whistle.

Through the trees and fog a tiny calf sauntered from the greens. Beautiful as a new sun and wearing a bell. It made it's way to Lucas and licked his face. Lucas giggled. Glen butted in, "Now this here calf is no ordinary calf. She will take care of you as many years as you have on this earth so long as you take care of her. And name her." Lucas wrapped his arms around the calf, "I shall name you Sol."

Many thanks were giving to Glen as both Lucas and Sol walked off. Just before they reached the field where he ate lunch, Lucas heard as a whisper, "Remember to take care of her and one day I will ask a favor of you."
_________________

The parents acted kindly to the new addition to the family, that is, after a thorough investigation about town as to who the owner might be and why their child suddenly came into possession of such a bovine. Lucas would spend his days tending to the calf; feeding her, roaming the hills, greeting passerby's. Before the first winter's snow he gathered wood scraps from the local carpenter and build a basic shelter for Sol. When he was fifteen and sixteen they traveled in the summer months to festivals and fairs, showing off Sol's beautiful coat and fine pedigree. Nearing Lucas' eighteen Sol began producing milk of quality renowned. Butter, cheeses, and creams processed and delivered to counties unknown. With the money he had saved up, he bought his parents a home, cozy with two fireplaces, indoor plumbing, a kitchen and an upstairs room that overlooked the pond.

He bought a parcel of land on the outskirts for him and Sol. Small shack with a barn that was the envy of all farmers and animals alike. At twenty four the operation expanded with a silo, fresh crops, and a hundred more acres. Lucas grew tired of buying a new set of clothes each season so he found a flock of lambs. Courtesy of Sol's hard work.

On a business trip garnering more clients, Lucas stayed at a hotel. The women who checked him in had dark hair with flawless skin and the sweetest smile that could make a cat dance with a mouse. She asked if he wanted a wake up call. He asked her to marry him. They honey mooned in Argentina and built a flowerbed. A green house for the cold months. Her name was Rose. Sol licked her face and ate her petunias.

The chicken coup came after Anthony was born. The Pig sty after June was born. All the while Sol provided.

Lucas employed five hands. A carpenter, three field workers, and a stable supervisor. Machines did most the other labor. Early mornings and hot afternoons passed three years. Three hundred more acres and a spot on the State Agriculture board, Lucas damned off a creek, flooded five hilly swaths and went fishing on sundays. Anthony went to school, played sports, and joined the young leaders club. Rose sang in the choir, sold baked goods after mass, and rode horse back. Bolt was her favorite. Lightening would sit in the shade with Sol, neither animal cared to be ridden.

The town encroached upon his land and Lucas found he could no longer see the stars. He went out to look for a place in the hills. Found he could no longer ride as long as he was once able to. The mornings were slower to start. Rose urged him to think about hiring more hands and maintain his office work. He was worried about Sol.
________________

Near mid September, Lucas had a restless dream and went to the sink to wash it away. The cool water chilled his face. Peering out the kitchen window he saw a white twinkle like a trail of diamonds suspended in a cloud. They hovered around Sol's barn.Then he heard the voice, the old familiar voice, "It is time."

Lucas rushed to put his shoes on and ran out the house as quietly as he could. Glen stood waiting inside the barn, the full moon shown in through the vent slats. In his mouth was the same pipe. This time he was not holding a book but rather a cup of tea.

"Would you like some?" Glen offered, "Fresh from the field of Ceylon. Delicious stuff"
Watery eye'd Lucas looked at him, "No, no, thanks but no. How can I drink at a time like this?"
"Come now, Lucas. Why look so down?" Glen patted his back, "I'm only fulfilling our promise. And you did take such mighty fine care of Sol. Just look at your land, it's a dream, it's your dream come true. You should think of all the you have become from all that you were."

Lucas took a seat, head in his hands, "You ... you're going to take her aren't you?"

Glen couldn't ignore the inevitable outcome, "Yes, yes, but you will have all this and Sol is growing old. It's time for her to come home."

The fog from the night air crept in and silver streaks of dew were now highlighting edges and fields.

"I'll allow you two to say your peace." Glen exited the barn.

Rose looked out from her window and saw Lucas outstretching his hand in some phantom goodbye. The farewell led to the crest of the hill, on top of which was Sol slowly moving down, out of view.
They met at the front door. "Honey what are you doing out here? Why have you let Sol out? You're crying, what's a matter?"

He fell into her arms and breathlessly mumbled "It was time."

She helped him to bed.

Without sleep, he laid there till morning.

______________

Mason ran to the door knocking once before jumping headlong and gasping into the Kitchen.
"Boss, Sol's gone!!"

Lucas at the table pondering over a cup of coffee, "I know, round up the crew and meet on the front porch."

At ten after seven, Mason, John, Benjamin, Edward, and Calvin, stood peering up to Lucas in bewilderment. Lucas began, "I have came from nothing. My father was a field hand just like some of you. But that was in the days of old. His work came and went with each day and the morning was always an unsure prospect. He taught me most of what I know and did so through character and will. Good fortune and found me and given me all that you stand on. Your hands know my land. Each of you have done a great deal for me. I wish to give you each something. Please, tell me, and be forthright, what it is you wish to do with your lives. What is something that you always wished to learn or pursue?" He narrowed his eyes on Mason, the stable supervisor.

"Well, ahhh." Mason muttered "I've always wanted to improve the pasteurization process and all the dairy products here. I've read some chemistry books and I know a thing or two about engineering, I think I have an idea that might work."

"Very well," Lucas said, "Go to the university and study both these disciplines. Do as you wish and worry not about Fees or books. Tell them to bill me.

Benjamin, smiling gleefully, "I want to be a boxer and fight the greatest and be the greatest."

Lucas, laughed, "You certainly have the size. Go find a trainer. I will pay for all your equipment and sponsor you and build a great club around you."

Next was John, the field hand and carpenter. "I always enjoyed music. When ever I'm in town I stop by the music store and listen to the old timers play. I have Mozart and Hummel playing in my room at night. The radio, I fear to say, is my only friend."

"Go then," Lucas began "I will send you off to travel the world to learn piano and all other instruments from all the greats. You will be a student but then perform for others."

Edward, looked down shyly. "Sir, you have given me a job since I could lift hay. You have nearly raised me and took care of my mother. You have already given me all that I want. I simply would like to stay and work here the rest of my days."

Lucas, frowned, "Come now Edward, you can do anything you wish, without abandon. Please tell me what you want."
"Really sir, I wish to stay here and be on your land, it is my home." said Edward.

"Very well, it shall be your land. I am growing old and cannot tend it all by myself. The southern pasture shall be yours and my tools shall be yours. That leaves you Calvin, what would you like to do?"

Calvin peered at his co-workers, looked at the morning sun, "I want to write. I want to experience life in all facets and write."

Lucas nodded, "Go off to school learn what you will and go fourth, find a newspaper or a publisher and peddle your craft. Talk about the good in the world and hold true to what you have been taught all your life."

_________________

Mason pioneered production techniques that revolutionized the farming industry. His innovations promoted growth and increased yield. In turn helping Edward with his farm.

Benjamin toured the country and eventually the world. Fighting in exotic far off places and wining champion belts in several categories. His name funded a team of fighters and trained all manner of youths.

John played in concert halls and recored with the greats. His sound was unlike any other. Eternal with a sharpness that connected people with a sense of home.

Edward's farm carried on the tradition of Lucas', growing in size and influence.

Calvin fought his way through the ranks rising to managing editor at a world daily. On the side, he published short stories inspired from his youth and often wondered why Sol lived so damn long.

If you pay, you can pay to leave

2011-10-22T12:40:00.004-05:00

Standing in the mid-autum coolness, I offered myself a quick out, a chance to go home and enjoy a low-key evening, however a flutter of guilt stirred over me and I began a short walk that led me to the Sheldon Concert Hall.

A guy, middle-aged looking and with a similar black and white outfit as I, approached door after door attempting to enter, he did not see me behind him encouraging his efforts. With reserve I asked, "Are you a KDHX volunteer as well?" He was bit confused (or more so flustered at the lack of entry) "Ahh, yes, I'm trying to get in." So that began my brief friendship with Jay, bonded by our altruistic donation of time and our need to enter the building.

Grand Center was surprisingly aroused. The restaurants were teeming with patrons and a sizable crowd was meandering between the park and the box office (creating a swell of traffic effecting Washington as well as North Grand). No doubt Australian Pink Floyd would draw a good crowd. But would Jay Farrar [Not the same Jay I just met, although that would have been cool], of Uncle Tupelo and decidedly not Wilco fame?

Jay and I made our way to the back entrance where we were, after little convincing and no identity check, buzzed in. I assume this was not the entrance we were supposed to go through, as we are standing in a small lobby with a staircase to our right, the green room directly in front, and two doors surrounding the green room door.

Let me describe Jay, he is an older gentleman, upper 40's with a pot belly and an unusually slow-yet-punctuated way of talking. It leads you to either guess that he was hit in the head at a young age or just genuinely overwhelmed with thought. I later reconcile that he is overwhelmed with thought, or that his brain is 12 hours into the future and only his reptilian attention is focused on the here and now.

Since I have already decided to forgo any leadership role and bow all control to Jay or any other adult (good idea it turns out), we enter the green room. Standing along the food cart is a very tall, lanky, 60's folksinger-esque, guy named Gary. Jay apparently knows Gary because both seem surprise to see the other. Not in the joyful sense but more the sarcastic 'oh-joy.' Gary's whole tone is a friendly 'heyyyyy-what-are-you-doing-here?' which I can't blame him because if I knew Jay on a personal level I would always be wondering how he arrived at any place, in particular the green room of a respectable concert hall. Gary kindly shakes hands and small talks for 30 seconds then kindly shows us the proper door to exit through and unkindly does not offer us any drinks/snacks.

We exit, stage left, and walk into the dimly lit orchastra-level of Sheldon. On stage is Bobby Bare Jr. doing a sound test. Trying not to be of nuisance, we scuttle up the stairs and into the main lobby, for which we had previously tried to enter through the outside (the doors are now unlocked because two other volunteers are entering). Jay and I ignore the two and head left across what is deemed the "bridge" and "walkway" and "hall" all at once. The layout of Sheldon consist of two buildings fitted together by this walkway/hall/bridge, making it somewhat difficult to get around. The walkway/hall/bridge is on the first level of the concert hall and the second of the art gallery/ball room/administrative offices of the newer second building. More confusing (as I would soon find out) is the rear construction of both buildings. The back hallway contains a maze of staircases (Not that unlike a M.C. Escher painting) that conceivably links all levels of all buildings and possibly a few dead ends for any would be trespasser. Jay thinks this is the correct means of going where we need to be. And I follow.

The next ten minutes resemble the This is Spinal Tap scene of the group trying to find the stage. What make this analogy even more correct is the directions we are given by two ladies (employees of Sheldon I hope?). After finding two sets of wooden doors and ignoring the one on the left we arrive at the correct level and correct meet-up point. With us are about twenty something volunteers, half KDHX half Sheldon, who engage less in small talk and more in awkward stares and silences. The lady leading it (I don't catch her name) encourages all the KDHX people to sit down and she goes through some of the ticketing information, seating charts, general rules, and what we will be doing.

I sit next to Tony [who is the only one who wore Jeans and who did not wear a solid white shirt, the only two requirements of the night]. More people file in. Across from me, and the only person standing, is a mean looking drummer type [I later learn his name is Rob]. (Also, Tony and Rob screw me over royally, to be revealed later) After much of the normal house keeping stuff is taken care of, positions are called out and hands are raised indicating you want that position. I take the Gallery [I should explain that for some reason, and i think it has much to do with the confusing layout and journey i just completed arriving to the volunteer room, I thought Gallery meant the wide area were people just mosey about, drinks in hand, and ask for help if they need it. I was thinking a Gallery of a ship or something. Turns out the Gallery is quite exactly the Gallery where the art is stored. Far and away from 1) the music 2) people and 3) fun]

After all the positions are handed out Jim, a Sheldon Volunteer, gives the KDHXers a tour and explanation. He is also slow in his cadence but it's more of an artistic draw, for effect I presume. Jim is very serious about recycling and the stately image of the Sheldon. This is where I first receive an invitation to join the Sheldon volunteer crew. It's also where I first learn of "Cleanup" which I should have saw coming but somehow put it out of mind. I space out here considering most of what he discusses does not apply to me since I will be in the Gallery where I told Dennis is waiting for me.

Dennis. A good natured old man, older than Jay, who has a childlike smile on his face at all times and eyes that are sweet but a slight stutter that makes it impossible to judge where to jump into a conversation. He is standing by the doors of the gallery drinking a coke. [each volunteer is allowed one free non-alcohalic beverage from the bar. I heavily debate trying to entice the bartender into letting me have some rum but abandon the whole mission when I find a water fountain] It's 7:20 and doors open in 10 minutes.

