9/1/05 - 12:05am EDT (the worst of humanity?)
Quick question : what's wrong with looting?

80% of a city is covered with stagnant water filled with rapidly multiplying bacteria, viruses, chemical buildup, and god knows what else. There is no potable water, no waste disposal, no electricity, no home, no safety, and no plan for tens of thousands of people, if not more.

In the immediate future, the "city" does not exist. Cities are not marked by geographic territory but by a vast variety of functional networks. New Orleans has none. Good old fashioned civilized capitalism isn't just going to spring up in a few days. These stores and businesses are finished. The inventory is going to sit, and likely in the coming days, spoil and become contaminated. In most cases, owners, managers, and employees are not going to set foot in those buildings ever again. Leave it to insurance and start over in another time and another place. Who cares about inventory? You have a city filled with chaos, and the organized authorities are going to divert their focus from search and rescue and general order control to enforcement of LOOTING?

Now there are plenty of types of looting, but how do any of them really matter in the big picture? If some idiot wants to grab a DVD player and a stereo, let him. What's he going to plug it into? Where is he going to resell it? Likely, its just going to get accidentally submerged 10 minutes after it leaves the store (which would probably happen anyway if it just sat), and/or just be liquidated (no pun intended) later on once the business has already cashed in its insurance and sold to redevelopers (of which I'm guessing there will be many - all plotting and scheming now with watery mouths as it is).There's no need to waste authority and manpower policing people who don't have the skills or sense to survive anyway.

As to the folks looting grocery, clothing, and sporting good stores... what are they going to do, wait for it to re-open in nine months? The city is impassable, and every checkpoint where people are told to go is a chaotic mess with no order or plan. This is man at its most primal, fending for itself, hunting and gathering. This isn't stealing, its survival. Most footage of "the worst of mankind" is nothing but people storming food stores and distributing their finds, be it food, shoes (have you tried walking through floodwaters barefoot?), or fishing poles and rafts.

I hate to say it (for a variety of reasons the least of which being my fear of sounding like a Green Party member), but I feel much of this just comes down to socioeconomics and race. You have a dark skinned black guy with a kinky afro and a long white t-shirt in a (submerged, mind you) working class neighborhood carrying a box of new shoes, a case of Heineken, some snack bars and a giant 5-gal bottle of "stolen" water, and the news media uses words like "shocking" and "scourge". He wants to protect his feet, keep fed and hydrated, and at the end of a long day in a fetid hellscape, get a little buzzed and try to relax. Who can argue there?

The police, MPs, and national guard units need to maintain civilized order. Hunting and gathering the core of our primal survival needs and daily survival is the bedrock for civilized order. That's not to say there are no such things as "bad" looters. When true functional daily civilization exists, localized looting is a horrible thing to witness. This is different, and with exception to those who have combined their looting with further violence and intent to harm, this isn't even "looting" in the truest sense anymore. Shoot (with your soft rubber bullets, of course) the people screaming and fighting with eachother, further enhancing the already all-encompassing chaos. Handcuff the people kicking and biting their way to the front of the handout lines. Forget the scavengers, and put some effort back into drawing up a relocation plan and putting it into motion. Let the Nat'l Guard and MPs start implementing organization, rather than further intimidate an already weary populace that has shifted its entire daily objective from mere existence to survival. In that shift, all hindrances to basic needs are seen as threats, and you don't want tens of thousands of people against you when you're likely the only chance of getting them out with some semblance of order.

Am I way off base? Is my mindset un-American? (as suggested on, not FOX, but MSNBC of all networks)  I just can't understand why the news media and politicians are so focused on this minor detail when an invisible, impending wall of death and disease is moving faster than 165 mph winds ever could towards the city and its people.



... AND FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, WHO LET NANCY GRACE become an anchor? Do yourself a favor and don't for a split second watch any of her coverage on CNN/HN. This is a hard enough time for America as it is. Someone needs to send her back to the Longaberger Basket / Precious Moments convention. Grrrrrrrrrr.

Ok, she doesn't deserve this much energy. I'll stop here.
8/31/05 - 1:45am EDT (just too heavy for Superman)
First off, is it just me, or is the 24 hour news media just revolting? Its as though they were disappointed when the initial impact of Katrina didn't decimate New Orleans, only to be giddy little schoolchildren (and even showing kind of a smarmy, i-told-you-so attitude) when the levees broke.

No word how my aunt and uncle's place north of Lake Ponchartrain is holding up... but it doesn't matter that much. The good thing is they got out and headed for high ground early on. Very high ground. Colorado.

Largest Red Cross effort ever. Rather than donate online, in an instance like this, its kind of nice to talk to someone directly. 1-800-435-7669

--

OK, above statement notwithstanding, its funny how people stay connected without true interaction. As those claiming to be experts in communication, culture, and companionship say that we're drifting further and further apart from one another and the very fabric of society is coming apart, I just read a handful of very personal, very uplifting stories from close friends that not only make me feel tremendously happy for them, but all combined really shift my sense of general well being for the evening (in addition to the fact that I'm listening to the Flaming Lips).

Wax stamps and calligraphic flourishes aside, what separates "blogs", actual blogs, or just personal websites with photos and brief commentary (wait, what's the difference?) from the letters sent long before electricity and Slurpees? Personal delivery is determined simply by how vulnerable the writer chooses to be. Admitted, the delivery has gone from forced distribution to active reception, but that is more on the side of convenience than impersonality. Comment systems even aid in further discourse, and even public debate.

I guess this is nothing new to those who think about it for more than a second, but its in my mind because this month marks what is now my 10th consecutive year with some sort of website. More than a third of my life spent with some sort of publically-accessible clearinghouse of art, music, or thought... just interesting to think about.

But anyway, congratulations to Tom and Sheri on the eternal bond of love, the new job, the new home... here's to a long, happy, fulfilling adventure on all counts (I raise my Listerine to you). To Heather for the drastic change in direction, and its immediate and deep payoff. To Rachel for finding love and being open to someone else doing the same. To Jaime und frau on your 8th anniversary. To Kasima for whatever the hell he's up to these days.
8/26/05 - 9:15pm EDT (... he made a ramblin' man)
So about two months ago to the day, I had a little plan in my mind which seemed to be coming together nicely. Decades of underdoghood were shaping up for this one glorious moment wherein everything I held up as a driving philosophy, everything I believed in regarding love and friendship, every awful thing that happened in the last two years would be vindicated, every John Cusack moment I put myself in would pay off (in its time, of course, no rush) in this brilliant shift. The nice guy doesn't finish last; the prodigal high school sweetheart returns; all at once everything comes into focus... in a cute little home, with cute little pets, and cute little people with cute little jobs, and cute little families, and Happily Ever After

Sure, I would verbally deny that kind of mental state, possibly even to myself... but it was under the surface... the big moment where I get to turn things around and bukakke on life for a chance.

Then it handed me a towel.

It was good, though, because Kristin's little bomb shed light on a whole new variety of dark places in my dirty little soul that needed to be looked at.

I liken it back to motorcycling or hiking or any sort of exploratory hobby. 98% of the substance is in the travel itself, not the destination; learned that one straight from Mom, no question. I just got so tired and worn out from life, that I was ready to give up and completely start over with something new, rather than step it up on the path I'd been on. It doesn't (or rarely - outside of suicide I suppose) work that way. Idealism is cute and all, but it was also just kind of lazy to think that everything would just magically come together. It was also remarkably stupid to be led down the golden road by a married woman who clearly has trouble making good decisions about her own life, regardless of how supposedly deep our friendship was.

