Category: personal

Categories
personal work

Tenacious template transmutation

Well well, new template.
Basically still just a standard issue blogger template,
unfortunately, but for a few touch-ups.
I never claimed to be a web-genius.
What do you all think?
Personally, I’m glad to be rid of the black.

–

Life’s been busy as usual.
I found out that I didn’t get the part-time
position for which I had applied downtown, which
is a major bummer, but life goes on. They ended
up having four internal applicants (for a part-time job!)
so I never even made it in to interview.
I did, however, have a good conversation with the head
of circulation down there. I think that I made a good
impression, and I cackled as I said,
“You haven’t seen the last of me!” Then I disappeared
in a cloud of smoke, and winged monke…
Oh wait, no, none of that happened.
I was perfectly nice, and picked up a volunteer form.
If they won’t pay me to work there, I’ll do it for free
for awhile so they can come to learn how kick-ass I am,
and eventually beg me to consider taking tons of
their money for my invaluable services.

That, and there’s a 10-16 hour page position open.
It’s low hours at crappy pay, but if I’ve learned
nothing else in the last couple months, it’s that there’s
nothing more valuable in getting a job than already
having your foot in the door when the time comes.
Besides, even low hours and low pay is better than
no hours and no pay. Can’t argue there.

–

Social interactions are complicated.
Sometimes I enjoy their intricacies, and sometimes
I wish we could all just get along in the simplest
fashion possible. I imagine that my prevarications
in this lend me an occassional air of confusion; one
moment hyperbolically obtuse, the next insidiously crafty
and dissembling. There is no reason to my rhyme.

Really, it’s no so bad as all that.
Mostly I’m honest and straight-forward,
particularly when it matters. Sometimes,
the monkey in me gets loose and rampages,
which can lead to no end of trouble.

Still, I wouldn’t trade my inner-monkey for anything.

Categories
music personal

Against the night

Against the Night
(c)1999 by Jason Webley

Hold on to these words,
I’d like to think that they may offer
Some protection,
Against the night.

Against the night,
Your life can feel transparent,
A reflection,
A trick of light.

So when sleep just won’t come,
And you’ve got no occupation,
But nibbling at the fruit
Of the melancholy tree,
Just hold on to these words,
Hold on to me.

Just hold on to these words,
They’re the best I’ve got to offer
At the moment,
As a lullaby.

As a lullaby,
You can lay down by the tracks
And feel the world
Slip by.

–

Eighty people, give or take, sitting knee to knee,
shoulder to shoulder as one man woos us with
his melodies; voice changing from gravel to choral
between heartbeats. He sits just in front of us,
raised up so all can see him but within arm’s reach,
nonetheless. He’s got long, wild hair, a beard;
looks like a true mountain man, the pure kind.

He starts with a happy song, and continues,
until asking, he realizes how many of us have never
seen him before. He asks us to forget it all, start over;
puts on a crazy mask and sings a wild song, dancing about,
seeking to impress upon us his audacity. With this
initiation, we are taken into the fold,
and the concert begins. He picks songs randomly,
asks the audience what they want to hear, begins to play
Michael Jackson’s Thriller, stopping halfway
to ask if we’d like to hear a ghost story;
or perhaps a story about russians, or his worst gig ever.
Setting down his accordian, he raises his seat,
abandons his microphone, and begins to speak. His story
lasts a good ten minutes, if not longer, but none of
us bore. He’s got a stage-presence that transfixes, onstage
he’s a giant, impossible to ignore. But he’s humble,
fun, quiet about it; you can’t stop watching him simply
because he may be the most interesting man you’ve ever met.

He finishes his story, begins to play music again.
He makes us dance, makes us sing along, plays a Russian
birthday song for the two people with birthdays
(who’ll admit to it) in the audience, and makes them skip
through the crowd. As the evening winds down, he asks us
all to lay, each with our head on someone else’s stomach
(it doesn’t matter if you know them), and relax, eyes closed.
He plays us two quiet, sleepy songs; slightly melancholy,
slightly happy, as we, an ocean of weary strangers, are
carried way by melodies, lulled by the rise and fall of
the breath of whomever happens to be our pillow.