I am dreadfully worried that I will be stuck in the gallery the entire night. Dennis informs me that this is not the case. It's only open before the concert starts and intermission. So it happens, I have the easiest job of all. I stand at a point that near mid-exhibit and lets me look out upon five rooms. I do a sentry walk when I grow tired of the cold wall I'm leaning on and other than that, stay to myself and read the exhibits. The current showings include; Ralston Crawford and Jazz, The Ties that Blind, Material Landscapes, and Lessons of the Past ... Promises for the Future. I take my place between Ralston Crawford and Material Landscapes [in my opinion the two most interesting showings. the other two involve children's art concerning the holocaust and quilts].

The eerie silence is routinely eradicated by an audio exhibit that's companion to the Ralston Crawford and Jazz exhibit. [Again, this is my favorite of the four.] As the Jazz music begins to play (and it begins by touching one of six options listed on a black box bolted to the wall on the left side of the entrance to the exhibit) you are taken into 1940's New Orleans. Photos line the wall in one room, hand made drawings in the next, a movie even plays on a continuous loop, all created by Ralston Crawford.

Since the doors are not open yet, mainly other volunteers are walking around and drinking their respective one-free-non-alchoalic drink. Here is where I am cornered and pressed into volunteering for the Sheldon a second time, by Dennis nonetheless. He talks of the wonderful shows him and his wife are able to see. I also press him on the volunteer issue, apparently he's somewhat of a staple in the Grand Center area, having ties to The Fox since 1981, the Sheldon since 2001, and the Powell since who-knows-when. [later during intermission he presses me to volunteer, to the point of forcing me to enter a phone number to call a lady named Nicole and request to volunteer]. His wife is working the Australian Pink Floyd show which he's already seen and swears is "like the real thing." [Not to long after this second volunteer-pressuing encounter, a younger volunteer, theatre-looking guy my age, wearing suspenders, talks about his time volunteering here and how I should do the same]

Equally amusing as an exhibit, is the Material Landscapes. This is a bit more complicated to explain given most the showings are not actually at the Sheldon but displayed here via pictures, written accounts, graphical imagery, and artist testimonials. There is one actual, physical exhibit on display, a weave of dixie cup sized seed sprouts, hanging from the ceiling, and spread out about 5 or 6 feet. Surrounding it are glow lights and a water sprayer. [Dennis later walks by and entices me to try smoking some of the grass]. Lights dim low and that's my cue to cattle drive everyone (all one of the stragglers) out of there.

I walk to my coat, peruse the bar, generally look aloof, and then head into the concert hall whereby I meetup/stand next to Tony and Rob. Now they are each (personality-wise) a drastic departure from the Rob and Tony I met earlier. Talkative and genuinely giddy. I help one or two people find their seats but otherwise stand along the back wall and wait for Bobby Bare Jr. to play.

I am/was unfamiliar with Bobby Bare Jr. Turns out the Jr. is necessary since his father was of 50's, 60's and 70's country fame. And after listening to Jr. that night and his father in the subsequent research hours afterwards, I find that Jr. suffers some of the same troubles most Jr.'s suffer at the hands of their fathers. Jr. just is not as talented or as lasting as Father. Examples include; Nelson (the sons of Rick Nelson), Sean Lennon, Jakob Dylan, Justin Townes Eearle, Roseanne Cash, Hank Williams Jr, and unknowable others. While the examples listed are talented in their right (Dylan and Earle specifically) they will never match the intensity of their progenitor. [Also, I'm aware the people listed only encompass a small section of the entertainment industry and a smaller subsection of music industry denoted by the label Americana. Outside this, the rules are possibly different. Additionally, it seems that any offspring that moves from one segment of entertainment that their fore-barer reigned into a different segment, is successful] Most of what Jr. was putting down sounded the same and bored me to tears, I exited three songs early. He was very nice to the crowd and enjoyed sharing anecdotes and witticism about life. [At this point, i have lost Jay and have not seen him nor will see him the rest of the night. Honestly, I don't know what happened to him after we arrived at that volunteer room].

Gallery Round II. More people poked though. low guttural exchanges of "hey" and "hello" were made. Some involving eye contact. Others not. Serving alongside Dennis and I was a gentleman suited and walkie-talkie carrying. He was added security and when I wasn't forceable enough with encouraging people to leave, he did the honors of telling them. [which turned out to be a little uncomfortable as intermission closed. A jewish couple was briefing the Children's created "Lessons of the Past ... Promises for the Future." They had five minutes still and were in the process of reading a few poems when Suited and Walkie-Talkie told them to leave. I stood there and gave an "eek" look. They soon left. They were the only ones there and it wasn't going to take them much more to finish reading]

After intermission I stand along walkway/hall/bridge smiling like an idiot and greeting anyone who would greet me back. Another volunteer is very close to me, she is old and her hair has streaks of banana yellow which I presume is an attempt to cover up the dominating white neighboring those streaks. We engage in chit-chat and it isn't long before she entices me to volunteer, vehemently so (third encounter). She hands me a pamphlet, points out Nicole (the lady who's in charge of volunteering), and damn near pushes me into her. I rebuff both and stand stoic in my walkway/bridge/hall self-appointed, smiling-greeting duties. [Later when the show is going on this old lady with streaky hair sits nears me and claps loudly and shines her blinding flashlight to check the time on her watch, most annoying] When I spot a chance to escape I return alongside Rob and Tony. Rob was now in a deep conversation with a young girl and Tony looked rather jealous and perturbed that he was now seating most of the right orchestra late arrivals. I helped him out.

Jay Farrar, for a second, reminded me of Neil Young, with the exception that Neil Young is interesting to listen to and has a wide discography, offering many sounds for listening and enjoyment. (Gary joined Jay on stage to sing and play guitar/mandolin/violin.) Every other song sounded the same and near the end lulled me into a dreamy nap state. Gary offered talent but given that Jay tended to play G-C-D rhythmic sounding songs with little change in beat and tone, Gary's sound was essentially the same on any instrument he played. He sowed his instrument into what Jay was playing, soloing here and there. [Upon reading more about the Uncle Tupelo days and the bad blood between Tweedy and Farrar I can't help but think that Farrar got the bad end of the stick. Tweedy seems like the eccentric man most bands need for appeal and offered a wider take on life as well as music. I can picture Tweedy arguing "We don't just need to sing about mine workers and farmers getting screwed, lets sing about something beautiful that also has a message" and Jay coming back with "fuck you." All this is disappointing because I genuinely enjoy Uncle Tupelo and Son Volt and Wilco. They seem like a broken family that just wants to keep it that way]

By the end of the night I am tired, and grumpy, and debate several times leaving mid-show [which it turns out both Rob and Tony do, screwing me into cleaning up their section, orchestra right].

Another person of note is a man who is dressed in a suit, not that unlike Suit and Walkie-Talkie, who is seen running around all night and I perceive to be the General Manager of sorts. He is standing at my side near the end of the show and discusses the future of the Sheldon and stresses the importance of booking bands like Jay Farrar to gain a younger crowd. He then goes head long into [Fourth encounter] the benefits of my volunteering at the Sheldon and how a younger person such as myself would be an excellent addition. What's so odd about this urge to volunteer is the fact that there are so many volunteers that events are scheduled six months in advance and (what I was constantly reminded) if I wanted to get on I needed to do it quickly.

Encore. Over with. People leave. And I with my crew of elderly volunteers clear the floor of any debris. Many plastic cups are left behind. This takes 15 to 20 minutes and while this is going on people are still leaving or refusing to leave. Soon it is all over but with several cups in my hand I chase after the trash bag being carried by Jim (of earlier tour and fame and who warned me about the cleanup). He dashes through a door and now I am propelled back in the M. C, Escher maze of stairs. The young GM looking suit guy holds a bucket of dumped drinks and promptly hands it to me. With Jim as a guide I make it thought the maze, throw away cups, and set down bucket. I rush to find my jacket and head home as quick as possible. Which is not quick at all due to the Australian Pink Floyd + Jay Farrar same ending times. Also theres a Blues game that ended in overtime. Midtown traffic at 11:15 PM.

G'night.

Animals

2011-08-30T12:17:00.008-05:00

I live in a Jungle. And not in the Metaphoric sense. Or in the real sense. There are animals that roam around my home that give guidance and insight as well as guard me at night. One is an ox, the other a pig, there's a polar bear, a lion, and quite some more but today I will just tell you a tale of those four animals. Also it should be mentioned that they are small, tiny, miniature but their voices big, loud, and .... alluring.

The lion began his day gracefully atop
the coffee maker and it's big glass pot
He spied and he studied all over the room
looking for things he could eat before noon.
For you see, in his heart he was a chef and a baker
but the poor lion was stuck upon that coffee maker.

Across the room he spotted the pig
who was awake and doing a morning jig
"How goes it today, what have you to eat?"
Pig replied with " nothing yet, lets go find Pete."
Pete was the ox who lived above the sink
he was always cranky, his outlook quite fink.

Lion looked at Pig and let out a gruff,
"You swine, you pig, I'm suck on a bluff
getting down impossible, no matter how I try
If only I had arms of a bird then I could fly."
Pig laughed and looked left then to his right,
He tossed Lion a ladder helping him from his plight.

"Now you are down, your complaints are complete
never say you cannot do something, that's pure defeat."
Pigs stomach rumbled and his tail just wagged
Lion followed but his spirit just dragged.
They didn't get far, barely past the door
when they heard a rumble, and then a loud roar.

"Where do you two come from, where do you stay?
I sleep and govern here, why do you bother me this day?"
Pig puttered and stuttered for an answer sincere
"Answer me now," the voice said, "For I am Polar bear"
"Sorry your majesty its not that we don't care
We are on a journey and thought we were near

Poloar bear responded, "Hark, I am no Julius Caesar,
a lie I have told and truth is my home is the freezer,
I've wondered far, and right now quite lost,
Where are you two going? Call me Don Frost.
The all joked and nervous laughter ensued,
"Of course you can come, to not would be rude."

All three walked, Don Frost, the Pig and Lion
Pig told tales of his life as a hawaiian.
Near they came to the sink, approaching it with caution
Where they found ox, brushing his teeth and dental flossin'
"Well drat, he's already eaten, we can't take him out"
barely pig said this before he let out a pout.

Now lion stood up, and perked up his mane
"Pig you've helped me much, my sprit regained,
we don't need the sink or Pete the ox
Grab your toes and lets head to the freezer box."
Polar Bear smiled for he knew what lion had done
he was returning the favor that pig had begun.

Pig's nice deed was showing lion the world
this simple nice deed is becoming unfurled
Lion was getting Polar Bear back to his home
The freezer box beaconed so they began to roam
Lucky for them it wasn't too far,
Pig wanted to celebrate so he played the sitar.

Polar Bear's home was very well preserved
the cold air had helped and food was soon served
They ate ice cream, frozen berries, and a waffle
Lion remarked that it tasted like falafel.
All were so happy and the image serene
Till lion and pig had to go, the freezer wasn't their scene.

They bid farewell and made plans to meet again
in fact they do every monday and watch ESPN
As for the ox, he doesn't say much
He sits and eats chocolate some say is dutch
In the next story I tell I'll tell you some more,
About the ox and his stint in the Peace Corps

Unfinished, undefined, dimed

2011-08-15T22:23:00.002-05:00

Lewis Becket gripped the support bar leading to the train with the usual amount of timidness.The bustle of crowds, ruckus of ticket callers, arrivals and departures, railway operators, impromptu reunions, newsboy cries, and hourly chimes made him despise rail stations, all a storm of numbing noise around his head. Unfortunately his trade made traveling necessary. He was a diamond transporter. Specifically of the underground variety and more specifically it was his oversight that secured transactions between the hub of New York and growing areas of business in the west. He took a deep breath and downed one volume of a concoction he had been taking for the previous three trips, guaranteed a positive arrival with little side effects and nary a recollection of travel pains.

Lewis began working with William Elgiert just after the war ended. He had nothing to do with the war, at its outbreak was well over the possible serving age and his English ancestry meant little to him. He did had some sizable spoils from the European conflict and found a perfect business companion in Elgiert; they both favored brief conversation, averted prolonged company, and had a taste for scotch. They set up shop in the heart of Bowery, just off of Canal Street.

____________________________

She bent down pretending to correct an nonexistent problem with her shoe. When in reality, she wanted to make sure no one was following her. Sly only if played out right, which it was. Next was to dash into the theater.

Pietro was waiting for her, with his usual sash of green. He was confident in his own look; part 60's psychedelic, part Oxford baggy, part 70's big, all unique and ugly in it's own. Her and him had met in art school and from any angle, people would never guess them friends. They were, inseparable as trees wish the same root system. Of course it was not a romanic entanglement.

"Do you have it?" Pietro beckoned.

Flatly she looked at him,"Yes, of course. I wouldn't ride this far into the city and be here if I didn't."