Sara and I drifted apart last year after Mom's funeral. Actually, it happened long before that, and November would best be left unmentioned again. I'm rarely one to burn bridges, but there just wasn't a whole lot left there save for a very fun, memorable end of summer last year. Having returned to DC this summer, she showed back up in my life at an oddly fitting time, and kicked our reunion off with something most unexpected - an apology, a declaration that she'd come a long way since then, a story of just quitting a job she hated, and a mention of the desire to let go the artificial soulless world of law school and have some fun for a few weeks.

In that mode, we get along amazingly well, despite having two completely opposite core personalities. She summed it up best, "The problem with us is : you know exactly who you are, but have no idea where you're going in life, wheras I have no idea who the hell I am, but have a very clear path I'm following." It makes for interesting conversations if nothing else. It also made for a great month and a half of realizing that life goes on, and when handled correctly with good communication, honesty, and a desire to make the most of it, is usually pretty damn satisfying.

Sadly, she's back on her way to the midwest. 2nd year of law school begins and major challenges await. Hopefully she'll have been able to take something from this summer back with her and find a way to apply it in the tougher moments of the next year. I know I will.

For now, I'm going to the f'n gym for the first time in too long. My pants are tight, and not in the good way.

Congratulations Tom and Sheri... here's to Happily Ever After-
8/15/05 - 11:28pm EDT (creeping like a tiger)

First and foremost - two more great music legends with a presence in my life pass on... Little Milton and Keter Betts. Keter was a DC area master musician who kept one foot firmly in the local scene, but was also noted international star. Keter was tremendously important to me as he was probably the first person to introduce me to jazz, to improvisation, and to playing by ear. I had always noodled around on the keys as a kid, but the day Keeter Betts Trio played at my elementary school one day twenty or so years ago was what sparked the fire. In discussing what jazz and improvisation were about, they played "Mary Had a Little Lamb" straight up, then Keeter would pull out these Sesame Street-like flashcards with various genre names on them. "Salsa", "Bebop", "Country", "Classical", and so on... and with each card the band would slowly shift into a completely new sound. To the rest of the kids in the cafeteria, it was amusing and fun to listen to. To an 8 year old with a developing ear, it was a revelation. Later, they asked for volunteers to get up on stage and improvise. My hand SHOT up and I begged to sit in the piano, but instead, he put me on drums. I was disappointed, but got behind the kit anyway. He picked Allin Holland (a playground rival of mine) to sit on piano. Allin couldn't play for anything. Keter laid down the bass line, I came in on drums, and Allin tried to join in. After the assembly was over, before returning to class, Keter pulled me aside and said, "How did you like the drums?".

"They were ok, but I play piano. Allin stunk." (cocky little bastard)

"But Allin was improvising... and so were you. You didn't play drums before, right? So you figured them out as you went along, plus you listened to what Allin and I were doing and tried to follow. You all did very well listening and thinking it through. That's what's most important."

Genius.

Keter played DC frequently, and I saw him a few times, but never got the chance to go up and thank him, feeling the timing/situation wasn't right and I'd get around to it next time I saw him. Funny how you have to learn that lesson twice.

The Memphis Soul sound has always been a core component of my musical identity, and when I was discovering both true Soul music and digging far deeper into Blues at the same time, Little Milton was a bridge between the two. It was either the Blusiest Funk or the Funkiest Blues... but he had an unmistakable style and sound to his work, twisting every facet of both modern and traditional southern music together. His songs were covered by a variety of bands, most notably an absolutely horrible version of "That's What Love Will Make You Do" frequently performed and recorded by the Grateful Dead. When I was able to make my pilgrimage to Memphis this past year to take part in the International Blues Competition, touring the newly rebuilt Stax studio that I had donated so much to, in a very strange transitional period of my life... I turn the corner in Studio A, and who should be sitting next to Booker T's famous Hammond M3 organ than Little Milton himself, apparently in the studio to do a live interview for XM Radio. He was all class, and let me come up just to say hello and say how much his music meant to me. The XM handlers, even though they were off-air, tried hard to take control and introduce him to all of their so-called VIPs, but for a few minutes, he just smiled big through his trademark yellow-lensed glasses, shook my hand, and let me get a pic with him. "Good luck at the competition man, keep the blues alive."

...those four words are sort of a cliche in the blues world. You hear it all the time. Some folks (Mike Westcott, for instance) turn it into a great anthem... but as a DJ signoff, or a footnote on a CD liner, it gets tired. When you hear a true legend say those words to you, though... one who realizes the scope of their limited time left on this plane... it becomes less a formality and more a directive.

--

Last night involved hanging out with Q, Kasima, Ashly, and Erika at Chi Cha (a Brasilian? hookah bar - go figure) and put me in a bit of a retrospective mood. Nights like that used to be the standard weekend routine. Still should be. Gah, I'm not old yet.

Been a while. Been busy. Life with house is kind of overwhelming, especially since I haven't done much. I find that I get so stressed out thinking about the big picture, that its easier for me to just not do anything. When I think about it in small steps, its fine... but its hard to do that because there isn't a clear path to take, almost everything rises to the top of the priority list when you think about it... especially since I have no idea how to do anything that is required. But I have a hammock, dammit. That was priority number one.



I've also been trying hard to just enjoy my summer. The house has been there for 60 years. Another few months without reinforcement or new paint isn't going to kill it (I hope).

Went out with some folks from work the other night to catch the finals in the local short flat-track motorcycle racing (otherwise known as motorsickle wrasslin'). It was amazing to see folks 5-65 getting those things sideways, stuffing eachother into the corners, and doing whatever they could to come out on top. I'd never been to a flat track race, and always lumped it together with NASCAR in my head (that is to say, boring, uninteresting circle track nonsense with all the common trappings of mass-market "redneck" culture - which is decidedly apart from true redneck culture - that I tend to cringe around). While there were the standard throngs of large men on overpriced, underridden ass-jewelry in the parking lot, there were also plenty of inversely stereotypical luxury SUV-driving competition moms from north Balto county hauling around their precious 8 year olds' $12000 race bikes... but at the core was more of a laid back state fair kind of vibe to it all, combined with that everyone's-in-it-together camaraderie associated with amateur sports of any type. Flat tracking has such a strong role in America's motorcycle racing heritage, and you really start to understand everything that entails when seeing its lowest rung.

Its been too long since I've written. The above was a completely unnecessary paragraph. I should have just gone... MOTORCYCLE WRASSLIN' IS AWESOME!



Sara's back for another week or so before year two of law school. I'm hoping that will provide enough time for a few more Strom rides and Lexi wrasslin'. Provided Northwest's techs don't strike, I'm headed to Minneapolis over Labor day to partake of the Minnesota State Fair (butter sculptures! deep-fried everything!), and catch the live, State Fair episode of Prairie Home Companion front and center... something that makes the 50 year old Volvo-driving northeastern academic in me very very happy.

Otis and Shirley... they tend to polarize people. I've heard Shirley has "too many colors" from Rachel's mom. Rachel defended Shirley simply because she was the underdog, and assumed I was always more of an Otis fan. Sara's definitely more into Otis. I think all choices are telling of the individuals' personality - but the truth is, Otis is undeniably a handsome little devil, and Sara recently pointed out his unmistakable Hollywood charm. Now if only he'd start using the litterbox itself, rather than just the area around it, we might be able to find him an agent.