He rouses us with laughter, lightens our loads and then
tell us The Story of Blixie Bimber and the Power of the
Gold Buckskin Wincher. He holds the book that includes
the story, a relic of the 1920s, but he rarely refers to it,
having memorized the 20-minute story eons ago. Having read
the story, we asked what a “wincher” is, he replies “Yes.”
and moves on, leaving us forever to wonder.

He ends with a rousing drinking song and a happy song,
demanding we sing along, loudly, and sway side to side,
trapped in long lines of arm-locked strangers,
transformed to friends through a night of singing.

After the show’s finished, we stumble out into the night,
all a bit aglow, ready to preach the gospel of
a kick-ass man named Jason Webley.

I’ve already bought tickets to see the last show
of his tour up in Seattle on the 30th. If you’re
in the area, don’t miss it.

Categories
love music personal poetic work

Devil be good

New music to wake up to: Jason Webley
and Tom Waits. Men of steeled voices that
rasp the sun behind the clouds and make the rain come.
Gotta fuckin’ love em. I’m gonna see Jason Webley live
tonight at the Backstage, and it’ll kick ass.

Last night was a CD release party at Last Word Books
for Jorah LaFleur, a totally awesome local spoken-word
artist. There was a lot of other amazing literary talent
there that read before Jorah, including some friends of mine,
and all in all it was a grand and inspiring event.
I need to bust out some rhymes!

After the event, my friend Alexis and I went to an
all-night diner for some coffee (at 1 in the morning!?),
which may have been a ridiculously bad idea,
but it was fun, anyway. We made little pirate ships out of
french fries, toothpicks, bits of tuna, creamer lids (for sails)
and a small piece of pickle. It was a thing of beauty.
Then we hung out at my place ’til about four,
tried to pass out because I had to get up early for work,
and both got at most a fitful couple hours of sleep.
We had a really great time, though,
so I’ve no regrets. I’m just sleepy as hell.

–

I purchased myself a guitar tuner, cord, and a kapo;
grace à Emily, who told me not to spend it all on bills.
At the music store, I asked about lessons. They’re a bit cheaper
than I’d thought, so a definate possibility in the near-future,
once I get a second job somewhere, or one full-time position.
I applied for the absolutely, most-ideal job for me in the world
right now, though sadly I think I stand a snowman’s chance
in Cancun of getting it. It’s an assistant supervisor position,
for which I have no more than a couple years basic library
experience; but you’ve got to get experience sometime, right?
I can’t even begin to explain how much it would rock if I got
this job. My application’s in, so now I play the waiting game,
and try to rock the interview (should I get one) as I never have
before. And then, back to my original point, guitar lessons!
I’ve been playing guitar for like 10 years, but I’ve never
had any training, and I’m lazy; so I still suck at it.
I’ve procrastinated too long, it’s fucking time to get good!

Some guitarists / singers / songwriters that rock me:

Jack Johnson
Sam Beam [Iron & Wine]
Doug Martsch
Chan Marshall [Cat Power]
Robyn Hitchcock

I could probably think of a thousand more,
but these are the notable artists off the top of my head;
oh, and Tom Waits and Jason Webley, of course.

Categories
personal

Love-struck Troilus

Last night I had another dream,
this time about a stranger:
a young woman with asian features
who called herself Troilus.
I find this kind of ironic because
Troilus is the male lead in Chaucer’s
Troilus and Criseyde, which is in many
ways the precursor to Romeo and Juliet,
which makes Troilus basically a pre-Romeo.
That’s an over-simplification to be sure,
but even so. If this is a portent,
it’s an interesting and mysterious one;
and it leaves me too lost to try and psychoanalyze.
And that was it, that’s basically all
of the dream that I can remember,
though I doubt any of the other parts could
have been more interesting. I’m intrigued.