"Well, it's just you didn't pick up your phone and the rain was coming in and .. you know how I get"

____________________________

Otis operated the local Drug store. It also happened to be the Feed, Tool, Meat, Realty, and Grocery store. Under duress it had functioned as a Jail as well as a Chapel. Seven years came and went, business ran along steady, and several additions had been made. Along the walls contained various achievements of his regulars and various other local townspeople. Pictures of marriages, new animals, ribbons and trophies from county fairs. People keep their lives within the establishment and on display rather then collect dust and remain lonesome on their own private walls.

____________________________

2011-07-05T13:11:00.001-05:00

Too young, Too old.

2011-06-14T16:10:00.002-05:00

Mr. Ellerby often took his lectures to realms Civics 101 never had a place in nor needed to visit. I always was charmed by his ferociousness.

“If you sit there and look into that pice of paper you are holding. Can you see the tree that it came from or the sun that gave it life? Or how about the mill worker who processed it or the Machine that flattened it. It sat in a stack and on the shelf long before your mother bought it and and gave heed to the place it is now. Your hands.

It is connected to you right now in it’s cycle of life. If you look deeply in it you may even see a cloud that once watered it.

Ahhh, you may begin to see it’s life after you are long finished with it. The pen marks you ferociously applied only to be seen by the trash can, possibly a recycle bin, landfill or furnace. Perhaps neither, instead lasting 20 years in a file folder deep within a cold cabinet. But now it rests in your hands.

You see this cycle and the connection you play but you cannot see the cycle of a human life 3,000 miles away, let alone 3 minutes. You hold that paper in higher esteem then that of a human life. Why? because you think it’s yours.

Soo don’t sit there and tell me you refuse to use ‘your tax money’ to fund the betterment and much needed improvement to a bleak and battle ridden town. You say it like you have seen it, held the money in your hands and planed to spend it on something valuable.”

He then turned around and scribbled on the board a dollar sign with a circle around it.

“Many of you, especially accountants and finance majors, and there’ll be lots of you, bless your soul. Many of you will learn money, the dollar sign, means nothing. It’s a mans theory and you are simply a proof of it. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. You are a walking object and what you need to concern yourself with is the difference between wealth and money. Do that without being sick and I’ll give you an “A”

Take another look at that money in your wallet, it too is paper and has a cycle and connectivity all it’s own. I hope you can see a could instead of a face.”

-_-

2011-06-07T12:17:00.002-05:00

The Trolley dances
waltz from garden to canal
the street picks the song

Babo

2011-05-02T09:10:00.004-05:00

In the long story that continues to unravel itself, fanfare has little merit. Two notes that I take interest in concerning last night.

________________________

When I was seven my brother and I along with a handful of neighborhood kids took to exploring the creek near our house. While continuing upstream, our gang chanced upon a beautiful field full of every imaginable wildflower; Bellflowers, Anemones, Butercups, Pickerelweeds, Dandelions, Clovers, Browneyed Susans, Wake Robins, and on and on. Stems would tickle your torso and petals kiss your face.

We sat in the middle of the field for not very long for soon a wasp came up and stung Benjamin in the hand. It throbbed in pain and began to balloon. We rushed him back to his parents house where he was in safe keeping. The group, now a horde, armed itself with tennis rackets, bats, trashbin lids, umbrellas, and other implements of distraction. Wasting no time we ventured past the field and into dense wooded area. A natural bridge laid and the end of the raveled creek and with it the Vespidae's home.

A quick battle ensued with the physical dwelling. Emotions were high and all seemed elated. In the dead silence of trees, moss, and underbrush a low hum began. Soon louder and louder, it was clear the noise was buzzing. A throng of homeless and angry Wasps overtook our position. Swinging blindly and booming roars we leapt to our feet and retreated to our front yards.

________________________

I've never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure.
- Mark Twain

... we ain't the first.

2011-04-13T23:00:00.003-05:00

Thursday, late March.

The entirety of that morning I spent grazing to and fro between mounds of dirt, which represented the Global Farm the Institute was constructing, and my tripod. Perched atop the tripod sat a hand-held video recorder capturing the progression of a greenhouse set to be completed by mid-afternoon. The assignment was simple enough, document the raising of said greenhouse and any interaction between farmers, volunteers, and refugees.

Around noon I swapped out the batteries and memory card, granting me some time to escape and attend to other duties. Namely that of Lifeskills, a program I was head of which ran every Thursday afternoon.

When it comes to utilizing public transportation, opening a checking account, or maintaining proper living conditions, I would say, we give little thought in regards to know-how, functionality, and standards. We can thank our collective learning as a culture for our ability to subsist within the walls of rules, regulations, instructions, norms, and daily unwritten social interactions. We have had many years of instruction from friends, family, and personal encounters to know how to go about doing nearly anything society asks from us.

Lifeskills aims to bestow this knowledge on newly arrived Refugees. The program revolves around a four week interval, whereby each week seeks to teach another lesson on how to go about living life in America beyond merely existing. The highlight of the whole ordeal is week four, a fieldtrip. Likened to a grade school equivalent, the outing is supposed to orientate Refugees on the finer happenings of the city; art, community, parks, monuments and such. However, this day my mind was divided between the Farm and those I awaiting instruction. Rather than sacrifice the two by giving both half my attention, I thought it would be a good idea to let the Refugees see the farm while I finished recording.

Back at the Institute sat a group of twenty clients ready to explore the city. I first explained to my assistant and volunteer what my plans were, she was in agreement. Next I informed the Refugees what our activity would be for the day, six immediately dropped out. Probably because the trip involved a lengthy walk on what was then the warmest day of the year and probably because visiting a farm was not the best use of their time.

We boarded the bus after a short wait, rode a few miles, and departed for our walk to the farm. With us was a group of Iraqi men, a Somali couple, a handful of Cuban and Bhutanese, and a mother and father with their daughter. Quickly, I began leading the group and along with me were the Iraqi men. A conversation developed. Turns out the gentlemen were all brothers ranging from 23 to 18 years of age. The eldest studied Political Science and worked at a café as a barista throughout college. On the weekends he enjoyed listening to music and playing soccer. We joked about the world cup and AC Milan being one of the few teams I knew. Altogether it sounded as if he lived the A-typical male college experience more so than I. It certainly was reminiscent of a life story anyone of my friends could have shared.

After discussing these sorts of things with the group I began to worry that the Farm would have no use or importance for them especially Khalid, the Iraqi described above.

Soon we arrived at the Farm, whereby I introduced the group I was leading to Whitney, manager of the farm operations. She gathered her group of 25 volunteers sat them next to the Refugees and gave a short tutorial of plans, progress, and purpose of the grounds they were now sitting on. What happened next was not so much amazing as it was serene. With no instruction the volunteers broke off into small groups of two or three and paired with the refugee groups for a short walk around the grounds.

As I tended to my camera I could see each speaking to each other in the universal language of interest, enthusiasm, and appreciation. Food was a dominant topic and so were the daily routines that made up the peoples lives before they came here. I could not have asked for a better outcome. Near the end I had to pry the refugees away from their captivated audience. Work still needed to be done and time was closing on returning to the institute.

Again I took the lead and began our walk towards the bus stop. Along the way, Khalid looked at me and said, “You know Drew, the farm is nice but … next week can we go downtown … Maybe casino?” I smiled and said, “Maybe.”

______________________________

Normally I'd post video here

Parcels of paper

2011-04-11T08:18:00.007-05:00

Jimmy was my mailman, or at least that's what I called him. We never exchanged pleasantries enough to enter the realm of name sharing. He called me "Green." When I first met him, I had only been living in the city for about a month. It was Autumn, during the time many New Yorkers know as the two most beautiful weeks of the year. For some people, it's why they move here. The sun lifts you up everyday, the gentle breeze casts your direction, and the assembly of action, thought, and utterance has an aura. That may be a stretch but it was quite beautiful and I remember it well.

That day I met Jimmy, I was wearing a green celtics T-shirt, sitting on the porch reading a book about food or something. He was about three houses down when I heard him yell "HEY, Green, I SEE YA, go back to BOSTON!" I immediately looked up, looked at my shirt, looked up again and realized he was talking to me. Without hesitation I set down the book at responded with "OH YEAH, I'm going to sit right here and teach everyone here what a real basketball team looks like!" That made him quite upset. He promptly skipped the next two house and was soon standing right at my feet.

He replied with,"You don't belong hea, git back to Boston with the 'est of ya jokestas". I didn't have much to rebuttal so I went headlong into how comfortable the shirt was and how lucky any New Yorker would be to have it let alone wear it.

Now it should be mentioned that I am not a NBA fan. I picked out the shirt because it was green and something I could wear around the house with little worry or fanfare. To this day, I still have it.

Jimmy looked me square in the eye and motioned to my clump of mail he was now holding, "How about we haves ourselves a deal, if boston wins I get a prize, if the Knicks win you get yourself a prize." The experiment sounded fun and uniquely interesting so I wanted to know what the prizes may be "YOU DON'T GET YOUR MAIL FOR A WEEK!" He laughed. I nearly laughed myself but responded with an exaggerated, "You can't do that!"

He waved the mail in my face, laid it down, and walked off with a "You jus' wait en' see."

Our jeering back and fourth continued for five months or so. Luckily the cold weather and other forces of schedule limited my time outside. Those days I did run into Jimmy provided a treat for the day. I learned to study his gait, I could recognize him from a block away and anywhere throughout the city. It required me to gain a semblance of knowledge for the NBA and basketball in general. Occasionally I would call my friends from High School who played the sport, asking for what I deemed inside knowledge of what was going on with teams, trends, and trades. All of which culminated in the early Spring.

I was fiddling around with my stubborn backpack when I heard his familiar footsteps. He approached rather downtrodden then his usual self, "Hey, ah, Green, I need yours recommendations. My daughter is going up to Boston," he nearly choked on the idea, "to look at some school. What's a good place to eat? What's there to do?"

In my pursuit of statistics and mechanical know-how of basketball, I had forgotten the greater story that I was from Boston. I knew nothing of the town except what I had learned from History classes. Telling him to stay away from Bunker hill didn't seem like an appropriate answer. So I just smiled and laughed and he smiled and the truth game out, "I'm from the midwest, I've never set foot in Boston." My face was pleading for laughter.

Jimmy just looked at me and with the biggest scowl I've ever seen he hollered, "YOU ARE A TRICKSTER, bahhhh!" He laughed and said, "That's a damn good thing yous never been there ... miserable town. Good on ya."

Turn the page

2011-03-14T23:18:00.003-05:00

My time at Borders has finally run it's course, to very little fanfare. It was a good college job and it saw me through some strange and interesting times. Can't say I'm any worse for the wear. One of the perks of not being employed there anymore is being able to write that I even work there. The first day I signed on, a sheet of paper was signed and submitted baring on it an agreement not to discuss Borders in any blog or online format. For those who know me, the paper would have done little good at stopping me if I had much to say ... which I didn't.

Interesting things you encounter while working at a bookstore:
A.) In cleaning up the store after a busy night, Bibles are usually found in "Fiction" section
B.) Likewise in cleaning, certain Adult magazines are found in "Kids" section
C.) Women who buy Romance novels have a look of guilt 80% of the time (On a bet, I once read one, I'd be ashamed too, terrible terrible terrible plot)
D.) Parents usually have no idea what to encourage their kid to read.
E.)There is a group of people who read, return, and take out a new book only to repeat the process, essentially turning Borders in to a nice Library
F.) "Manga" and the people that partake therein should be moved to the "Mystery" section
G.) Nothing too terribly interesting happens at a bookstore.

The most important item to come out of all my time there is a copy of Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Not just any copy mind you. It's a complete authoritative text form manuscripts Twain penned while working on the novel. It has taken me nearly nine years to find this.

This is the version I first remember reading and using on any book reports, culminating in my Freshman year of High School. Unfortunately the book went missing and any bibliography that contained the ISBN or any other method of tracking was lost due to computer upgrades and files being deleted. I scoured Libraries and book stores whenever I was in one. During my last week at Boarders I was looking through a fresh stack of books that had arrived and saw my treasure.

My favorite passage, and the one that instilled Twain to my heart, begins on page 106, wherein Huck and Jim happen on a large raft heading down the river. "She had four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty men, likely. She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag pole at each end."

Huck swims to the vessel and listens to the men as they sing and dance. Soon they grow wary of one mans singing and a fight nearly breaks out till one man stops the ruckus. He goes on for two pages spouting his fame and achievements in laying out another man. Poetic in the ears of a young angry midwestern teen.

The dream

2011-03-08T14:35:00.001-06:00

Searching for employment is therapeutic. It allows people the opportunity to bend reality, stretch the truth, and imagine infinite possibilities. String theory and alternate universes aside, Bailiff, full-time, 15.42 hourly ... I could do that.