Had a wrong-number text message tonight that got almost flirty. Or just creepy. Not sure which.

> "Can I meet you for a drink?"
< "Wrong number?"
> "Sorry!"
< "I mean... you could... but it might be a long drive"
> "Area codes are deceiving..."
< "Touché. 'Course, text is androgynous."
> "You must be a male."
< "a Baltimorean one at that."
> "Ohh... the worst kind."
< "we try."

Not much else going on... at least worth going into here. Tom and Sheri's big day is looming, their house is coming together. Best of luck to them...

7/29/05 - 1:35am EDT (pass with caution)
Best day in a long time. Woke up at 6a, was at the airport by 7:30, on the plane at 8:30, in Columbus at 10, on the bike by 11:30, and smiling at 11:31... and home at midnight.

550 miles total today... probably about 1/3 superslab, 1/3 very twisty backroads, and 1/3 somewhere in between. This bike is just amazing...

Plenty of great little moments throughout the day, but probably not as great once I put them into words for a bunch of strangers, so in the meantime...



varoom!

7/24/05 - 10:37pm EDT (hot-cha-cha-cha)
I'm here. Wish I could say I've been busy on the house, but I haven't. Hard to when the power gets shut off because the previous owners lied about transferring service... not that the electricity makes it reliably to most rooms anyway. Also been waiting for my electrician to get back to work. Hard to do anything there in the dark. Bah.

So instead, I've just been working my ass off at the shop, coming home completely exhausted and run down, immersing myself in Rock (the Hidden Cameras show was... kinda fun, but Dungen absolutely blew my mind - though I completely missed Driveby Truckers and Q-Tip at Artscape this year - kind of forgot about Artscape altogether, as most Baltimore residents are prone to do), destroying vehicles (snagged the Nissan's exhaust flexpipe on an exposed pothole in DC, ripped it out... again - then blew out the brakes on the van when trying not to hit an asshole squid on a CBR who ran a red light), being "visceral" (Sara is an incredible cook, has great fingernails, stamina, and is quite tolerant of my occasional snoring), and befriending all sorts of new animals.

Sara's housemate's dog Lexi is a half-greyhound-half-Jack-Russel (ouch) who is amazingly cool. Almost catlike. At my house the other day, a little orange kitten showed up out of the blue. Very similar looking to Otis. No more than 4 months old. Not afraid of anything. It would stand right at the fence and taunt Shadow (neighbor's lab), then walk into my house, curl up on the carpet, and purr itself to sleep, only to wake up a few minutes later and run back outside to screw with the dog, only to take off into the field to jump 4 feet into the air and attack a firefly. I hope he sticks aroud.

The desire to ride my own ride is stronger than ever. I think I've got a couple of valid excuses (but they are just excuses) as to why the DL1000 has sat for a few months without much attention... but that time is over now. Turns out I'm just going to sell it as a project bike. Sure, I could address the problems and turn it around for a little more, but I don't mind taking the hit and making up for the rest by parting out some of the accessories. I already have enough on my plate right now... more than enough, plus I had my time with it and determined that it was just a bit too big for me anyway. Let someone else make it their dream bike. Should be easy. Instead, I'm getting this. '04 DL650 with Jesses. Flying to Ohio Thursday to pick it up and ride it home. Less top end power, but similar torque, less weight, lower, cheaper to insure, better gas mileage. I think its a winner all around, plus it will make me miss the SV a lot less. Sure, because of the job situation, I wanted to get a Beemer11R or GS, but to keep it in the same price range, I'd be looking at a '94-'98 with 50k+ on it, just moments away from the inevitable trans / final drive / shaft failure. Whee!

Went riding with Sara today on a shop 11RT. Very nice day, and she took to it pretty well. There's such a great feeling in breaking someone in on their first real ride, and seeing that they really truly enjoyed it. Its like this secret extra dimension you live in, and is obviously better than everyone else's existence around you, and sometimes you can let a select few in to see it. Dammit, now I just think of the Matrix. I wish that movie were never made... 'cause everything remotely close to that kind of explanation just gets boiled down to "seeing thru the matrix"... even though it is. Huh?

As to Kristin... its a real bitch, and, well... that's life. Surprisingly enough, it really hit me to the point that I just dealt with it up front. The disgust and contempt I have for her has completely overridden most longstanding sentimentality. Actually, they kind of cancel eachother out, making it even easier to just move forward. I appreciate your support, even though most of you didn't even know the story (including the oft left-out details of her multiple declarations of love, promising she'd come back, etc etc etc). I'll never really understand it, but... if she just wanted to cut things off altogether, she did a damn good job of making that happen. I will seriously miss her family, though. That part sucks the most.

But we don't want to end on an awkward note, not at all. Things have been pretty good, and are clearly getting better by the day. The new bike daydreams bring a return of my wanderlust, and so with that, I'll give a nod to the supremely badass Heather, who is out colonizing California as we speak, and just sent me this gem.


And let's be honest... I think pretty much all of us are Poopenauts of some kind or another. Heck, I'm proud of it.
7/13/05 - 9:41pm EDT (cochese rides alone)
So... tonight, about half an hour ago, one of the most important people left in my life tore my heart out. And that's putting it as lightly as possible. What's more, she actually wanted to do it by phone, but I wouldn't let her.

She was one of my closest friends for more than 10 years. We share more inside jokes, more memories of surreal moments that no one else could remotely appreciate, more depth of understanding and unspoken respect... and more goddamned brilliant mixtapes than anyone else I know.

In the end, what made it all so amazing was that she was one of the few people I've ever met who just seemed to get it. From the hallway banter in high school to the near 10 hour tear-filled phone conversations of recent days, there was always a warm familiarity and understanding that surpassed philosophy or ideology... it was more a part of the soul than anything else. So, too, was the desire to just go somewhere. So many nights were spent intentionally getting lost (or just getting into trouble) just because it was fully understood from both sides that the journey was way more important than the destination, not to mention the source of seriously hilarious stories later down the line.

As time and distance grew between, that connection continued, often only expressing itself in occasional postal deliveries. Just a wacky cover and 74 minutes of music, comedy, and a sly underlying narrative now and then... just the three things I tend to live for.

And its not just the willful forsaking of an amazing friendship... I watched her little brother grow up and go from being an annoying little punk to a good friend in his own right. I cried when the family greyhound I loved so much for the last decade passed away. I loved spending time with her sister and father; some of the most brilliant, fascinating people I've ever met, with seriously fucked up senses of humor to match. And at the core of it all was a strong, loving mother who, and this is not something I'd ever say lightly, reminded me a great deal of my own mom.

Her family and I were always close, but after mom's passing, I really found a special place for them in my heart, as they all truly understood what was important in life, and lived by it. Their home was one of the warmest I've ever been blessed to see, outside of my own memories of mine.

Now obviously there's a little more in the way of dirt and details to this story... and frankly, I don't think any of it applies. While the emotional bond between us got stronger and more complex in light of her increasingly miserable marriage and my less than stellar couple of years, at its core was still that simple, truthful bond of profound friendship that itself is so rare. I always had faith in that. Even with the occasional daydream about what might be possible (spurred on by nothing more than reality - and her own words), I could always easily dismiss that and simply put my faith in that friendship over anything else. Emotional complexities notwithstanding, that friendship was solid, deep, and unmovable...

