Blog woes...but I am stirred to get HTML books from the library. And graphic design books. And travel books. Trrrrraaaaaaaavvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeeelllllllll...

People alway talk about TAC being like living with a second set of parents because you are always being 'wached over' and there are a bunch of rules. I think that assessment is fairly accurate, but what is perhaps even more affecting is the way we are provided for here. We don't really have much to do in the way of taking care of ourselves: laundry and keeping our own room in some sort of order, and that's about it. Biuldings like the Commons and the library---even the classrooms---take on the same kind of aspect as our living rooms, kitchens, school rooms in our parents' house growing up: namely, ours to use and feel completely at ease in, but ultimately belonging to someone else. When you rent or buy a house of your own, suddenly all this changes. You can no longer feel indifferent to the condition and execution of the room. It is not a place you simply pass through for use and enjoyment, but all of sudden it means something to you. It has a power over you, and you must have it this way and not that or you get uncomfortable. What all this is leading up to is that TAC feels like home because of the similarities to your own home; the same familiar attachments form because you are participating, but not controlling. You can appriciate with a certain detatchment, and it becomes yours by habit, not yours by possession; the difference is liking something because you are used to it and liking something because you made it that way. I think this is in part the reason why rich people are so often dissatisfied: if you can control, you must; but it can never be good enough, because human beings are never satisfied with themselves. But if you are forced to deal with something you have no power over it becomes dear and perfect to you because you are not searching for a way to improve it, for that is not an option. In this way, TAC works it's way into your soul, forcing you to be sentimental about it every time you leave, for it creeps around in your memory the same way as your real home.

Last night I was intercepted while on my way to my (borrowed) car by an unexpected person.
"Hi," he says. "You said you wanted to hang out some time. How 'bout right now?"
So off I went to his tiny place in SP, and we drank and smoked and talked and smoked and drank and talked and drank...and smoked and drank and talked. It was glorious. I am often (to use his terminology) a Mono-maniac. I like to be alone. And even when I don't like it I cling to it. But once in a while I find myself spending time with someone that I perhaps have never even really talked to before and I am reminded of how good people are. Of how wonderful just being in someone's company can be. Weaving my way home in the wee hours of the morning, saying my Rosary, I was glad for the seeming random chance meeting...many words still echoing in my tired ears.

I think me blog has the Moto-whumpus...

I have a significant time this morning reading blogs and catching up with all those Good People that attempt to speak of Healthy, Interesting Things. I read a comment once (I won't say who it was) that stated the opinion that blogging not only does not help writing style and quality, but that it is actually detrimental to the writer. After some thought on the subject, I strongly disagree. There are at least three ways in which the blogger's writing is benefited. First, the simple fact the he is writing. If you are like me, no matter how much you think you are some great author, and that you will write all the time, it just doesn't happen...unless you are drawn out by something; And like all things, the more you write, the better you will become. The qualification here is that the blogger must be actually attempting to write well for practice to be of any use...Secondly, and closely tied to the first reason, is the encouragement gained by reading other blogs. How many times have you sat there thinking, 'I should post, but ah well', then read someone else's beautiful story and started writing something worthy yourself? Finally, we all claim we want to be published (all us aspiring Hemmingways, Lewis' and Le Guins anyway), but do we have the guts? Blogging teaches to speak opinions, write daringly, take risks, and most importantly: display our work for all to see. So there it is; I thinking blogging can be very good, but like everything else, if the ideal of the true and noble is not present the whole operation falls.

Why is being good so hard?

I'm thinking about dropping everything and going to Europe. I won't of course, but I got the itch.

I stopped to look at the moon last night
Wished the job could have been right
I gazed at some stars just coming out
Winced at a heavy-metal-inspired shout
I certainly have been thinking about cars to much
Rats, Flatheads, Rust, and Von Dutch
I thought about posting a thought or twa'
But the deep velvet night was all that I saw
I munched the remains of some soggy fast-food
Wanted to run, but it wasn't the mood
I have watched to many movies of late
Shirking my dreams, perhaps even my fate
I tried to be motivated and strong
Yet I found myself in bed before long
And now what I crave
Is nothing more
Than a Crucifix
And a cold stone floor

Who knows, maybe we're dead already?

Boggin-when-I-should-be-working-and-I'm-feelin-rather-low,
But-soon-I'll-be-on-my-sofa, just-a-snorin-away-my-woes

Languishing on the couch...with wine, the Be Good Tanyas, and 'lil Bro. Exhausted beyond all belief, but happy enough.

Back at work after a pleasant, relaxing weekend. Music (of course!) with Dz, all manner of drink and conversation with everyone else, and a windy drive up the coast through some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen...now for some sleep...

I've been awake for approximately an hour and a half, and I have done nothing but drink and talk about philosophy. If I were Seldom Sober this would be categorized as a drunk post. Matt and Erin Turrentine absolutely rock. They live in a tiny but infinitely cool guest house behind some rich Mormans a little north of The Bay, and their taste in Alcohol is impeccable. This weekend promises to be most excellent.

So, I'm San Fran and I forgot my phone...if you need to talk to me, call P. Carter...

Ah, the romance of smoking...

Runnin' from the cold up in New England
I was born to be a fiddler in an old-time stringband...

...back to work!

A rather genius friend of mine, (who refers to himself as Really Friggin' Awesome) had a showing last night of a project he has been working on for about two months. I'm sure most of you have heard the story that if you place Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon while watching the Wizard of Oz, the album will eerily correspond the movie. Well, this friend figured out that the critical timing is dependent on the fact that the original album was an LP, which means that there is a gap of time every time the record gets flipped over. This time period is variable of course, so he sat down and calculated exactly, to the second, when the music must start. I'm telling you, it was incredible! If Floyd did not intend this, it is the most ridiculous coincidence I have ever run across. The song titles are relevant, like Great Gig in the Sky during the twister, and the cover art is the familiar prism, which shows a gray beam of light being transformed into color and back to black and white on the back side (somewhere over the rainbow?) Perhaps the best part was the dreamy melancholy wailing during Dorothy's race back the house in the storm; sad, anti-climactic, yet betraying an underlying sense of urgency. It was truly lovely.

I think the Tack House (Auto Shop where I work at TAC) is haunted. Every time I look away, the paper towel roll becomes mysteriously unraveled all over the place. If I sit and watch it, nothing happens; but as soon as I forget about it for a bit, even if I am still right there, I turn around and it is a mess...

Coffee is good
When mornings are long
And clouds blanket the sky
It is hard to be understood
Alone, you and I

I've been thinking a lot about family lately. It's rather strange, growing up, watching your siblings go off to do their own things, while far away from home yourself...All that was comfortable and familiar for most of your life becomes that which you try to escape, only to feel a loss and a nostalgia for it once you are on our own. It is easy to understand purpose in life, reasons for striving when you are at home: there are kids to raise, mother to take care of; but after leaving home, sometimes it takes some real searching to find something to work for. Clearly, we are all on a journey toward heaven, and that is a reason for trying in general, but in terms of entertainment and accomplishment, it is nice to have someone besides yourself to think about.

Something a bit rare for me until very recently: still-lifes. I did both of these for class; the pineapple is in vine charcoal, the other was done with a charcoal pencil.

Thank you Austin.

Northwest Summer Evening





'Sans Chair'

There is a new Tim Burton clay-mation coming out!!! Do you remember the sheer delightful genius of the Nightmare Before Christmas? You must, must check this out.