Dreamzz

2011-03-01T12:27:00.004-06:00

"... in my dream we were all outside of your house and you picked up a turtle from one of the holes by the garden, you know by the front porch, and then kissed the turtle. You started talking to it but mom told you to put it down ..."

Trot

2011-02-28T22:29:00.002-06:00

Goodbye February. Howdy March.
A short request for March, be nice.
Your brothers did not heed that request.
Which makes it easy for you.
The standard is low and I know you will be quite pleasing.

Proverbs 26:9

2011-02-22T14:32:00.003-06:00

Recently I knew a person who was going through an intense application. Letters, essays, interviews, quotes, transcripts, nominations and variations. Throughout the process, I stood to the side and looked with interest. At one point the use of quotes became a discussion. Like many things, I am neither here nor there with the use of quotes. They can be cheesy and an easy way to avoid the subject, other times, rarely, they can be instituted with perfection.

Then the use of bible quotes was brought fourth.

Similar to normal quotes, bible quotes can be woe or wonder. The thing is ... there are so many to choose from. Each can emulate consequence and authority into an infinite array of causes, many of which cancel the other out.

Like a thorn which falls into the hand of a drunkard, So is a proverb in the mouth of fools.

Edit/Draft.

2011-01-24T22:20:00.004-06:00

She ran steady with the bus till it relented and boarded the now wet and somewhat irritated rider. The driver, already behind by three stops did not wait to see her ticket before continuing down the soppy streets. Modern sensibilities aside, she was good looking. Fair skin, short slightly curly hair, although, it was not established if the rain had rendered the dark brown waves or if it were natural. Mane aside, it was her crimson bite that dangled loosely on the minds of passengers. Most pretended not to notice, contrary to the nature of a person on a journey. If they were traveling to a destination, for simplicities sake we'll call "B," would a disruption of such be ignored. It was ignored.

--------------------
Meanwhile, a century earlier and miles away ...
--------------------

Otis operated the local Drug store. It also happened to be the Feed, Tool, Meat, Realty, and Grocery store. Under duress it had functioned as a Jail as well as a Chapel. Seven years came and went, business ran along steady, and several additions had been made. Along the walls contained various achievements of his regulars and various other local townspeople. Pictures of marriages, new animals, ribbons and trophies from county fairs. People keep their lives within the establishment and on display rather then collect dust and remain lonesome on their own private walls.

The Last Tycoon

2011-01-16T15:45:00.003-06:00

"It was my first inkling that he was a writer. And while I like writers--because if you ask a writer anything, you usually get an answer--still it belittled him in my eyes. Writers arn't people exactly. Or, if they're any good, they're a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person."
-F

4:10 (NIV)

2011-01-12T00:15:00.002-06:00

The old man gingerly poured hot water over the mixture of tea waiting to be steeped. He gently returned the kettle to the stove and watched the steam ascend from his favorite mug. Peering into the water he could see the filter pouch bequeath its sweet aromas, rustic colors, and healthy compounds. He gave thought to the journey each leaf had taken, from the depths of soil unknown to the warming skies above, soon plucked, packaged and sent to all corners of the globe. How many human lives had facilitated in its journey, now, only to rest with the old man. The beverage was still too hot to drink. He cupped the ceramic to soothe his aged arthritic hands.

A drinker of coffee for uncountable years, his preference shifted towards tea two winters ago. He enjoyed the reflective calm the infusion provided him with as opposed to the jittery future coffee often produced. In his younger years people compared him to a movie star or an author, possibly because of the thick rimmed glasses that were similar to the ones worm by Arthur Miller or Gregory Peck not to mention his stature, a slender and well nourished Six foot four. For him, it was near laughable to think about those days, only relics remained of past accomplishments. His environment was a constant reminder to his age; a high school diploma dated 1941, various pins denoting a military career in the pacific, items of personal significance denoting jobs, careers, hobbies and interests, pictures and furniture sat as a memorial to taste and fashion over the past fifty years.

In moving from kitchen to foyer, a splash fell to his left hand, heat causing his face to wince. He adjusted, setting the mug on a western book he planned to read and using his sweater to dry himself.

....

A culinary call to arms.

2011-01-03T11:06:00.001-06:00

This holiday season I have noticed one common and oft ignored baking faux-pas. At nearly every formal gathering and light celebration the snicker-doodle falls victim to gross ignorance or infectious complacency.

The delicious sugar cookie that once reigned supreme among coffee shops, mall kiosk, and easy bake ovens suffers from heavy handed, idly molded Godzilla-esque blobs of distasteful dough. Enormous enough for even the most torrent and unmindful of cookie connoisseurs to balk, leaving in their trail a cornucopia of colorful holiday themed napkin doggie bags. A sure sign of a dejected desert.

Size aside, the very essence of a snicker-doodle, the one distinction that propels it aloft to a heavenly cookie kingdom, the ingredient without which the confection cannot exist, Cinnamon, is nearly abandoned or if included, at proportions unnoticeable. Criminal more so to minimal incorporation is that of excess. The endearing spice that lavishes our toast, garnishes our coffee, and vanquished bad breath, is instead turned into an enemy of our senses.

I call to action a reform in our cooking ways and return to reality those sweet memories munching on that delicious dessert, the beloved snicker-doodle.

Search Babe at any cost

2010-12-31T10:26:00.001-06:00

Befallen

2010-12-29T20:06:00.003-06:00

Lilian sat on the rainy steps that led to the back of her two room flat. Cigarette smoke filtered to the upstairs balcony where an elderly couple lived. A light rainfall that had begun three days earlier still had not let up and with the drop in temperature encased the city in a cloud. Mist rose from the streets choking thoughts and dimming lights down empty streets and shuttered allies.

From her vantage, tops of houses appeared as dark ovals peering just over a mossy wooden fence. Night had come not but a hour ago but the fog had drowned out the sun what felt like a day before. The cigarette lingered then Lilian puffed out it's last breath.

Otis had stepped out in time to see the last bit of red glow. He began cordially, "Ahhhemm" to little affect. Lilian's head slumped between her legs. He shuffled to the edge of the porch, folded his hands and leaned against the rain stained metal railing.

Slowly Lilian raised her head so her words would not be lost on the concrete steps, "When I see you, heartache pours over my face, my body goes numb and any breath of hope is surrendered." Her demeanor was exhausted, defeated, yet unwavering. Each word towed the next through the thick air delivering a squally mix of burden and hate, neither light nor easy to take in. Otis stood, stilled by the tone, and dumb to respond.

"I wanted so much for you to be the person you first introduced. The one who delivered calm and sincerity with a smile and perfectly summed statements. Easy to please and perfectly placed in all positions." She lifted her legs beneath, in quick turn, headed up the stairs, "Where are you now? ... Why am I here now?"

Her motion up the stairs livened Otis chokingly still tongue. After a breath or two, the questions lingered on his mind. "Where are you now? ... Why am I here?" Each query began a sequence of words, destinations, emotions, memories and songs. The painful symphony made Miles dizzy and weak. How had his conscience not erupted with such similar simple evaluations.

_________________

Lilian left Otis to ponder. In the two hours he remained on the stoop a sickness came over him. She delivered a glass of water with two fizzy tabs dancing inside.

Looking at pictures of him, she realized never had she truly known him. Their relationship was one of clouded events and denial of the obvious. She so wanted a breathtaking romance and he so willing to play the lead, neither noticed the rise and fall of plot done with, long past encore.

That night she slept with empowered resolve. No longer a character, instead the director.

A moment in Review

2010-12-29T16:08:00.002-06:00

What each month meant to me in one word or less.

January: Pummel
February: Density
March: Revival
April: Sincere
May: Loft
June: Sync
July: Befall
August: Sultry
September: Lean
October: Bend
November: Respit
December: Coaster

Strange Times

2010-12-03T01:56:00.001-06:00

"In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed."

First and Second encounter

2010-11-26T16:09:00.003-06:00

People held a particular disdain for Miles. His demeanor was abrupt and lacked conversational fluidity. Mid dialogue he would motion towards some distant wall, forget who he was talking to and issue a confused apology. The clothes he wore were well put together, a clean look that spoke to all generations.

I first met him on the library steps. It was a grey overcast day, rain was off and on. In my mind it was too cold to ride a bike, at least not without proper clothing and accessories but there he was fiddling around with his bike chain. A part had become loose, therefore loosening the chain altogether.

"Hey," he began, "do you happen to have a paper clip?"

I simply looked at him, rather confused, and issued a mumbled "Hurmm, no." And went home with my book and curiosity of Miles.
________________

The next day I woke, went through my morning routine which consisted of two alarms, a bowl of oatmeal, hot shower, and the trying on of three pairs of shoes. Once settled I walked out the door. Approaching my car, I noticed a biker heading down the bike lane. I would have overlooked him if it wasn't for his agonizing struggle to peddle. The road is fairly flat, if anything it sloped to his advantage. I was still waking up but awake enough to recognize the face that of Miles, just the day before. He had obviously fixed his bike while at the same time not fixed his bike.

I went on my merry way.

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

2010-11-20T19:35:00.002-06:00

Morning

2010-11-13T08:10:00.003-06:00

There is a wind coming out of the west at a steady eight MPH. The sky is a gun-metal grey. I take that back, I do not know what gun-metal grey looks like, I'm sure just another variation of grey. To be more specific and pulling from my own library of things grey, the clouds, as they swirl, dip, fall apart and come together again, have a grey liken that of an Alien or of concrete, or of rocks. Rocks are a bit similar to concrete so we shall go with ... Grey as the sweat shirts or hood-ies so many people wear.

In addition to all that, there is a chill in the air. Altogether, it has a calming sensation. The dullness takes away the excitement normally paired with vibrant colors that show themselves in the spring, summer, and fall. Without sun life seems a bit flat. I could read, have soup, and drink an assortment of tea, coffee, and juice all day. It's only when that sun is out that I feel so guilty for not doing anything.

Far from all that, I have been very busy, no time to relax. Hence my joy when stepping out today at a rather early time, several hours before anything needed to be done, and with the grey clouds, nothing to be done.

__________________________________

Along the garage grows a vine that produces a beautiful violet flower. A few stragglers were braving the drop in temperature to catch the last bit of decent weather. Sadly, I cut their life short. In my book they went. They are now warm, cared for in a way that you can care for dead flowers, and celebrated as their color subsides.

One Luftballon

2010-11-01T23:08:00.007-05:00

It was the faintest memory of first woe. The navy latex sphere rose steadily towards the lofty lands above. Noah peered at it quite perplexed. His face soon matched what his young mind was processing. He would never see the balloon again.

His mother had bought it for him not but a few hours before. It was a mutually beneficial gift, allowing her to locate Noah with relative ease amongst the other four and five year olds. Noah simply enjoyed it for the beautiful color and its ability to dance with the breeze.

The two of them, ahem, the three of them went from exhibit to exhibit taking in the sights and sounds of a pleasant sunday afternoon. All the while Noah transfixed by the playground of physics at his wrist. The balloon was rather large and with Noah's wrist being that of a young boy, it would gradually lift if he so let it. The endless game of tug-of-war raged on through Gorilla sanctuaries, Bear caves, and miniature safari's. Only briefly did the game pause for an ice cream. Noah particularly enjoyed how the sun danced off the side as if a second sun was incased within the balloon itself. The ribbon also shown with equal brilliance. Gradually the revelry worn down the thin band. It's tight grip was loosened. His hand and the string maintained a network of twists, pulls, and knots to remain tied together.

Nearing the exit gate, a granite lion bid Noah adieu and his mom grasped the non-balloon hand. The full day of sight seeing had fatigued his little body, no longer did he concentrate on his once prized possession. The thought of arriving home and laying down with his favorite stuffed bear seemed almost heavenly. They began crossing the street, just as a shuttle pulled in. The combination of the crowd, crossing, and car caused Noah's hand to open.

The ribbon quickly spun out and escaped. Up and up it went. Noah frozen in misunderstanding. His mother darted her eyes upwards. Noah was without his companion. A tear began to form. The two of them never to be together again.

2010-10-21T23:04:00.003-05:00

Namaste'

2010-10-07T23:51:00.003-05:00

I honor the place in you in which the entire universe dwells.
I honor the place in you which is of love, of truth, of light, and of peace.
When you are in that place in you and I am in that place in me, we are one.

Lincoln Wizard Duck Who Delivers $1

2010-10-06T17:19:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, Now here I am

2010-10-06T17:15:00.002-05:00

Brothers

2010-09-23T08:46:00.001-05:00

How do I combine the two?

Le petit mort

2010-09-20T07:58:00.011-05:00

Keeping it all centered is the idea that something wonderful is on the horizon. However, the motivation toward that unknowable future is fueled by a self-sustaining source. I hate to boil it down to a game of want and desire, the feeling of which is dodgy. But when it does feel that way I want to take a step forward and avoid the left-right hassle, plot, and contest that is, ehh, well Love.