And now, its gone.

According to her, I just can't exist if she's going to fix her failed marriage.




if that doesn't just say it all...

Goddamn it, Kristin... I hope you find what you're looking for.
I really do.


7/08/05 - 3:59am EDT (crack & the thunder closing in)
No update in a while. Busy, sick, overwhelmed... tired. (and a bit agitated when it comes to world affairs - though other sites will comment on that to greater depth)

July 4th weekend was filled with interesting views. 18th St. NW completely shut down by the police; back at Tall Timbers making music with old friends; watching Bill Dean and his propane torch command a spark show that left everyone's favorite (adequately inebriated) St. Mary's county family ooing and aahing together; standing on the large hill my new home sits on, viewing the entire greater Baltimore region lit up by random explosions of light and color across the entire sky, from Catonsville to Dundalk, Brooklyn's impressive amateur pyrotechnics to downtown's over the top choreographed display. At every possible second for at least 2 hours, there was some sort of streaming colored streaks on some point of the horizon. Just a really incredible sight from there.

In a strange flashback, Sara's back in DC for the month, and came out to my first gig at Toulouse in almost two years to catch up. Life has really turned around for her on all fronts, and its so great to see her in a much better place (honestly, I had pretty much given up). Its also nice to know I had a little role in helping her out. Actually, its ironic that now I'm in a fairly low spot (surrounded by folks in low spots), and her reappearance is helping me reconnect a little better with the more relaxed, spontaneous, forest-vs-trees position I used to be famous for.

Low spot is mostly chemical, though there's a lot of serious shit on the periphery... plus just plenty going on the rest of this month, almost too much. Work is tough as we're terribly understaffed. Supposedly I am to be moved into my new place by August. I am also supposed to drive to Philly; twice; on consecutive nights; to the same place; to see two different shows; on work nights. Also planning a beach excursion at the end of the month. Free time is fleeting, and house time is even harder to find. I don't quite know what I'm doing, and am certainly naiive when it comes to just how much work is really necessary when it comes to starting a new home. But dammit, I also have to have a fun summer.

That said, 2 of 2 contractors have questioned my very desire to live there. These are people I intend to pay to help make it more livable, and they don't even see the point. Actually, one did. I just pointed with my hand where the sun goes down every night, then pointed to the rocking chair. He came around. None of them are free until at least late August, so painting is first, then move-in, then furnishing... then structural rehab. It's going to be a long year.

The house is less a house right now and more like a new friend. I go spend time with it. Don't really treat it like a project... more just... hang out with it. Did I mention I have no idea what I'm doing?

Maybe this rain will cause it to just cave in or float away or something, and the contractors will be happy, and I can cash in on the impressive rebuild coverage I have. All tolled, this is what I'd really like to have on that nice piece of land. But that just appeals to the supreme quitter in me (which is actually a very large part of my psyche... and maybe its time that part get taught a serious lesson on effort and payoff - 'course... a lesson like that that actually works out would be a rare and beautiful thing indeed).

Oh well, back to sleep. Sufjan Stevens' newest string of songs loosely inspired by states covers Illinois this time around, and reminds me of a few great just-passing-thru moments. Good times. Good album. Genius, that boy is.
6/30/05 - 11:58pm EDT (let you tell me...)
Click on the house pic below... and then comment here with any color/decoration/interior design ideas you may have.

Daddy's getting close to painting, but is having a hard time feeling 100% about the colors. (hallway stays green, bathroom will be orange, but BR, LR, and DR are up in the air)

FWIW, all lighting fixtures are being replaced, going contemporary. The goal is open and relaxed, but contemporary. Sorry, mom.
6/27/05 - 11:58pm EDT (let me tell you...)
... about my home.




Actually, I'm too tired for commentary, but you can probably figure a lot of it out. Appropriate music helps.

6/27/05 - 1:46am EDT (you're so cool)
"You make it sound so simple," she said after a long pause, voice hanging just slightly above a whisper.

(in the end, it'd better be.)

...

I walked back into the house and was thrown into the middle of a tragic conversation. The girl on the couch loudly proclaimed, "There is no happily ever after. There's no all-encompassing 100% perfect high-school-sweetheart John Huges / John Cusack movie kind of happily ever after. It just doesn't work that way. Anyone who thinks it does is wasting time and effort." I disagreed... Colin took my side with the caveat of, "There can be, but you have to put yourself first, always."

(in the end, it's the only way to avoid hurting others.)

...

(In defense of the dinosaur...)

I have been to every major retailer out there in the quest to re-do my laundry room and kitchen. The home-improvement superstores have a decent tool and appliance selection, but offer no real assistance (with information, advice, or acquisition). The electronics superstores have great prices on appliances, but no real selection, and even less assistance. Disregarding the years of high-volume mega retail progress that brought us to this point, I came to a sentimental old-timey thought out of the blue... Sears-Roebuck!

"I'm looking for a Sawzall."

"We have 12 types of reciprocating saws in stock... three of which are actually Muilwaukee-brand "Sawzalls", the rest are the same tool, but cannot use the trademarked "Sawzall" name, and are therefore labelled, 'reciprocating saw'..." and off Ted went to teach me everything I wanted to know about reciprocating saws in 4 minutes. Made my choice, then was told, "this one happens to be on sale, too... and we throw in 3 new blades."

What? Kick ass. Over to appliances.

In one fell swoop, Dianne (with her tasteful jewelry, stackenblochen-compliant nametag, and sharply pressed suit) correctly identified my situation, told me why she thinks the $499 gas range I had my eye on is actually better for me than the $749 one (but definitely don't waste time on the $399 one), then pointed me to a perfect compact stackable washer/dryer combo, wrote down dimensions on everything for me, beat Lowe's price by a dollar, preapproved me for a $3500 credit line with true 0% for one year, then gave me vouchers for free delivery on everything.

Admitted, my Target adventure on Friday included the no-questions asked deduction of $10 from the price of my new stainless steel microwave and an across-the-board 10% off for getting it on the Target card thanks to the mildly-retarded but well-meaning checkout guy... but still... red golf shirts are no match for career-woman-blazers and a sheet of paper covered in dimensions, prices, and "Dianne's hours - just in case you need to call for more info! Thanks!"

And don't even get me started on how great that big old American V8-powered Chevy van is... room for a bunch of major appliances, roll-down windows and FM radio... what more do you need?

I know what I need.

but for now, Zzz

6/25/05 - 12:17am EDT (turn to the left)
While buying kitchen appliances, somehow the idea that Otis needed a shirt came into my head... Rachel didn't have anything to do with it at all. No.


(Pretty!)
6/23/05 - 7:25pm EDT (he never bums any smokes)
Gratuitous cat picture in 3... 2... 1...



Dear Diary -
angsty cloud made up of work, lack of sleep, stress, anxiety, etc. broken up well today with a very nice 1pm wakeup phone call, relaxed afternoon, a little time catching up at the shop despite being the day off, and some quality house time.

Daddy found a beautiful set of hand-made rocking chairs and a small table to go with them. The front porch is a force to be reckoned with.



I needed a place to enjoy the sunsets from...



