I Need Answers

I left work yesterday, mid-afternoon, to get some fresh air. I sit at a desk for most of the day, and while that may sound unappealing to you (though, without putting thought to what, exactly, I do at this desk, I don't know why), it isn't all bad. But it does force the world to be still for an awful long time, and it makes it easy to forget everything else that could possibly be in motion.

I took a walk.

On my way, I encountered a parade of people boycotting a hotel. I encountered a musician, young, bad, playing, being recorded, at New Montgomery and Market.

I encountered a girl.

This girl was working for Greenpeace. She looked young and maybe pretty and she definitely had eyes. She told me what she was about and I told her that I had no interest in Greenpeace, but I did recently learn of a fellow employee who dedicates a small portion of his earnings to charity, through automatic payment. I said that I'd look into that, which is when she said, as if her love depended upon it, "please -- let me tell you about this." We shook hands, hers cold, mine warm, and she went on to tell me about her organization, her lifeblood, which was great for this reason or that, and not that important to me. She kept talking and I kept looking into her young believing eyes, and question after question rose to the top: How did you get this way? Do your parents know you're out here? Are you beautiful? Why do so many questions rise to the top? Is this what my days are like? Me asking questions of everything?

When she was through, I told her things that were true, and I shook her hand -- still cold, her offering -- and I left thinking about a chance encounter with someone who believes in things. With cold hands and blue eyes, and her whole life ahead of her.

I went back to work, sat in my chair, and the world went still.

The Descent

A few weeks left here in Seattle. For whatever reason, the places are less familiar, and the conversations I overhear more alien.

One girl to another: "Did you ever have a butch phase?"

Barista to a patron: "We'll see you at the poetry slam! It'll be awesome!"

Scenes like these make me wonder if I've missed out on the city. 

Maybe I never really lived here.

 

A Bird on My Plate

I went to Café Allegro and read Conrad’s Victory. While I was reading, a bird flew in and started eating away at my breadcrumbs, off of a plate no less than a foot away from my face. This doesn’t happen often. It was strange to me, to see the bird jerk so out of time. Left, right, so obviously mechanical. It felt like we shared a Green Moment.

 

Then, unsolicited, I went to see Paul Collins, a writer for McSweeney’s, promote his new book, which is about the existence(s) of Shakespeare’s first folio(s). Collins reminded me of George Lucas, as a speaker: very clear, effective, capable of making you feel like he is never someone else – always the person on paper, always the person in front of you -- in command of his ideas, and very much a part of our world.

 

I left without getting anything signed (I don’t own any of Collins’s books) and decided to see the new Woody Allen flick – the one with Larry David in it -- but had some time to kill, so I went on a quest for some chocolate. I never found any, but I did encounter an Indian man who said his name meant Victory (which is what I was reading), who also said that there was a secondary main character in the Bourne series, and that he really missed that said character Carlos wasn’t in the movies. Then he asked me if I wished to join him for a drink, but I was feeling invaded upon already, feeling no urge to socialize on this, what felt like a Day of Atonement. I declined and moved forward a few blocks, to the theater, where I sat on the sidewalk and read my book, quietly.

 

Time went by. Periodically, a bag lady (the same one) came by and told me to wake up, acknowledging, after picking my head up, that I was never asleep. I am uncertain as to how she acquired this habit. One can only imagine.

 

Eventually I'm allowed into the theater. (Yes, allowed.) Whatever Works -- the Woody Allen movie -- started out awkwardly: the main character, played by Larry David, ends up getting together with a teenager (or some girl in her early twenties). This might be acceptable from someone else, but it’s tough to have Woody Allen put us through this sort of arrangement again. The movie is all about odd relationships and people becoming who they really are (sexually, mostly), which ultimately feels like Allen’s excuse for everything that’s ever happened in his life. Maybe people who are being born now will view this film differently, down the road, but anyone who knows his story and lived through the 90’s media mania is unlikely to suddenly pardon Allen for his actions. Ok movie, but petition for parole – rejected.

Songs I Have Played on the Guitar (for KD)

I am sure I know more than this. Meaning, I've forgotten a lot of songs I've played. Here goes.

(What a sensitive, male list. Alphabetized by first name, when appropriate.)

Alice in Chains -- Many songs from before 1997

Cat Power -- I Don't Blame You, Sea of Love

Counting Crows -- Many songs from before 1998

Delorean -- To Destruction

Elliott Smith -- Needle in the Hay and others

Everclear -- Annabella, Queen of the Air (all of their songs are very easy to play)

For Squirrels -- Mighty K.C., Under Smithville

Fountains of Wayne -- Sink to the Bottom

Ghost of an American Airman -- King of Nothing

Indigo Girls -- I don't really want to play any of these, so don't make me.

Joseph Arthur -- Honey and the Moon

The Lemonheads -- Confetti, Rudderless

Leonard Cohen -- Chelsea Hotel No. 2, Famous Blue Raincoat, Tonight Will Be Fine, Tower of Song

Lisa Loeb -- Do You Sleep? and others

Loudon Wainwright -- One Man Guy, You Can't Fail Me Now

The Murmurs -- You Suck

Nada Surf -- Popular, Treehouse

Nirvana -- the same songs everyone else learned when they start playing guitar

Patti Rothberg -- songs from Betweeen the 1 and the 9

Pinback -- Tripoli

Radiohead -- Most songs from before 2000

Sarah McLachlan -- Songs from like 1996

Sparks -- Moustache

The Weepies -- Gotta Have You

Weezer -- Most songs from before 2000

As I said, I'm sure there are many more than this. I didn't keep a journal though, so who knows what else there is. Most of the time I just make up my own stuff.