Hey Man

2010-09-15T12:29:00.000-05:00

Pulvis et umbra sumus

Append

2010-09-13T22:48:00.006-05:00

It's a frustrating feeling thinking about fifteen things at once, knowing full well that the shelf in the corner is still going to be broke when you look at it. About the shelf. It's the cheep particle board kind. At one point it held things together quite nicely. I guess it it still does. Only problem now is finding stuff to put on it.

Occasionally, when the wind is just right, the brewery's aroma sneaks over, lingering just past Gravois. It's especially nice on a Wednesday evening or a Thursday morning. A cool morning.

My Personality type: ENTP

After the first week of work they gave me a stress ball. It's red and shaped like a heart. Normally I'd take this as a bad sign but I assumed that we were meant to pass it on to friends and family. They gave me three.

I have an idea of finding someone to train me to become a boxer. It's reoccurring. Personally, I don't think I would do to well. Training would be fine but come day of the fight, I'd be a no show.

Last night I slept on my face wrong and my eye hurts because of it.

I have a wedding to go to in KC at the end of the month, it's the same weekend as Webster's Homecoming. Debating taking the train across the state. We'll see.

Kaskaskia

2010-09-01T18:03:00.001-05:00

The last of my internship work
Enjoy

I think this is Green Tea ... But How Do You Make It?

2010-08-26T17:03:00.004-05:00

Thought of this while on the Grassy Knoll

2010-08-19T16:35:00.002-05:00

The infamous magic loogie

When one door fails to hit you another door will

2010-08-17T11:49:00.006-05:00

So last week I went through a bit of an ordeal with my computer. I attempted to upgrade the operating software, the results being an oversized paperweight with music and documents hidden inside and no possibility of recovering them. However, thanks to the good help of a those fine people at Apple and my cousin's well placed words and research, the problem resolved itself. Quite Nicely.

Well this week my car has been put on the chopping block. Truly I believe this is because there is not enough adventure in my life. That and Karma may be paying me a visit. Anyway, prior to leaving for Dallas I dropped my car off at a local automotive establishment with the intension of changing the oil. Things are never that simple. The day before I had ran into a curb, rendering the right front tire in a weakened state and in need of replacement. Easy enough right?

Wrong.

This morning I went to pick up my car and was surprised to find it still in the auto bay. It has been there all week and surely they had enough time while I was away. Nope. After a few minutes, the man had my car sitting out front and ready, so I thought, to drive off. Paid. Hopped in. Drove off.

First I noticed the electronics had reset themselves which meant the battery must have died. Wasn't too worried at this, just arranged the time and date properly. Next, an error message appeared, low coolant. Odd considering it should have been topped off with the oil change. No big deal. I quenched my car's thirst which led me to my final discovery.

"Engine Emergency Service Soon"

In green dot-matrix pattern, those letters gleamed across my dash. For added effect, a red exclamation point joined in the fun. Naturally, I pulled over to the side of the road and gave the auto establishment a concerned phone call.

Me: "Hi, I just picked up my car, Drew Canning, and there seems to be a lot going wrong here. Is there anything written on the service record or something the guy working on my may have said?"
Man: "Ahh, what's the license plate number?"
Me: "It was the black car, I just picked it up."
Man: "Oh, yeah, ummm no. It doesn't appear to be anything written. What's wrong?"
Me: "Well, there is a service engine message and it was low on coolant and it seems the electronics reset themselves."
Man: "There is nothing written here."
Me: "Did you happen to notice anything?"
Man: "Nope, it was fine when I pulled it around, no lights or anything."
Me: "Right, I'll just take it to the dealership."
Man: "Okay."

Click.

Maybe I'm being reminded of something. These things are bound to happen. Granted, I enjoy drama in my life as much as the next person but please, Please, PLEASE not car drama. It's the most boring, tedious, pain-staking drama out there. Plus, it has to be bad for your health.

I am glad my computer is fixed. I am glad I have plenty of family close by. I am glad the dealership people are nice and will do their best. This is nothing more than a poor joke and it work it's way to a punch line soon enough.

Back in the Saddle again

2010-08-16T22:30:00.003-05:00

One of the more enjoyable stories I worked on:
My Wine Story

A-camping we shall go

2010-08-06T15:50:00.001-05:00

I tried to find just Bill Theme but YouTube pulled all of Dylan's songs, go figure.
"Camping all night out on the veranda"

Goodbye technology, see you sunday evening.

Stock

2010-08-01T22:22:00.003-05:00

Things Needed
-Filing Cabinet
-SuperDrive for Laptop
-Large Transportation for moving large items

Things Desired
-Lyle Lovett Tickets for tomorrow night
-OS 10.6
-More time with friends before they leave

Things remembered
-Driving in my truck with Jeff to eight o'clock mass while wearing my green polo with Jeans.
-Crystal Pepsi
-Slightly more hair on the top of my head.

Things Missed
-Organization
-Star Fox 64
-Cool Autumn saturday mornings (They'll be here soon)

Desire

2010-07-19T16:48:00.003-05:00

I always wanted to be the silent muse behind a terrific force in this world.
Still do.

Hey, ya

2010-07-19T11:23:00.002-05:00

Egahd

2010-07-09T00:13:00.004-05:00

Birth: October 16th 2009

Samuel was in the Library, third floor, under the guise of study. Positioned alongside row RF 334.12 through RU 670.01, he peered at the eighteen intimidating rows of oak book shelving. The pipes creaked as the clock narrowed on 11:23, in nearly a half hour the place would be closed.

Earlier that day he had exchanged short conversation with a professor. Samuel wanted clarification on what was turning into a nightmare scenario. Between classes it was impossible to focus and at night, sleep escaped him. Weighing in his mind was the battle of good vs. evil manifested in the form of family and friends. "You think too much, you think too much, you think too much," he repeated to himself as his hand hit his head. Mid act he did not know if he himself was repeating those words for comfort or if it was just a competition for oddest behavior.

At night the library can be a peaceful or horrific place, depends greatly on the individual. Leo, the night watchmen, appreciated the groaning and restlessness the building offered ...

Death: December 28th 2010

New Years resolutions, think think think.

Patterns

2010-07-07T13:08:00.003-05:00

I have noticed a pattern in my blogging. A month will go by with little to no post followed by a month with significantly more post. This is probably a manifestation of my love/hate relationship with my blog and blogs in general.

Recently I had a chat with an old friend, someone who I consider a decent authority on life. She is quite gifted in provoking thoughts and being an inspiration for conversation. She has a disdain for Blogs and those who blog (the internet identity not so much the person themselves, I'm guessing). I don't understand her hate but I did reflect on what was said.

Blogs are most useful when they:
A.) Pursue a specific subject
B.) Promote Creativity
C.) Provide connection that otherwise would not exist

Her position was that Blogs are an extreme form of vanity shielded by the internet, akin to undressing in public or other forms of perversion. Thoughts, expressions, and notes of personal interest should remain in the the private journals of those individuals and what is published online is therefore nothing more then egotistical puke filtered through the owner's disgusted mind.

It's a fine line. I can see both sides. I like to think most people out there are genuine and therefore any product of their workmanship is worthy of honest thought and reflection. With that said, it's that month where I don't post a whole lot.

Strange Week? Maybe

2010-06-29T13:43:00.003-05:00

Something seemed a bit out of place with all the people dressed in red and a valet parking attendant begging me for my car keys. Instead of giving it a chance I parked a few blocks away and walked, it felt rather nice out. Just enough shadows to appreciate the sun. Apparently Ken Burns was stopping by.

It was for a gala or something. People were making a very big deal out of it. Which brings me to my next thought. It has been a very long time since I have been:
A.) Awestruck
B.) Offended

I don't know what I would have to see or what someone would have to do for me to experience either of those emotions.

All tomorrow's parties

2010-06-24T23:33:00.003-05:00

My assumptions of school, life, careers, faith, and other such things are drastically different from what is reality now. For better or worse, this is the case and for the most part I am okay with that. The entire climate out there is just something that I could never have expected or favored, although it is somewhat favorable in some respects. "i wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger." I find myself singing that more and more.

About five months back I found that whenever I was driving or sitting on my bed I would sigh, a lot. At first it didn't bother me because it was a release, easing my tension in someway. Soon I noticed I was sighing all the time. This continued for a few weeks till one day I sighed and thought to myself "Wow, that's really sad, what is there to sigh about." Since then, haven't sighed hardly at all, made it a point not to.

I sigh now, or just did ... right that second. I'm fairly exhausted. About to fall asleep. I would like something to come along and recharge my spirt. In some ways this plea has already been answered but there's still the next step, the next day, and the next project, place, people, on and on.

So tonight as I rest, I will think back on something inspiring and magnificent. I will be thankful and dwell on it. Then I will promptly enter my dream and forget I typed this or thought of a truly wonderful thing.

Pssst . . .

2010-06-23T15:13:00.006-05:00

So it's about three in the afternoon on a stifling midwestern day. The air outside is blanketed with pockets of heat and humidity made worse by little to no air movement. I am sitting in an office, can't focus. Occasionally I want to burst out in fits of mad laughter or run to the nearest body of water and see if I can walk on top. Heavy breaths and this typing calms that desire.

When I came into work there was a bottle of Men's One a day vitamins, energy formula. It has a green banner to match the green coated pills. Naturally, I took one. I combined that with a green tea and some german chocolate cake from a birthday plus a plum I brought in.

Take me to the river, Drop me in the water.

"Down along the river-front she stands, peering out into the murky depths of the Mississippi. The lapping water makes her think of home and that time before she knew you. A piece of paper flutters in the wind before landing in the water subsequently being swallowed up. She and it are well on their way. "

It's worth it

2010-06-21T17:13:00.002-05:00

I like the taste of a great idea or the aroma right before happiness.
It is a time machine I go back to, when and where I please.
Savoring every minute.

Criss-Cross

2010-06-21T15:18:00.005-05:00

Yeah, I'm doing this again. Twitter didn't stick. Wordpress faltered. Let's see what tumbler has up its sleeve.

Drew's world

Hal

2010-06-21T14:44:00.006-05:00

After a Western inspired bacchanalian bar crawl, the two headed back to what was home for the night. Red lights pierced through the dark, suggesting 2:27. Roger froze time then destroyed it with a tug of the wrist but not before fumbling with the remote, "Hey watch the ending, it's the best part."

The collection of cocktails swirling around inside of him did nothing to hinder his movie prowess. 2001: A Space Odyssey was showing. His suggestion was met with a grumble.

Twelve minutes into the flurry of stars and light both Sojourners were out cold.

excerpt

2010-06-18T11:41:00.003-05:00

"EXT. HOUSE
Charlie sits on the cement steps outside of her house, a
duffel bag by her foot. She picks up a brick, holds it at
eye level. (camera shot looks dead into
her eyes cuts into a flashback
B&W) Charlie is in tears as she looks at Brandon.

CHARLIE
Are you saying you don't want to
marry me?

BRANDON
I don't know, we'll just have to
wait.

The brick drops from her hand. A car pulls up next to her.
Charlie picks up her back and gets into the car. Charlie
tosses her bag into the back seat."

Oh

2010-06-17T13:49:00.002-05:00

Solomon 2:5

2010-06-15T22:57:00.004-05:00

"Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am weak from love."

Bob Dylan & Van Morrison - Crazy Love -

The stuff of Heaven

2010-06-09T23:53:00.006-05:00

Sum up the rest of your life and my life, double it, add infinity and throw in the this end of the universe just for good measure.

After that, you'll be somewhere in the proper vicinity.

Yum/Nom

2010-06-06T12:20:00.003-05:00

Swindled

2010-06-02T14:12:00.012-05:00

I'm at work now and since I've finished with all of my duties for the morning, I sit idly by. Occasionally I will walk to the drinking fountain and have some water but that can only entertain me for a minute or so at a time, every half hour. Hence some Q&A with myself: (again swiped from my cousin)

1. What is your favorite piece of furniture in your house?
Well since it is not my house I cannot take too much ownership over the furniture in it, however, the hammock in the back can be summed up in one word "delightful" Aside from my bed . . . furniture does not hold my fancy.

2. If it was raining so hard on a Saturday that you couldn’t leave your house, what would you spend the day doing?
Read a book, occasionally looking up to watch at the rain. Back in the day I may have played a few video games. If a friend was over we would play a game of scrabble or chess. If my sister was around we'd bake some cookies (I bought her a cookie book a few months back and have yet to make more then three or four varieties). Really though, I'd probably clean or go through some old pictures or boxes.

3. What was your favorite candy as a child?
Reeses always hit the spot. I went though a white chocolate Kit-Kat phase, those are dangerous. Heath bars are a staple and if I'm not in the mood for chocolate then Twizzlers. I like to keep my candy simple.

4. Did you get an allowance? What was it based on? What did you do with it?
Ha, No. Never. Not once. My parents had a system where if we wanted something, we would ask, and usually they'd gave us some money.