Zen goodness returns while on I-97 North, flying solo in mom's old Chevy van (for the first time, no less), furniture in the back (like it should be in that van), Replacements on the radio (like they should be), and a stick of good old van gum in my mouth.

6/21/05 - 1:19am EDT (plur this)
Wanted to do a comprehensive update of the site tonight. Then I spilled water on my laptop. Seems to have recovered after a few hours of non-function-ness... but no time or energy now. So just a quick update :

Otis is getting a little less snuggly... or maybe Rachel just took a bit too long taking the picture.

Shirley, on the other hand, doesn't mind waiting or snuggling.

Saturday was yet another long hard day at work, but was made better when Bob threw me the keys to the 2006 BMW R1200ST - a bike I see as the chief competitor to the Honda VFR and Ducati ST. I really wanted to go do moto safety crew for the MS150 bicycle ride in Delaware, but found out at the last minute the shop insurance prohibits that kind of duty. Damn. Wound up just taking that out for a random 250 miles or so Saturday afternoon, before getting a call from Q about meeting up later for Starscape. Not a bad backup plan.

Its comforting to know that parties like Starscape still happen with good success, and there's nothing quite like watching the sun rise over the Key Bridge while listening to lush, heady electronic music after having a few Sparks... but the whole vibe just isn't the same anymore. The general scene is still largely the same (for the most part, a good, entertaining mix of people)... but the substance... not so much. A hip hop stage in place of the ambient pier? Completely unnecessary.

Also unnecessary was the mystery vomit that somehow made its way into my motorcycle helmet shortly after one of my armored gloves went missing. All that I could wash it with was Bay water. I'm not sure which is worse. But at least I got good parking and didn't have to walk 2 miles like the car-drivin' masses.

Daddy needs a lithe little pierced vixen, pronto. Parties like that are not nearly as fun when you're alone, though it was great catching up with Q and his friend (which wound up giving us a few minutes to hang out with Rabbit In the Moon's frontman and get some technical info on their amazing - though vaguely Nitzer Ebb-ish stage show) as well as Q and I getting some new musical ideas going for the near future.

Got home at 6:30am Sunday, slept until 1, then went down to hang out with Dad and Andy. We went hiking at Great Falls together (first time we'd all done that in about 20 years as a group), then capped it off with steak, beer, and some time on the new level of male bonding we've been cresting lately.

"Yep."      "Yep."

Flew back to Baltimore aboard the 12ST, and stopped in at Goodlove to catch a set of Christian's DC lineup in place of the standard Sean Beier combo. Christian is one of the best live modern jazz/funk/d'n'b drummers I've ever heard, and his DC lineup just kicks ass. Bass player was laying down nothing but perfection, and the keyboard player made me want to give up on music entirely. Great flow to their set, even if it was loose and improvised. I can't wait until I can set up all my gear in the new place and get back into music the right way...

Dad's birthday is tomorrow and we're probably catching his softball game. This past weekend, one of his teams clenched the International 60+ title. My dad is not only cooler than I am, he's in much better shape.

So not a bad few days. I'm probably forgetting some big funny profound moment that I was supposed to remember, but I'm going to sleep now.

6/17/05 - 12:52am EDT (tartar sauce)
Up front, I realize the hypocrisy in this after my Coldplay/Kraftwerk rant the other day, but... I bought the new Paul Anka album. Paul. Anka. The fact that the man is still cutting albums alone is amazing, considering he was writing songs with Buddy Holly. This album is full of pop/rock/modern-rock anthems that he's rearranged into a lush early-Vegas big band kind of vibe. Sure, its been done before, from Pat Boone to Richard Cheese... but these are surprisingly inventive arrangements, played by a phenomenal orchestra, recorded and mixed with near-audiophile quality... its absurd, but almost genius. (how long does it take for you to figure this one out? My guess is... until the last word)

So I spent the better part of 12 hours working on the house today. Finished pressure washing the siding this morning... its almost shiny. Around 10:30, the legendary Mr. Bill Dean (construction guru, co-creator of Rachel, and all around great guy) showed up. On his day off. From St. Mary's County.

I was hoping he'd just stop by for a while, take a look around, and give me the honest dirt on exactly what's wrong with the structure (I hate trying to believe people I'm about to cut a massive check to). He did that (and its about as bad as I thought - but at least there are no new surprises), but then went above and beyond, and started unloading tools, lumber, and coveralls from his truck.

We actually got into the crawlspace and reinforced two of the worst floor joists while dodging spiders, decades of trash, and general claustrophobia (as best as I could, at least). Then when that was done, we went to [an unnamed retailer that is decidedly not Dean Lumber], got some aluminum and vinyl, and completely covered the rear soffit. "I do whatever I can to prevent ever having to paint," was the quote. Words to live by.

It was completely unexpected, but very much appreciated... and a lot of fun. Bill is indeed a hell of a guy, and its clear where Rachel gets her more admirable qualities, (though I could never imagine him staring at a Paslode IM350/90 nailgun, pointing his hand out, and screaming, "PRETTY!" like a Japanese cartoon character - and I don't want to).

Seeing as how he was about 90 miles out of his way, he left around 3, and after a phone break, I headed back to Lowe's (doh). Got a lawn mower and weedwhacker/edger... went back to the house, and went crazy for the next 5 hours. After all the weeding, pruning, and pulling we did Sunday, then after a full trim of the yard and very low cut of the lawn... the place just looks great.

I had just finished putting everything away around 9:00, as the sun took its final bow in the fields across from me, when my left-side neighbor and his wife came out to say hi. I haven't met them yet, though their black lab and I are good friends now. Nice folks, not nearly as scary as left-side neighbor #2 alluded to, and a hell of a lot better than right-side neighbor (business in the front, party in the back) and his circus of ultra-mega white trash nonsense. Anyway, left-side neighbor and his wife have been there a while, and were just happy to see someone taking care of the place making it look nice. We're probably going to split the cost of a dumpster next week, because they have a lot of crap to throw away, and my pile is growing exponentially. And its always fun to share with new friends.

Back to Greektown, via Fiesta, of course.

Just a great day. The running joke seems to be that the house has "character". A lot of it. By character, I mean no right angles. But that's ok, its also got a lot of potential, and most importantly... a lot of soul. More by the day.
6/13/05 - 10:44pm EDT (in case we die)
[21:48] hdogg915: aww
[21:49] hdogg915: your life is turning into metafiction
[21:49] hdogg915: dave eggers would chew off his knee for this.
6/12/05 - 10:17pm EDT (staying power)
Spent the afternoon out working in the yard.

I've always wanted to say that.

I rocked out the pressure washer on the siding and porch, then Dad and Andy showed up to help pull weeds and trim trees. On the inside, I found that none of the outlets in the kitchen work anymore, despite the circuit breaker being fine. Its a just a giant twisted malfunctioning funhouse (and I have suspicions its haunted). And its mine!

Can someone explain to me Coldplay's critical fame? The new single builds off of a Kate Bush vibe (the drums and general background production are basically the guitar/piano/voice of their last album over "Running Up That Hill"), and the last one filled me with seething hatred with its unabashed ripoff of one of Kraftwerk's best songs ("Computer Love", of 1981's "Computer World" album - possibly the first true techno album). Not sampling, actually copying the melody note for note. Its one thing to rip off a melody when you're a second-rate pop R'n'B act (Calvin Richardson's "tribute" to Sam Cooke, for instance)... the first time I heard "Time" I thought it was some awful fly-by-night emopop band cashing in on a couple of strategically placed notes written before they were born in hopes that they can snag a spot opening for The Bravery at some state college... but then Rob Timm's familiar voice said (hopefully with a little sarcasm - you never can tell), "That was the new one from the most critically acclaimed band in the world - Coldplay". You think the "most critically acclaimed band in the world" wouldn't need to rely on someone else's 25 year old critically acclaimed melody. Gah.