A Day Of Failure

So I woke up.

The end.

I decided after talking with my friend Marc that it'd be a good idea to play in a local poker tournament -- even though I don't like poker -- and I almost finished in the money, which means I didn't finish in the money, which means I wasted three hours of my life with grumpy old men (and younger, out of work contractors), and then I wasted even more hours afterwards as I debated my plays and thought about how awful and unlucky I am.

I didn't spit on the ground, but I should have.

Afterwards, I was supposed to meet Ginger at the 5th Avenue theater, but she was running late and working late and decided that maybe she wanted to cancel, which was fine, fine, because I had other plans I'd previously forgotten about. And then I tried to mechanize another situation but that failed and then I had a ticket to a movie about a drug-addled prostitute (or a sister with a drug-addled prostitute who may or may not also be (or become) drug-addled and/or a whore) but decided I didn't want to go (because why would anyone want to see this) and then I tried to get rid of the ticket but no one wanted it so I left it on the counter at Molly Moon's, in front of the lone person was willing to go -- but couldn't, because she was working. Bless her heart.

I did, fortunately, get rid of a ticket to Rain, which is another movie I no longer want to see, and it found a good home, so all is well, and I can rest easy thinking that not another movie ticket will go to waste in this town.

And then Brandon and Keridwyn and I ate ice cream and watched dodgeball, which had all the same players and was exactly the same game as remembered. 

And then I couldn't talk/communicate/get/words/out, probably because I'd spent the evening reading The Centaur, by John Updike, which, as far as I can tell, is prosaic centaur/god porn, which may sound fine in theory, but it's really hard to visualize a centaur and a god getting it on, so much so that I wonder if a) I'm just limited and everyone else has the ability to imagine fictional beings (probably without apparatus) getting it on, or if b) this just isn't a sexy concept, no matter how well-written it is. I mean, think about it. (You can't really think about it. That's my point.)

I also spent a fair amount of time in the B&N, reading a very bad book about Cat Power and her truths and lies (what's the difference?), written by an author who seemed to think knowing everything about a relatively unimportant (but still enjoyable) artist was the most important thing in the world. I would rather have read a book about gum manufacturing, and I would've rather the author written this, rather than the Cat Power book. I will write her a letter.

 

Death of a Notebook

A book once filled with lines is now fooled by words. Here are some of those words:

Think of the power grey has over black and white. (I was, at the time, weary of worrying in absolutes.)

A couple asked me what I look for in a girl. This was my response: Smart and good and likes men (or doesn't categorize them all as one and the same) and is heroic and makes me want to root for them. "A girl who rhymes in all the right places." Mm.

"Like a blind man spanking a child." (I have no idea why I wrote this down, or what stemmed the thought.)

Let people show you their strengths. (Perhaps the most valuable skill one can have: enabling others.)

Nomenclature for gnomes. (Unfortunately, www.gnomenclature.com is taken by a real company. Like one you might have heard of.)

"Any place that grants autonomy is the same." (I'm not sure if this is true or not. But it's an interesting statement.)

Names I've called people in the last year: Face, Chickface, Funnyface, Clown, Paco, Worm, Ziggy, Lavoisier, Lucy, Cowboy, Trombone, Genius, Parcheesi, Elmo, and Fontaine.

Invention idea: the smoke-ring ring.

"You can always take the derivative to find a formula." (This came from a man in a wheelchair who can only move his thumb and his lips. Needless to say, there's a lot to grasp in his seemingly simple statement.) 

If you were a city, what would you consist of?

Mature people don't seem real.

True or false: You don't really get to choose what is important.

Attention spans are not shorter. Distractions are up. We are the same.

Go be distracted.

Perception/Reality = 3

The good thing about writing a lot is that you pay more attention to the world, maybe even your own.

The good thing about writing a little is that you pay less attention to the world, to your own.

Today I wonder if I've received the benefit of the doubt over the last few years, if I'm perceived more as the sum of the good or the sum of the bad. 

I received an email asking me for advice on marketing copy. I don't think I know anything about marketing copy, other than that I don't enjoy reading it. 

I've been accepted to a (somewhat) selective Leadership group. I don't know what to think of this.

I seem to be better at working within a framework than at creating one.

I think people should make their decisions clear.

(# of days depressed)/(# of rainy days) = 1.

I want to do everything today.

I should reread Henderson, the Rain King.

I will reread Henderson, the Rain King.

Random things...

I don't have anything specific in mind to say. Had a good day, generally. 

Here are some bullet points (as I go to school specifically to learn how to write such things):

* Before class this morning I decided to take a calculated gamble on 500 shares of SRS. By 1:00, I was up $1,250.

* I decided not to take school very seriously.

* I came up with the idea of busking across Europe (hoping to pay some of my way) over the summer. Contacted some musicians to see if we can get a group going. Early feedback is good.

* I started working on "The Advanced Game" for Switchboard.

* I met up with Rob Watkins for lunch, and we took turns playing Colonel Kurtz and Captain Willard. We also walked to Boeing.

* I met up with my IT presentation group; we all agreed on a simple, elegant approach to our presentation.

* I took a walk with Brandon before settling in for drinks at Oddfellows.

* I booked plans for Friday and Saturday night.

* I met with sweet and innocent Mara, taking my third walk of the day. We both got a lot out. What exciting lives! We shared a Twix bar. I feel better.

* I wrote this.

Things I've been asked to pick up on my way to Canada:

2 bags of string cheese (cheesehead swirl) 780g size
Walmart Brand no-name sugar free apple juice powder mix
Welch's sugar free grape drink mix
1 or 2 cartons of Marlboro lights (Gold)
1 Bottle Hennessey XO