5. Do you have a favorite Etsy store?
When I first read this, I had no idea what an Etsy store was. Now that I do, I can safely answer no.
Etsy: It has been compared to "a crafty cross between Amazon and eBay", and to "your grandma's basement"
Thanks Wiki.

6. Do you prefer time with family or time with friends?
Yes. Both.

7. Looney Tunes, Tiny Toons, or Animaniacs?
Looney Tunes, go with the classic. Although, Pinky and the Brain were my favorite and they went right along with the Animaniacs.

8. Best daytime talk show: Oprah, Ellen, The Doctors, Tyra, Dr. Oz, or Dr. Phil?
None of them. I avoid them at all cost. If I am home and any one of these are on, I am
A.) in the wrong place
B.) not busy enough
C.) doing something wrong

PTI on ESPN I'll watch and it's on around 4:30.

9. Would you rather have the power of invisibility or the ability to fly?
The ability to fly. There seems to be so much more you could with that. Invisibly is for people that sneak around, what good is that? Flying would save time, almost wouldn't need a car, at least for every day destinations. and would be all around enjoyable.

10. Name 1 thing you love about being an adult.
All the possibilities of life. That's not really narrowed to being an adult though. Being busy and having the freedom to go anywhere. Really though, I do not feel like an adult. I hardly look and act the part. It's fun and it's good and I'm along for the ride. Lets see where it goes.

In an aside, my top Ice Cream flavors/combinations:
1.) Strawberry Ice Cream
2.) Heath bar and Coffee Ice Cream
3.) Carrot Cake Ice Cream (a rarity, saw it at Ted Drews once and another time in Columbia)

Wild Card would be . . . Mint Chip

Where has the time gone?

2010-06-01T16:40:00.004-05:00

More importantly, where have I gone? (Both metaphysically and physically) The days have been long but they shoot by faster then a toy rocket careening to and fro till it doesn't know where to go.

I haven't forgotten you. I just need the time, space, and will power to rattle out a few lines of update, prose, and more importantly nonsense.

Hopefully this thursday gifts me with a few extra hours.

The future taste good

2010-05-12T13:23:00.001-05:00

We are young and we are weak.
Just as blank as we are bleak.
Too far gone in our heads.
We all live and work in the red.

We're cold,
we had done all we've been told.
There's no court for our case.
What failure gave us suits our taste.

We all bend, we all break.
We all forfeit what we make.
Too far gone, in our heads.
We all live and work in the red.

We're cold,
we had done all we've been told.
There's no court for our case.
What failure gave us suits our taste.

There's no money to our names.
Empty pockets to our graves.
There's no court for our case.
What failure gave us suits our taste.

Approach from places

2010-05-10T15:03:00.001-05:00

The copy room guy - Thanks SNL Transcripts

2010-05-10T14:25:00.001-05:00

[ Randy enters the Copy Room ]

Richmeister: Ran-dyyy! The Rand-man! Randatollah!

Randy: Hi, Richard. Just making some copies.

Richmeister: Alright! The Rand Old Opry, makin' copies!

Randy: It's nice to see you, too, Richard.

Richmeister: The Randster! Randomly selected for your listening pleasure!

Randy: That's a new one. I like that one.

Richmeister: Ran-dyy! Likin' the new one! The Great Randino-o-o-o!

Randy: Now, that one I've heard before. [ exits ]

Richmeister: The Randipulator. Doesn't realize how hard it is coming up with new names. The Complain-meister! [ Steve enters ] The Steve-inator!

Steve: Rich! The Richmeister!

Richmeister: Second Lieutenant Steve, of the 82nd Airborne Division!

Steve: [ laughing ] What??

Richmeister: Ste-e-eve!

Steve: Hey, Rich, I've got to ask you something. This has been bothering me for a long time.. I mean.. have you always been this way, you know, with the "Name Thing"? [ The Richmeister stares into space, wondering ] Rich? Where you going, buddy?

Richmeister: The Rich-man, about to have a flashback! El backo de flasho!

[ The Richmeister drifts off, as the scene fades into a flashback of his childhood, sitting at his desk in the back of the Catholic school classroom ]

Young Richmeister: Tim-my! The Tim-meister! Sharpenin' his pencil!

Timmy: [ sharpening his pencil ] Hey, Rich. I'm out of lead.

Young Richmeister: No lead for the Tim Man! Tim-o-rama!

Timmy: See ya, Rich. [ walks back to his desk ]

Young Richmeister: Ti-i-im! [ Cindy approaches the pencil sharpener ] Alright! Cindy! The Cindstress!

Cindy: Hi, Rich.

Young Richmeister: Cindereta Cindita! The Class Babe! Makin' her pencils sharp! Sharpatollah! [ Cindy returns to her desk, as Froggy approaches the pencil sharpener ] Froggy! The Frogginator! The Guy with the Warts!

Froggy: Leave me alone.

Young Richmeister: Frogman! The Guy Who Likes to Eat the Paste! Frog-o-rama!

Froggy: [ annoyed ] Shut.. up!

Young Richmeister: Froggy, gettin' mad! Froggarino!

[ Froggy returns to his desk ]

Sister Margaret: Now, Class, remember we were discussing the Battle of Bunker Hill. Now, it was George Washington's belief that if he could..

Young Richmeister: [ interrupting ] George! George of the Jungle!

Sister Margaret: [ angry ] Richard!

Young Richmeister: Baron George van Washeimer!

Sister Margaret: Okay, Richard Laymer, maybe you would like to tell us what George Washington beleived he could achieve at the Battle of Bunker Hill?

Young Richmeister: Alright! Sister Margaret, askin' me questions!

Sister Margaret: [ stern ] We're all waiting.

Young Richmeister: The Nunster! Nun-o-rama! Nu-u-un!

Sister Margaret: [ grabs a ruler and walks toward Richard's desk ] Give me your hand.

Young Richmeister: The Young Rich-man sincerely apologizes!

Sister Margaret: [ towering over Young Richmeister ] I said give me your hand!

Young Richmeister: Be assured, no more talkin' from the Rich-man! Promisita to the Nunnita! [ Young Richmeister realizes his fate is inevitable ] Oh, no! Disaster for the Rich-man! [ close-up of Young Richmeister's face as Sister Margaret swats his hand with the ruler ] Auugghhhh...!!

[ flashback fades back into the modern-day Richmeister, still screaming ]

Richmeister: ..Aauugghhhh..!!

Steve: Rich! Rich, it's alright! You're okay!

Richmeister: [ coming out of it ] Steve?!

Steve: Yeah, you were daydreaming.

Richmeister: [ dazed ] Steve-o?

Steve: Yeah. You were mumbling something about Baron von George Washheimer?

Richmeister: The Stevester!

Steve: [ quickly looks at his watch ] Oh, hey, Rich.. I got to go pick up my kid at St. Catherine's. [ darts out of the Copy Room ]

Richmeister: St Catherine's! [ remembers his flashback, and panics ] Ste-e-e-e-eve!!

[ zoom out to fade ]

"I thought it was a perfect day"

2010-05-03T22:08:00.002-05:00

ten ten see you again

2010-04-28T23:53:00.007-05:00

Alright, so I'm borrowing this next post from my cousin. Originally it's supposed to be 'Ten on Tuesday' but it's wednesday night and I'm putting off a Hefty amount of work to indulge in some good ol' bloggin'. The caffine is flowing and it's going to be a long night, here's how to start:

ten on tuesday

1. Think back a decade, do you remember what your first cellphone was? Was it as cool as Zack Morris’s phone?

A decade ago I didn't have a phone, I haven't even owned one for half that. My first phone I bought for Christmas my senior year of high school. Since then I've been though, four. Kinda crazy to think about.

2. What is the first children’s book you remember being read to you?

I have no idea. However, Corduroy and The Berenstain Bears do come to mind. And The Little Engine That Could, of course.

3. What was your first car? Did you love it or hate it?

1996 S10-SS, loved it. Fit me so well. Sunroof, space in the back, clean and black, had some get-up. I was so upset when I wrecked it. I've been searching ever since.

4. Who was your hero growing up?

Meh, never really had one. There are people I admire and hold a certain amount of esteem to but nothing in the way of traditional hero. My grandpa Canning is always someone I've looked up to and aspired to emulate. Mark Twain is someone who I'm deeply fascinated and and fan of. Dylan falls into that category as well.

5. Think back to your first kiss. Was it everything you dreamed of?

Well, I'll keep this short. It was charming and in no way was it awkward or horrible. It happened much latter in life then I thought it would and yet it still seemed too early.

6. What was your first BAD hairstyle choice? (Extra points for embarrassing photos)

Seventh grade or junior year, either one was bad. I'm guessing in each my hair was in transition, that or I just hadn't cared about it. Pictures to come.

7. What was your first realistic dream? (One where you had to think “Oh dang, was that a dream?”)

I have no idea, how is one supposed to remember that? I hardly remember my dreams by three in the afternoon, however, I do know that almost every other night they seem realistic. My guess is that it would be a sad dream where someone in my family died, woke up crying or something. Heck, even the ones when I was really little that made me run to my parents room, obviously those were real enough.

8. What was the first phobia you remember developing?

I'm scared of dying alone or being old and being alone. I've had that since I was in third or fourth grade. Sad thought for a ten-year-old to think that he'll never find anyone and forced to be alone the rest of his life. I STILL HOPE THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN.

9. Which character on Sesame Street do you most identify with?

Ernie. I always thought he was the best. He had a friend and was well rounded; he could sing, play, make jokes, and everyone liked him. At the time I was small and he was the smaller one.

10. What was the hardest goal you ever accomplished?

I've had a very very easy life. There are things that I have worked hard at but nothing really stands out. Maybe just accepting myself and being content with where things are headed and having confidence in that.

Oh, the hopeful

2010-04-27T08:37:00.001-05:00

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
`Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
`The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
-A.E. Housman

Can't you tell

2010-04-24T22:43:00.003-05:00

From the far corner she glided across the room and took a seat on the green corduroy divan. He, in the chair next to her, was looking at the mismatched rug that protected the hardwood floor, hands folded, holding his head.

He wiped the sweat from his brow. "You're dangerous but you already know that don't you?" He lifted his head to look at her.

She gave a coy smile and reached into her purse withdrawing a cigarette, "What do you mean by that?"

Clear, quiet, and with a mild pause he began, "You know what you want. You've held it before but only briefly. It wasn't yours to have then and now you will do anything to make it yours again. You are smart, confident, artistic, and beautiful in every sense of the word. When you walk into a room, those who know your name, whisper, those who don't, watch. Your eyes are full of passion too powerful for anyone to look at. Your lips hardly move and people stall at what you say. The calm inside of you conquers the heart of man and the soul of woman"

The red from her lips left a stain on the cocktail cigarette holder.

He continued, "A nightingale landed near my window last night and sang a song so sweet it would make you weep if you didn't have another day on this earth. It knew no more of Mozart then I do of love yet it still sings. So tell me what order of events transpired for you to be sitting here across from me?"

The glow from the cigarette faded away. She leaned in with a whisper, "I've seen pretty people disappear like smoke."

Lantern

2010-04-22T12:10:00.007-05:00

Climbing trees to lift the sky
Holding Three candles and a second lie
Taming the wild in a bavarian blue
That is where I found him and you
_________________
Not staking my loyalties
not claiming my territories
_________________
I then saw a flash of myself in the future. It wasn't anything spectacular. Quite the opposite. I was there standing, with no discernible direction. He, or I, was looking at something in his, or my, hand and wearing a baseball cap. I never wear baseball caps.

If future me saw myself, I'm sure he would have shrugged or at most asked for a pencil and then said, "What? You don't have a pencil, you came all this way and forgot to bring a pencil ... I guess I should have known that already."

Just then a grandfather clock fell on my forehead and sharp pain moved across my face and rested above my brow.

workin'

2010-04-17T00:01:00.009-05:00

Ok, so I rarely talk about work. Mainly because I find it boring and poor subject matter. It's rather mundane and nothing interesting ever happens, plus people who constantly talk about work somewhat rub me the wrong way, however that is completely depending on their job. If one complains about their job, I don't want to hear about it, if one enjoys their job, it doesn't sound like work at all. Not sure what all I was trying to accomplish by typing that but lets move ahead . . .

Very rarely does a day go by at B______ without meeting someone who speaks a different language and is from a distant land. They flock to B______. It must be something about cafes and books. Australia, Netherlands, Spain, Argentina, Germany, France, Italy, Korea, India, Peoria Illinois, they come from all over. It's usually fun to hear about why they're here and what they are doing next.

Today I made the misstep of assuming someone was from England, they had the accent, turns out they were from Australia. I wasn't too embarrassed but on a scale of One to Ten, how insulting to a person is that? Curious.

I suggested "The Hobbit" to a lady today, she had never heard of it.