Everyone keeps calling them "the next U2," or worse, "the new U2"... but U2 hit a point (10 years into it, mind you) where everything started to sound the same and then they just got silly. And with this whole new-wave revival in effect, we already have about 8 folks competing to be "the next Gang of Four" or "the next Joy Division"... I wanna know who's gonna be "the next Talking Heads". What am I even talking about anymore? I actually have no room to be snooty... my random MP3 stream just went from Al Green's "Love and Happiness" to Flock of Seagulls' "Space Age Love Song"... and I didn't flinch (actually, I really dug on that shit... they're both probably on my top 5 love song list)

I sat on my picnic table today, watching the sun set, drinking a Red Stripe, and feeling pretty damn good. Until Andy pointed out the picnic table is far more structurally sound than the house itself... he had a point.
6/10/05 - 8:39pm EDT (hilt)


Done.

Nightmare scenarios be damned, the entire closing process took 20 minutes. The title agency even had fresh strong coffee. What's more, they gave me a care package.



A trash can filled with dish towels, soap, toilet paper, paper towels, cleaners, a hammer, kleenex, toothpaste, chip clips, extra strength tylenol, and knowing I was single, they also threw in paper plates, plastic cups and flatware. My agent also gave me a stack of stamped change of address cards. And my boss gave me Guinness. Rachel stopped by for a quick tour and a variety of decorating suggestions. I'm surprised how many ideas I already have coming together for this. Release the inner Thom Filicia.



Met the neighbors. Beautiful house, big new garage with a 40 Ford hot rod in the garage, and immediately gave me quick and easy lessons on how to cheat BG&E out of an expensive electrical bill. They bought their place in much worse shape, and have turned it into something amazing. Rich is a self-taught home restoration guru, and offered to help with anything I need, while his wife filled me in on the neighborhood gossip. Johns Hopkins just bought the housing project land a quarter mile north, and a major developer is sweeping in a quarter mile south to start building up a new upper middle class office/condo park. Cal Ripken Jr just contributed money to finish the renovation of the baseball fields across the street, and the local neighborhood coalition is requesting folks with urban design experience to consult on the master plan for the massive park in the back yard. Looks like its going to appreciate a lot faster than I thought, and I will likely have a lot to do with the planning of the area (which works out well for my slowly-forming plans of getting back to school in the next 5 years or so for urban design).

 But anyway. No right angles to be found in the whole place. Its leaning, sagging, twisting, and cracking like a postmenopausal woman (after all, the house was built in 1940). Lots more reinforcement to do than I thought, but... whatever. Its mine. Not only is it mine... but its off limits to tall people. I think the ceiling on the first floor is like 6'5". The windows start at my kneecaps and go up to my chin. There are outlets in the kitchen that hang from the ceiling. I don't understand what the hell the person who last rehabbed it was thinking, but at least it makes for a good laugh while I'm mentally trying to figure out how much snow it will take this winter for the place to implode.

The next few months are going to hurt (everywhere), but I'm sure this was the right thing to do (and the right place and time to do it). There's a lot more going on right now in other areas of the life as well, and if nothing else, the general crap of the last few years seems to be coming together to make a lot more sense in the big picture. And that's a great new feeling.

It will be at least another month or so before I move into the new place, so Otis will continue to keep watch over Greektown.
6/7/05 - 10:10pm EDT (we do not drink pee in russia)
Just listened to the 15 minute audio collage I edited from my trip to San Francisco last year... could taste the Chinese food and feel the rain.

This past weekend was epic. And that's all I can say about that. Trying to draw musical parallels and Staralfur is working well now... though we're also on the knife edge of some serious gutbucket blues. We'll see...

The house is a go. Closing is Thursday. I have no idea what to expect, what I need to bring with me, or what we're really doing. The lender and the agent aren't helping much. But so long as I walk out of there poor and holding a new key, everything went well. New siding was put on the back, new paint, all I have to do is address the structural and electrical problems... pressure wash the entire exterior, knock out some walls, make some new ones... change the range over to gas... trim some trees... plant some gardens... make a patio or deck, a driveway, and maybe a shed, add an air conditioner, put dormers in the upstairs master bedroom that face the city skyline... but I think the first thing I'm going to do is put up a hammock. I'll need it.

As if all of those little mom-like signs that I was moving to the right place weren't enough. Now Meatwad is watching over the neighborhood.



Somebody pass me another Resurrection, fast.
5/31/05 - 8:24pm EDT (... to your heart)
This past weekend kicked off with a stop at Baltimore's Lithuanian Hall for the old school soul/ska/r'n'b jam that I always beat myself up for missing. Coolest damn party in the city, I think. Also caught up with plenty of old friends (Water School in particular). Jeff Conlin loves the Water Scool.

After a bunch of $1 Yuenglings, choice vynil (including a surprising amount of rare Stax stuff), and dancefloor nonsense, it was back to work Saturday, then off to WV for Bob and Krista's "reenactment".

When we last checked in on our two lovebirds (no, not these lovebirds - contrary to what many of the pictures seem to reveal, Bob and I were not Jamaica's first gay wedding), the scene looked something like this :



(amazing)

Fast forward a week and a half to West By God where the relatives descended in full force. We're talkin' estrogen overloads, the threat of 3 raindrops, old people bumrushing the bar before it opened, militant photographers, felonious cigars, a giant dead pig, tiki torches that could be seen from space, and bourbon-fueled dancefloor anarchy. One hell of a party, really. So much so that the next day involved essentially nothing but Law and Order mixed with naps (thanks, Heather) then a final gluttonous dinner with Bob's family at Yellow Brick Bank in Shepherdstown.

It really is great to have seen Bob and Krista's relationship develop, and to see now how their families interact, their lives intersect, and the massive network of support they have behind them. The way it should be, but rarely seems to be. They're each amazing people and deserve no less...

Great to have been surrounded by stuff like this for the last month, too. Not just the week in paradise thing, but just seeing strong, easygoing, supportive families and relationships in action. Cleared out some of the old grimy sediment in the dark confines of the noggin, yessir.

Back to the gym. Was doing so well before Jamaica (obviously), but am right back to where I started now. And damn, was it worth it.

Anyway. To Bob and Krista - may we all (when the right time comes, of course) find something so perfect, yet so simple...

5/26/05 - 11:14pm EDT (two-way traffic on bridge)
So I woke up this mo'nin thinking it would be low-key.



The gritty white substance is... mom. (I don't mean to be overtly stark or gross anyone out... there's just something deeply profound about that picture to me... I actually wish I had something better than my cameraphone for that.)

Rode over to Dad's house this morning and knew we were going to be spreading her ashes in the garden, then heading over to the memorial garden where the family headstone is. In a sort of twisted irony, there was a Comcast work crew out front (re)digging holes for fiberoptic. (and if you've seen our front yard, you know that's not cool)

Anyway, Andy showed up after a nice chat with a State Paramilitant, and we sat and talked for a few hours, all the while feeling an undercurrent of awkward apprehension. With the clock ticking away and some other matters to tend to, we headed outside and sort of stood there. This was it... the only thing left... she's been sitting in a box upstairs in my old room for the last 6 months...