Working upstairs is by far much more enjoyable. I am able to sample the cafe when I please, plus, that's where they keep the cheap books, so most times I scan the stacks for anything interesting. Passes time.

Today, I hit the jackpot. The cartload of Christmas cards was being thrown out, anyone could help themselves, and I did, literally grabbing a full box and walking off. Nothing says "Hello, I haven't heard from you in awhile, lets catch up." like a snowman in july. Should be an entertaining summer. Now to find some addresses.

Other then that, no big revelations. Work is work. Let me know when my career starts up. I'd rather have that then a job. However, I'm sure I'll quit it just the same.

(You ask, Is the anonymity up top necessary? Yes, I signed an agreement back in september that made it so. Makes me cringe.)

Tacit Praise

2010-04-15T11:19:00.021-05:00

Walt balled up a fist so tight water and air would not pass through, "You take that back you no good sonofabich."

The sunglassed figure that stood before him looked with contempt, "I'll take it back just as soon as you lie dead cold in the ground." He spat, reached into his left breast pocket and pulled out a Colt M1903. It was hammerless and had two round left.

Walt would be fourth but not the last man to die that day in the little coal town of Lexington.
______________

After work hours most men, those that did not have families, other duties to attend to, or whom ignored both, found themselves at the Brass Eagle, a watering hole near the train-yard. Normal attendance included a healthy mix of coal miners, rail workers, town politicians, the occasional passer-by and farm hand. People arrived at the Brass Eagle only if they had a reason or knew someone. It was named such because of an adornment on the west facing corner, no named lined the door. Drifters, who were in and soon to be out on the trains, usually stationed themselves down the street and set up their own establishment. The classier variety stayed at the hotel.

William, or Bill as everyone called him, was the local knight. Well read and soft spoken, rarely did he pay for his beer and more rarely did anyone speak sour of him. He was a towering Six foot Five and held a rail timber like a toothpick. He had served in the great war for a year and the scar on his leg vouched for his time there. During the Saint Mihiel Offensive, a downed Austrian fixed a bayonet to his leg. Bill returned the puncture with one to the heart. He laid alongside the body till he was carried away. Tucked on the inside of the dead soldier's coat was a dagger with the engraving:
"If thou feel not the beautiful, still thou, with reason, can will it;
And as a spirit can do, that which as man can not."

The dagger that once protected that Austrian now rests in Bill's pocket. And next to that pocket sits a squirrelly man.

Guilford was always jittery and usually he would tell a story that went along with his mannerisms. A walk down main street never sounded so interesting as when Gill was telling it. Tonight he was rambling on about a circus monkey that escaped from the 915 from Detroit, "It was supposed to stay on the yard for an hour till the 1020 to Texas pulled through. It took five hands, plenty of food and a good kick in the ass to get it back on the train. Damn the fool who sent it without a cage."

"Sounds like it made an monkey out of you." Morris Cook laughed.

"Well, no more then you." Gill went on, "The bill of lady was clean when it left and wasn't only a minute behind schedule. What are you supposing an animal like that cost? And why the hell would anyone want one? It stunk worse then Mo after he cleans out an oil tanker!" Everyone gathered around laughed. Morris smiled and flagged down the bar keep for another round.

Aside from the primate, the 915 brought along another equally unique passenger. Amongst all the confusion, he walked quietly off the mail car with no bags, carrying only a cold dark smile and a trilby hat. He was sitting at the end of the bar eating a steak when he overheard the laughter at the other end.

The second round was served, Bill refused, "I can't stay long, tomorrow Walter and I are headed up to Bason Creek." Walt nodded in confirmation. Gill, Morrison, and the others gave hushed disappointment. "Now, now, you all worked hard today and I appreciate the gesture but do not let me stop your amusement." He went for his coat and headed out, along the way noticing the gentleman positioned at the end of the bar.

At Walt's suggestion they cut through the rail lines. It was about a mile hike straight through, the rail yard saved them a good ten minutes.

"You know I've been thinking" Walt began, "We've been going north for about the past two or three months, we can't keep this up during the summer. Our bodies will be dead before long. That and we haven't been paid since the first."

Bill grabbed his shirt, "Shhh"
"All I'm saying is that we need. . ."
Bill cut him off and looked him in the eye, "Shhh" then whispered, "Did you hear something?"

They both looked around then blankly at each other.

"No, what the hells gotten into you?" Walt asked.
"Who's the night watchmen tonight?"
"Don't you remember, they got rid of 'em during the week. They have that midnight train that rolls though, I guess they figure there's enough hands around then that they don't need anyone in between."

A glimmer of light peered through an abandoned car and a faint murmur of voiced followed. Bill walked up to the back axle. The noise was coming from a good fifteen yards away, about two track lengths. He picked up a lever that was resting on the ground.

Walt looked nervous, "What the hell are you going to do?"
Bill shrugged, "Not sure." then began walking towards the ruckus.

As soon as he was in earshot, he yelled, "What the hell's going here?"

A can dropped and bounced off a rail, making a clear tinny thunk, the two faces hidden behind the shadow looked up. Neither could see the other. One answered, "Is that Bill?"

"Yeah, who's askin?
The other shadow replied, "Aww, shit, we didn't mean anything" stuttering, "we'll be on our way, we don't want no trouble."
Bill lowered his arm, "Drop whatever it is you have and get outta here, there won't be no trouble."

The two teenagers ran, they were older and worked for the mines. Bill recognized one as Pastor Reynolds nephew.

Walt smiled, "You think we should tell him next sunday?"
"Nah, I have a feeling he already knows."
_______________

Bill watched his brother drop ten yards off from the creek bed. He rose up and began with a dead sprint. The stranger had time to fire one shot, it hit Bill in the same leg the bayonet had struck two years earlier. He winced and lunged with the last amount of effort.

As their bodies hit the ground the dust shook from their backs. Blood poured from the stranger's chest. Bill crawled to his brother. The sun was a flame beneath his head. Night was coming.

The dagger was silent.

viewing party

2010-04-13T22:56:00.002-05:00

Most my video work that I've done for broadcast journalism classes is here

Recapped ver. 21.11⅜

2010-04-11T22:14:00.006-05:00

This damn bug keeps landing on my computer. What a dangerous life it leads. I hope it has said it's last goodbyes . . . smart fellow, it flew away.

Ok, today I did the race thing. It went swell. But lets not start there. About a week ago I began my adventure into finding some garb that would fit in nicely at a masquerade ball. As the week progressed, checked that off the list. Had a few adventures but like anything else in life it all comes together the way it should because there's no other way.

It is near impossible for me to sit down and serious put to task my school work. There's about three weeks worth of stuff that needs to be done. Some way some how, it'll be ready in time. Paper, Papers, Presentation, even bigger presentation, typical test. The end is nigh.

Friday night I had the wonderful opportunity to watch the last blues game. I had not been in quite some time and "icing" calls still baffle me. Great sport in person. Made it up to club level seats. After the game went over to Voodoo to watch the Ocean Rivals, great show.

Saturday, The ball. I made it on to prom court, that was a throwaway joy. Lost out on being the King. Had a few drinks, danced a bit, slick floor, saw a handful of friends, great time. Wish I knew full dances, any ol' classic would do. Went to bed around two.

Sunday, woke up a bit before six, drove into saint louis, first thought; "I hope these people are better at running then they are at driving." It was chaotic. Finally made it into the cattle ranching area. Most difficult part during the race was just avoiding people and there's a lot of them. I did better then I expected all things considered, 8:25/mile. Not sure if I'd do it again, I run to be away from people and I don't especially enjoy running.

A few interesting things I saw while running:
-around mile 4, a good handful of men used the I-44 bridge as a urinal
-Some priest showering runners with holy water, this made me smile
-One person collapse
-A drum-line
-Parts of saint louis that brought back a bunch of memories.
-Wonderful support

With that out of the way I can start focusing on other stuff.

I'm on the court

2010-04-11T18:49:00.006-05:00

Don't sit with your back to the door

2010-04-08T23:03:00.003-05:00

“Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”
- Steve Jobs

"Live up to your own standards, that is what being yourself means."
-Me

New Dylan Album

2010-04-06T15:11:00.001-05:00

Jakob Dylan, "Everybody's Hurting" Live on Soundcheck

Not quite night conversation

2010-04-04T22:03:00.006-05:00

He held the phone to his ear and waited till he heard breathing on the other end, then calmly began with "I'm sitting here near my window, listening to the wind and watching the trees sway."

Pause

An eager voice responded with a long drawn out, slightly confused "Okay."

Smiles

He continued, "It's a nice night out, what else should I be doing?"

Banter

The voice, a bit uneasy, "Humm, I don't know. You are right, though, it is nice out."

Question

Him again, "Well ... what are you doing? And is it odd that I don't begin with 'Hello'?"

Answers

La voice, "There are so many odd things out there it's normal."

Rained last night

2010-04-03T10:06:00.001-05:00

Buckets of Rain

To who it may concern

2010-04-02T21:27:00.001-05:00

"Wherever you are tonight,
I wish you the best of everything, in the world
And I hope you found
Whatever you were looking for"

Junior

2010-03-28T20:38:00.005-05:00

"Happy trails to you until we meet again."
"The Authors have deleted this blog."

Wordpress, you were cute and fun but it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe we can reconnect some other time when you or I or both of us are ready for a solid commitment.

Things are still up in the air as to what may come, come May.

Male, blond hair, blue eyes avg. ht., Seeking Advice

2010-03-23T13:11:00.006-05:00

Serious question here and I am looking for serious responses . . .

I am thinking about going into a MBA program. Should I?

In a strange twist of fate and desire, I'm seriously considering pursuing a MBA. I ask this question to you, the reader, because I'm almost positive only about five people read this blog, one of which is myself, and they make up my small group of trusted advisors. In the past, I've made some rushed decisions, some regrettable, others sufferable, but each time I've failed to fully plot out all the implications. This is where your personal expertise, insight, and moral character help me, your trusted friend, to contemplate the next step.

It would be Webster's MBA program which lasts one to two years and offers an emphasis in Media Communications. (I've heard that you're not supposed to stay at the same school for you graduate work). Several graduate assistant positions will be opening up soon. My uncle teaches one of the required courses. It would allow me to stay in saint louis and build relationships with several media organizations (STLbecon, Creative Saint Louis, Globe-Democrat, Vital Voice) My undergraduate degree is in Media Communication. I know right now there is a push for real experience in the work place. My portfolio and resume is more media oriented.

Thoughts, please?

La-la

2010-03-23T10:47:00.013-05:00

I was sitting on the floor and the bus was making its way around the outskirts of Philadelphia. Interstate 76 doesn't make the best bed but, on the floor I was free to listen, watch, write, and read whatever I pleased. It was night and the sights were limited. For some reason my dad was on the trip, he was huddled next to a window surprisingly asleep.

You could hear a few conversations from the front. Whispers here and there as to what we were going to do once we arrived. Truly I had no idea what I was doing here. My computer was keeping me company enough and other then my dad I only knew three others. Although, everyone looked familiar.
--------
It was around 2 AM, she sent me a text informing me that it just wasn't going to work out. I understood and half welcomed the news. It's better to wish someone to be free and happy then be an obstacle to another's free and happy. Still, I wanted to know why and what was going to happen next.

She left her seat and I bolted towards the front. Dumfounded, I began to speak in tangled jagged spurts, "Do you know? ... I was there ... you seen ... I have been you ... It doesn't have to ... I can help ... sadness is necessary .. but it doesn't have to be ... just let me." At each outburst my throat was tightening. I collapsed and went to sleep.
--------
It was almost dawn when I woke in a small brick house. The cool air swept the curtains in the bathroom. The rug on the white floor kept me warm. A woman of non-distinguishable age was talking in the kitchen. She was greek and held a cup of coffee in her right hand. The paper she was reading would drift up occasionally. I stayed there till the sun lined perfectly with the window and my face, Two O'Clock.

I took a deep breath and walked out to the street. My headache was unnecessary.

100th post

2010-03-20T00:20:00.009-05:00

So for the Communique Souffle, this marks my hundredth blog post. This little adventure started just over a year ago.I debated for a serious while, a few days, as to what this post would be about. Originally it began with: "Some years ago, in that brain..."

That sentence has near endless possibilities, all of which I would thoroughly enjoy hearing. Sadly, I will only know two or three versions. At any rate, the Souffle has been good to me and so I shall stick to the M.O. of 'General statements and official announcements'

Things I have learned over the past year:
-Politics is a dangerous game, get out at a young age and you can save your sanity
-Life is much more rewarding and all around interesting if you embrace personal qualities, characteristics and thoughts
-Love is real and unexplainable, it encompasses everything, crawl up into it and be warm, MOST IMPORTANTLY: Accept it.
- An idle conversation contains more character then a sheep colored green wearing a top hat
- Make your way through the crowd and say hello
- Smile and sing when you can
- "Perfection only resides in the heart of the forgiving one" & "The liked and loved show respect to all"
- Accept challenges, they define you but let go when you're not in the fight
- Everyone needs a good pair of sunglasses
- . . . Hat
- Dr. Pepper is to goodness as Sun is to energy
- Don't force it, chance will find you
-Of course there is always more but right now the words have yet to develop, the feeling is there.