Something very strange happens in this situation. Regardless of what your thoughts are on life, death, and the supernatural... they go out the window. The initial idea was just that we'd spread some of her ashes in the garden, where she felt the most connected with the universe. I couldn't get the scene from The Big Lebowski out of my head. Instead, it turned into, "Where should I put her? We're talking eternity... I need to put her somewhere nice." We weren't pouring, we were sprinkling by hand. Luckily there was a lot to go around... all her favorite spots were covered... the brick pass-through in the main herb garden. The hill next to the pond. The newly-planted garden on the flood plain. Under the old fort which is now a bench swing... and my last handful required some long, serious thought. In the side yard, under the window of my old room, are concrete casts of our handprints made at various stages of our early youth. They're almost buried into the soil now, and were covered with leaves, flowers, herbs, etc... but I knew they were there, and I knew mom had to be as well.

We went to the memorial garden and saw where the rest of her ashes are interred... the gravesite is on a hill, overlooking a pond, and within direct eyeshot of the playground of an elemtary school. Next to her site is the grave of an 80 year old woman. Again, all my rational thoughts and beliefs are out the window, and I think how great it is that she can hear kids playing, see the geese and heron, and sit and talk with a nice old lady from here on out. It couldn't be more perfect for her, really.

Back at the house it was burgers and more typical Conlin male conversation, then time to go. Feeling more full than I'd like and needing to find a little inner zen, I mount up on the recently-decommissioned BMW R1100RT-P California Highway Patrol bike I took from work yesterday, and head east. Being rush hour, I knew I didn't want to take 97, 95, or 295 home... so decided what better than to strafe the backroads to the Bay Bridge, hope over to the eastern shore, head north, jump the C&D canal to Elkton, then head west through Conowingo, down into East Bmore. It'd only be about 180 miles... and it wasn't even 5pm yet. Mom would have been proud.

Up MD-213 past Chestertown in the middle of farm country, a WWI-era biplane roars over my head at about 100', then disappears behind the treeline. I pull over and wait to see it again. He doubles back, guns the engine, aims high, does a hammerhead stall, recovers, then buzzes me again. I wave to him, and he shakes the wings. A bona-fide barnstormer. He does some more impressive aerobatics, shakes the wings, and heads off another direction. I decide to mount up and follow as best as I can. I lose him for a few minutes, then stumble onto a farm road surrounded by wide open fields. Sure enough, he's out about a mile away doing more stunts in someone else's field. He spots me, buzzes me this time at about 50', waves, climbs, and heads north. I do my best to follow with the roads available to me. About 10 minutes later, I find him in another field, diving in between brand new McMansions, scaring the hell out of construction workers. He climbs up to just about 1000', inverts, completely stalls, freefalls, gets back under control, inverts again, and waves at me upside down as he passes overhead. I honk and wave back, and he flies off in a direction that no roads I can find go to.

"I just played tag with an airplane."

I get back on course, and jump over the Chesapeake City bridge back into mainland Maryland, but keep heading north past Elkton. Just before PA, I turn west and take the nice rural Rt. 1 down through North East, Sunrise, and Conowingo. One of my favorite little riding spots in the state. I come upon a pack of very loud, but very slow Harleys riding in formation. I fall into position at the back of the pack, wondering why on earth anyone thinks this kind of riding is fun. As we're going downhill just before the beautiful Conowingo Dam, their tailgunner checks his mirror, freaks, and gives the universal biker sign for "COP!" and they all slow down to an even more painful pace (though still loud as all hell). Oh yeah. I forgot this was a police bike. Coming off of the dam, a passing lane opens up, but the road angles upwards sharply, and makes a hard curve to the right. I roost 'em at about a 40mph differential, completely heeled over in the turn, make a roadrunner-like honk, and wave to their leader. They're out of my mirrors in seconds. Maybe a career switch is on the horizon.

Closer to home, I eventually get onto 95 and have a State Paramilitant cruiser come up fast behind me. He slowly pulls up next to me. I look over to him, afraid to find violent hand gestures towards the shoulder, but intsead he gives me that little two-finger salute motion that people who aren't in the military do, and a thumbs-up. I could really love this job.

I head to Taco Fiesta for a quick dinner (best damn restaurant in Baltimore, people. Go there.) and get a Baltimore City parking ticket while I'm there. Bah. Oh well. I mount up the behemoth and head back towards my place (though almost completely losing my shit on an abandoned streetcar rail poking up out of Thames Sreet - it was a successful if not graceful recovery, though)... and while heading east on Boston Street, see a pack of sportbikers with no protective gear on doing wheelies and (actually quite good) stunts. Against better judgement, I pull a move that good ol' Richard Wainwright copyrighted. I roost four cars in precise form, and get up behind the last rider, who isn't stunting. He freaks out the minute he sees me, and again makes the universal motorcyclist "DUDE! COP!" gesture to his friends, who all immediately stop doing their wheelies, get into the right line, and bring it down to 25mph. I stay just behind them for about half a mile until we hit a stop light, then creep up to their leader. I open my visor, electronically lower the RT's windshield, and just look at him as his face screams, "You got me... now what?". Quoting RW, I shake my head and say, "You're lucky I'm off duty!" Impersonating an officer is a pretty big deal, isn't it? Ehh...

Damn fine day, this was, and with 252 miles on the tripmeter since the morning... and a little bit of mom under my fingernails still. I always did want to take her for a motorcycle ride.

Colin's got a show tomorrow, Bob and Krista's "re-enactment" wedding is this weekend, next week is filled with good music and old friends, the settlement date on the new house is fast approaching. Not a bad time to be alive. But now it is late and Otis is revealing his fuzzy side. That means he wants attention. Might as well give in.



5/24/05 - 11:46pm EDT (weeks in review)
Jamaica trip captions still aren't up... but here's a catch-up, since I've been very blog-lazy.

5-12 : drank a Red Stripe and talked the history of ska and rocksteady with Peter the bus driver while looking north to the Atlantic and taking in a whole new experience at the "Jerk Centre". Later, upon arrival at the Jamaica Inn, I opened the door to my room, and nearly cried. That night, well greased by Red Stripe and Appleton, I excused myself from dinner and sat in on piano with the local reggae/pop dinner band, then got to know the amazing life story of Kai, the German-born, British-trained, fully Jamaican-sounding executive chef. I return to the room, put some early-60s Skatalites on, light a candle, and fall asleep on the veranda to the sound of crashing waves, completely overwhelmed.

5-13 : woke up on the veranda at 5:30am to a brilliant sunrise. Went back inside. Woke back up at 9:45. threw a croissant into the ocean at breakfast and watched literally hundreds of brightly colored fish appear from nowhere, devour it in seconds, and disappear. discovered the love of almond tree... and the free 11:30am round of planter's punch. Firmly establish my Irish-requisite base-burn and inadvertently create a "skin dickie". Later that evening, a Russian stripper stole $40 from me.