For the most part, I have been sheltered and I have sheltered others from me. Doing that creates way to much work. I would much rather take a deep breath and walk. Greeting all those who come along. State your peace, enjoy your time, and you need not look further then to your left or right for the people who care about you. I ask myself "Self, is my behavior worth replicating?" at and one point in time, no it was not. I ask myself this now and I say yes. More then replicating it should be shared.

The moments I remember fondly in my life, I shared with people. The moments I remember were there was no one around, I only wish that there was someone to share it with. A tropical waterfall, a sunset, an empty table and a full bottle of wine.

Trip the light fantastic down a shiny dark alleyway, appear at the other end as a comet with no direction holding only love. Be sure to tell the story.

"True love is the only heart disease that is best left to "run on"--the only affection of the heart for which there is no help, and none desired."

Picayune

2010-03-15T17:02:00.005-05:00

Where to begin?

The sun sings a sultry sonata, swaying the sundry sailors who sleep silhouetted against the slotted sky. Maybe not the best but it feels great.

Mississippi was a wonderful trip, reconnected me to where I belong. In the long line of life, love and time, things have a way of finding their place. What made it such a great trip was A.) Each day was set, I would wake up be there at 8 and work the day B.) Upon leaving each day, my labors and efforts were apparent and appreciated (something to show for my work) C.) The people surrounding me me were dynamic and full of support and love, we knew our differences and embraced them (it was a group that had a great chemistry)

With that aside. The south has a beautiful landscape. The cypress trees, pines, lined up along the road. Sunsets that are easily appreciable. And a healthy bouquet of flowers to make anyone smile.

New Orleans is something of it's own. Fire, grace, soul and sweetness. Live it, love it, experience it.

It was one of those moments were everything felt right, found the balance.

Taylor Swift you have a new fan.

Last night was picturesque; Cajun crayfish boil, fishing by a lake, a late night walk that had a healthy amount of star gazing and conversation.

Back here, 8 weeks left till I'm graduated. That internship needs to find itself and a good bit of school work is in order.

I couldn't be more thankful to my friends, family, and whatever else brought me to this point. I'm going to try to ride this out for as long as possible.

Watched The Hurt Locker and Up in the Air. Both good. After thinking about it, Up in the Air is uplifting in it's despair, there's a good message there.

When the rain is blowing in your face

2010-03-15T01:01:00.007-05:00

Much to say, it's been a while but it's also late, so I'm going to sleep on it. In the mean time, I've been listening to this song all day, opted to post this version:

GARTH BROOKS "To Make You Feel My Love"

Trove

2010-02-28T15:32:00.004-06:00

Today my grandpa turned 83. Regretfully, I know very little about him. What I do know;

-He grew up inKaskaskia Missouri/Illinois

-When he was Freshman in High School, him and his brother moved up to Saint Louis, 1941, (Since he was somewhat of a 'Farm Boy' the city kids harassed him till one day "[he] found the biggest kid at the school and gave him a good roughin' up.")

-He served in the Navy during WWII, he worked with the big guns on the Battleships. He would load the charge

-His wife died of cancer in the late sixties, while my mom, uncle, and and aunt were in high school.

- He enjoys a good western. The only books I've seen him read were westerns. Probably why he reminds me so much of Clint Eastwood.

I asked him what he thought of all his grandkids, 19 of us, "They are all different"

Novel sound

2010-02-24T14:03:00.007-06:00

Song begins around 1:15, only video I could find:

NOVELS - No Hard Feelings (Chapter 5 of 5)

Song begins around 4:02, although at 2:25 the sound engineer makes me laugh and at 5:04 a Uke is clearly played.

NOVELS - This Wouldn't Be The First Time (Chapter 1 of 5)

Mercury, Sun, and all the Stars

2010-02-20T22:55:00.013-06:00

I want someone to talk to other than myself. I want to tell them "I used to make these video shorts with my friends and we had the most fun in the world. We would get together, write, and shoot. It wasn't anything complicated just . . . fun." I want to share how I really feel about those videos and how they made me feel. They felt real, that is, full of substance. Sure it was all lighthearted but it was fulfilling and, most importantly, I was truly myself and happy while doing them.

Last week I was debating going down to Soulard for Mardi Gras. In my mind I knew I didn't want to but there was little else going on, I figured I would end up there. Luckily I was with a friend and she asked me something to the effect "Do you really want to go? Why don't you want to go?" I thought about it for a few seconds then pushed it back in my mind.

Later, after dropping her off, I was thinking about what I should do, the question came back. I did start heading downtown but as I was driving it became clear to me. I want something real. I want something of substance. Going to Soulard that night would just be me sitting around drinking trying to have a good time and after enough drinks I would stop thinking so hard and yes maybe a good time would develop . . . but it would just be on the surface, not real.

I want to experience something of passion that is more then just face value. That emotion is what I felt about those video shorts and several other things in my life. They had meaning and were present in several levels of my consciousness. I am tried of the cordial passiveness I feel day in and day out. I am not looking for an adventure. It has been awhile since I've done something that meant a considerable value to me. I want to know what that value is again. I want an emotional connection to my actions.

(I ended up at The West End Grill and Pub, wonderful place, ate dinner with my mom and dad, had a few beers and watched the Olympics, it was enjoyable.)

unpublished

2010-02-18T11:26:00.005-06:00

Last night I received a call from an unknown number. Around the same time I was preparing for a zombie invasion and debating which path I should follow for my life.

. . . what is important is not what you are told but what is inside of you and how you connect that with those around you. Life is very mortal so enjoy it while you have it.

Snaps on a pilgrim.

Statement

2010-02-17T16:46:00.005-06:00

A fresh pale face in a big city has much to yearn for and more to prove. In the fall of 2006 B____ found himself waiting in line at the unemployment office in New York City, what brought him here was a good deal of chance, moxie, and earnest pursuit. He had graduated that spring from the University of Colorado at Boulder with a degree in both Astronomy and Film Studies. At graduation he applied the life scale of ‘Love or Money,’ love let loose it’s full weight and won outright. Luckily for B_____, he had a sister who lived just outside entertainment’s second capital, New York City.

He quickly set to task finding a job. His internship at Comedy Central plus a stellar “reel” gave him firm footing and confidence to boot. He applied and wrote everywhere. All the major production houses in New York received some form of correspondence, over 150 in all. After three months, only one call back from Silvercup Studios that amounted to ‘Thanks but no thanks.’ Downtrodden and despondent, he headed to the unemployment office. He was handed a packet and told to fill it out and return the next day. On his way home he ran into an acquaintance, she had graduated a year earlier. They quickly exchanged pleasantries and informed each other the goings and doings of their lives. As chance would have it, the old friend was working on a film and needed extra help. The film ended up as a Sundance entry, The Wackness.

Clearly none of that has anything to do with my degree audit, portfolio review, or time here at Webster. However, it does speak to some universal truths I have gained over the course of my undergraduate studies. Namely, to accept situations, work diligently, and maintain love as the highest form of guidance. Fortunately, these vague clichéd statements do not wholly represent my education. Permit me to describe a few tangible talents and endeavors to support further pursuit in my degree.

Four ignorant years ago I entered Webster University under the guise of Broadcast Journalism with the sole ambition to operate a video camera. In my checklist of goals, I have succeeded in the later and since demoted the first. The decision to change my major to an ambiguous study such as Media Communications is a result of my undetermined mind, general enjoyment of all media content, and desire replicate media content in my own way.

I feel confident in producing editing, and disseminating video content as well as audio. Aiding me in this is the various audio and video software, including Final Cut, Pro Tools, Soundtrack, Audition, LiveType, and Audacity. With regards to the still image, I have minimal but proficient understanding of Adobe Photoshop, Inkscape, and Sound Slides. Classes such as Video I, Audio I, Media Production, and Media Writing, all have provided a solid base for my interest to build upon. However, more so then the classes, were the teachers who inspired creativity and instilled an endless future of where the content could go.

There have been few opportunities to practice what I know. For nine months I had the opportunity of being the General Manager of The Galaxy Student Radio, as a freshman nonetheless. In my “time off” I spent my junior year at the University of Missouri. Ironically this allowed me the most opportunity to demonstrate what Webster taught me. I was employed as an audio/video technician for the Mizzou Arena and Hearnes Center. I shared this task with four other students. Together we made the place sing and dance though the audio system and video boards. On the side I worked for a high performance audio and video store as an installer. Between those excursions, I also made time to help as a camera operator for the Blues.

Bob Dylan once wrote, “Say you are an exact mathematician.” This seems like sound advice. I told my Grandpa that I wanted to be an exact mathematician to which he smiled. This gives me hope that I will find what makes me happy in whichever career field I choose. Several teachers have stated that those graduating today will have on average seven careers. With this in mind, I have much to yearn for and more to prove. Without a doubt media will be involved.

Trying to recap

2010-02-11T14:31:00.004-06:00

My dream(s) last night included: (I changed the names because people don't need to know I'm dreaming about them)

-Three day bike ride/camp-out with _____. He brought a gun because we didn't know what the trail would be like. Slept in sleeping bags. Saw all the stars at night. Remembered why life is important.

-Visited _______ at her apartment, she showed me the man she is going to marry. We had dinner. A heartfelt conversation followed.

- Stole a prescription for ______. I snuck it out and brought it with me to another store where I bought 27 (not sure of the exact number) travel sized contact lens cleaner bottles and three or four containers of an energy drink. The lady was very nice to me and i must have stayed there and talked till there was a long line behind me.

-While I was at the check out a brownie cookie asked me to purchase it. I declined.

-I was near a hillside and it was snowing. Dusk. The gang from sandlot was playing indian ball. I forgot my glove so I asked on of them if I could borrow one when it was my turn to be in the outfield. I found a big blue hook like that of Captain Hook's hand. I threw it and it broke apart as I threw it.

-I slept in the back seat of a car as I was snowed in.

- _______ and I went to a desert where there was a water park.

"...those brown eyes dreaming"

2010-02-10T16:01:00.004-06:00

Web Pirates

2010-02-09T16:40:00.004-06:00

I deleted my twitter. Quite frankly, it just creeped me out. That and I didn't use it that much. But really, it creeped me out. I'm doing a paper on social networking, specifically looking into privacy. Left a bad taste in my mouth. The less web presence the better.

Also, of all the social networking sites I've been apart of and those I'm still apart of (forums, xanga, myspace, facebook, linkedin) Twitter is the most begrudging. Upon my leaving, it wasn't nice or cordial about it. It didn't ask me what my concerns were or why I thought this for the better. It slammed the door and issued a harsh "Bye!"

Well I say good riddance.

meals

2010-02-06T23:33:00.002-06:00

"Breakfast like a king,
Lunch like a pauper,
Dinner like a begger."

meetings

2010-02-06T09:42:00.002-06:00

On staying positive

2010-02-04T22:53:00.002-06:00

"Why look at the horse shit when you can be riding the horses?"

notes

2010-02-04T10:42:00.003-06:00

Problem
↓
(leading to)
↓
Explanation of Problem
↓
(using)
↓
Examples/Quotes
↓
(covered by)
↓
Criticisms of your Criticisms
↓
(flipped by)
↓
Your Original Take
↓
(off ending with)
↓
A Solution

vindication

2010-01-27T12:03:00.003-06:00

Monday morning I handed my car over to the good folks at a volvo dealership, they are good folks, and still it lays in wait for upgrades and repairs.

Three things I wanted them to look at: check engine light (evaporation leak), coolant leaking, and an oddity, same that doomed my last engine, where the car downshifts, RMPS flutter, and just generally doesn't feel right. Well . . .

Calls i've received:
Yesterday - there's no coolant leak, upgrading software for check engine light, and no word on the last.
Today - there is a coolant leak, fixed, software can't be upgraded, found punctured tube, no word on the last.

Naturally this has my normal schedule in a flux. How I hate car trouble. They are good people though. Last time I had some work done I told them I am a college student and have no money, or at least, not that much. they gave me 20% off parts AND labor. Woot.

Shuffle

2010-01-27T11:16:00.001-06:00

Sometimes you set your iTunes to random and a song appears you never knew you had.

Check that out

2010-01-25T09:58:00.007-06:00

A very funny and all around entertaining Blog right here.

That link to another blog. I'll save you some time in figuring out what it's all about. Patrick Walsh is his name, graduated Webster some years back, wondered around for bit, wrote about it, now writes for It's Always Sunny. Before that he wrote for Rob and Big.

I specifically linked to one entry to highlight what it feels like to go to Webster (especially my first two years, hence, no longer in the film program). So true, so true.

Many thanks to Jeff for pointing this one out.