5-14 : We snorkel the nearby reefs and sea grass beds, then discover that lunch can be delivered to the almond tree (or anywhere else on the beach) without any room service fees. Score. Later in the afternoon, the boys break off to my room, partake in cuban cigars, put on some early Brian Eno, and soak in the profound beauty of the moment, as Bobby and Krista take off on a new life together, allowing all of us to be a part of it, sharing in the supreme badassness of their method. We eventually head downstairs, mingle and wait, watch as a crowd of onlookers gather, and the magic begins. In easily the most simple, beautiful wedding service I've ever seen, we learn about the many petals of the marriage flower... the priest calls Krista Kristy (but only twice), and a catamaran full of drunken Ugly Americans buzzes our shoreline, screaming out things like, "WHAT PRICE FREEDOM?" while I flick them off in good nature (best man's gotta look out for #1, yes?). The sunset, however, was the most beautiful most of us had ever seen, and the staff mentioned it was the best they'd seen in a long time, too. A scrapbook was made on the spot, pictures were taken, everyone wished Bob and Krista the best, and "The Happy Smilers" tied it all together with some amazingly authentic Carib/Cuban acoustic music - and happy smiles. Happy, toothless smiles. A celebration was had on many levels. We retire to Club Kasima, there's something about Aki Cakes (or was it Snackey Kakes?)... I don't know. Everything got very fuzzy and made no sense for the next two hours, then I think I yurped in a bush. Only the second time that's ever happened in my life, but what better a night, and where better a place?

5-15 : Yet more beach time with help from the almond tree and amazing staff of the Inn. At 2, I went over to the KiYara Spa and had my "sunburn treatment" wherein a ridiculously beautiful woman took me to a hut on a cliff overlooking the ocean and coated me in various oils and extracts then gave me a massage for an hour. I think at that point, I first seriously considered renouncing my citizenship. Later a group of us went into town for "authentic" fare for lunch... which turned out to be the Jamaican version of McDonald's ("Mothers Patties"). We had the requisite currency laugh with the J$199 value meal. The value meal had the last laugh, though. That night, Club Kasima was open yet again, and more Cubans are passed around. Cigars, that is. And rum. And god knows what else. There's something great about getting a bunch of really intelligent yet funny people in a room together, and getting them buzzed... in paradise.

5-16 : decided to go back to KiYara and get another massage. she also talked me into a manicure. While getting my ugly man-hands prettified, we got into a great conversation covering everything from music to global politics and differing worldviews. I also mentioned how I wanted to get more of a feel of the "real" Jamaica and not just the coastal/resort vibe. The beautiful woman asks if I'm free later and if I'd like to come somewhere with her. This is too good to be true, of course, because "somewhere" turned out to be the Kingdom Hall. Later, Tony the Boat man and his archetypal rastafarian friend allow me to tag along with Bob, Krista, Tony, and his girlfriend, as well as a nice older British couple as they see some attractions down the coast. I decide to join the British couple and climb Dunn's River Falls. Not terribly unlike Great Falls, only a little less water, and far less lawerly restriction on climbing, wading, etc. We then boat back to Dolphin Cove, throw anchor, wade to the shore and wait for everyone. While there, a storm brews up the coast, and a giant rainbow stretches from the horizon all the way over to downtown Ocho Rios. The ride back is wet and choppy, but damn fun as Tony's boat ("Little Children") soldiered on. As we get back to the Inn, Tony's friend taps me on the shoulder and shows me a massive (and soaked) spliff in is pocket... while letting out possibly the most pitiful sigh I've ever heard in my life. "Damn, man... gwanna have ti let dis dry no...".

5-17 : Grr. One last round of breakfast, beachside coffee, planter's punch, and almond tree goodness. How in the world do you leave a place like this? On a bus. Filled with tourists. Touristy tourists. With another stop at the Jerk Centre. With a "buy one get one free" coupon at the airport bar. With entertainingly snarky conversation with Bob's sister. Then next to Clarence, the high school dropout Merchant Marine nearing retirement, who lives in PG County and has a daughter in Kingston, and somehow managed to talk the stewardess out of two extra Red Stripes for free. With an iPod full of rocksteady and ska to keep you in the mood until your Airbus buzzes I-295 and you see your place of employment on final approach.

5-18 : took a breather day between my return from vacation and my return to work. Actually had another $350 worth of work to do on the car. Welcome home. I did, however, manage to eat at the Pepper Pot Cafe in Beltsville... a very chill Jamaican lunch buffet, complete with bottles of Ting. Otis and Shirley attach themselves to me permanently.

5-19 & 20: work. surprisingly not-bad, actually.

5-21 : After work, saw J Roddy's new lineup and was impressed. Glad to see the momentum's still there. If you haven't seen this band live, you're a dumb loser.

5-22 : Went out to Sandy Point State Park for the Chesapeake Blues Fest and caught what was possibly the most profound, meaningful live show I've ever seen... the original Booker T and the MGs. Didn't get to see it up close, 'cause hell if I was paying $60 to see one band... but I found a spot in the parking lot with a perfect view of the stage, the jumbotron, and with perfect acoustics. I was threatened by a security guard, but sweet talked her into letting me stay there. Actually, the MGs were not that good for their first few songs. It was obvious they hadn't played together in a while, and the new drummer was most definitly *NOT* Al Jackson. But they found their groove, and being able to see their facial expressions during the give and take, the rediscovery of old material, and the obvious new improvisation and exploration among dear old friends was fascinating and inspiring. Headed back home, only to turn around again and catch Sophisticated Otis at Goodlove, and bring my MicroKorg along for fun.

I think with the new house and the ability to set my gear up, leave it set up, and play whenever the mood strikes... I'll be into far more music this fall. At least I hope so. Right now, I'm not all that good.

Big stuff coming up in the next few weeks... and big stuff long, long in the dust. The vacation provided some serious opportunity for reflection, but even more importantly, for just letting go of crap that doesn't matter. Some new insight. Some stronger self-worth. Blah blah blah. Good stuff, all of it.

I wonder if "Kingdom Hall" was actually a euphemism? Hmm...
5/20/05 - 1:59am EDT (stamed calaloo)
Back... amazing week... far too much to type right now, as the return to work kicked my ass and I have to do it again in six hours. For now, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves, then add some witty commentary and insight tomorrow night.

I seriously miss my almond tree.



5/10/05 - 11:21am EDT (long time comin', but I know)
In the words of the immortal Jesse James, "I love this here turnaround."

In a surprise change of moods, the seller of the little yellow park-engulfed house is acknowledging the structural reinforcement needs of the place, and has offered to either address it (not with the full $15k fix, but at least reinforcing the joists and sagging header and bringing everything up to code) or give me the engineer's bid as difference on the selling price. Only took 'em 3 weeks to see it my way.

So, not trying to be repetitive... but...

Mine.

I excitedly comparison-shopped appliances, windows, and doors for a few hours last night. That's a first.

But then again, I'm going to paradise tomorrow. And might not want to come back. Though I could just rent out Little Yellow House and live off the $500 differential. I could do that. 'Cause I'm gonna be a landowner. RESPECT MY 1/1,942,240th of BALTIMORE!

And now to bring it all full circle - the large Domino sugar refinery still operating near the inner harbor is the last vestige of a once thriving 18th and 19th century sugar economy centered in Baltimore, but rooted in colonial Jamaican slave labor harvesting the raw cane.

Irie.

Tomorrow, at 8:30am, Air Jamaica takes me away. You kids be good. If not, be good at it.