The world around me is sick, but I’m
feeling much better now, though this morning I awoke
with the weight in my head of too much
second-hand smoke. Having been a smoker, it really
bothers me that second-hand smoke should affect
me so much; it’s a recent development, and I
certainly never go around and chastise people for
smoking, but it has become physically difficult for
me to be around smokers. I find this annoying.
Maybe I should move to California? Ha!

Trying to get my life back on an even keel;
temper play with work and growth with frivolity
so that my eyes don’t lose their sparkle.
Having unpacked boxes of books, I’ve realized
that I spend far too little time reading these days,
and my imagination and my pen have suffered for it.
So no more of that, or actually, more of it!
I’ve got lots to do, no doubt, but I can surely
fit a page or two in here and there, and slowly,
once again begin to peck away at the sloppy
leaning towers of books lined against the wall
in our living room (we’ve as yet no bookshelves).
Sometimes I see the books and the X-box glaring
at each other: such immortal enemies as these
no living room would be complete without!
And I, mere mortal, caught between. Woe is I.

Life’s so rough.

Categories
love personal

Like a sheepish lion

There’s this girl on campus that I think
is really beautiful, and she’s Belgian, and
speaks fluent and melodic french; and hell,
that’s enough to drive any good man insane.
I haven’t really spoken to her much, just
recently over the last few days as I’ve helped
her with some reference work on a group project
she is doing, but she smiles at me whenever
she sees me now, which is just cruel.

So anyway, it’s a good indication of the level
of romantic sap that I am that I have a dream
about this girl, and in this dream there’s nothing
more than a smile and the accidental contact
of our hands, which don’t shy away but rest against
each other; like secret lovers of a more innocent
age that silently interwine fingers in the loud dark
of the opera pit. Anonymous lovers washed away
in sound and fire, burning under the skin.
And that’s it, that’s all; a dream about the contact
of hands and then I awake.

I haven’t much chance for a decadent life
when even my dreams are so tame. Which might be
a shame, were I not happy being so circumspect.

–

So I’ve been sick, flu-ish, coughing up the
sticky residue of my sins, sweating profusely and
trying to keep my brain from leaking too far out
my nasal cavity. I’ve taken this opportunity to
quit smoking; for three months, two years, I’m happy
for any amount of time to allow my lungs their
recuperation. I haven’t had coffee in days, and that’s
an addiction I’m certainly unwilling to give up;
yet still a day or two before I’m recouped enough
to recommence the onslaught of caffeine upon my body.

So that’s my excuse for my blog-silence;
that and I’ve felt like the creative equivalent
of a door-stop. Onward, then, to health and inspiration!

Categories
game music personal webcomics work

Morning sounds

In the mornings, I invariably make coffee,
strong, strong coffee; and listen to Diana
Krall sing some great jazz in DTS.
The music really fills the house, and it’s
a great way to start a day. I got a Norah
Jones SACD, but I can’t get any volume out
of it. Saddest thing ever.

So we picked up Burnout 3 yesterday, thanks
to the rave reviews of Tycho at Penny Arcade,
and I’d just like to take this opportunity to curse
him for being right. This game has everything a good
racing game should have, including the wanton destruction
of, well, everything, including your opponents,
and vast hordes of rush hour traffic.
Theo, at least, had the good sense to go out
on a date, have some dinner, see Arts Walk.
All things I had certainly planned on doing,
once, long before Burnout took me in its clutches
and forced me to play it all freakin’ day.
I feel so used; good thing I have to work today.

Work: the anti-crack.

Categories
love music personal poetic

The freckles in our eyes

There was a lot of music at last night’s
poetry reading / open mike; local talent,
guitar-slinging vigilantes with stories to tell.
Most of it was good, but then, I’m a sucker for
a live venue and an acoustic guitar. I need
to start playing more; yet another one of my
hobbies that gets shelved too often.

Tutoring french, briefly, last night, made me
recall years past of Tuesday and Thursday evenings
spent trying to help Americans speak a language
that would never be natural to them. I don’t
speak french very well, but it does feel natural to me;
like dancing, singing: things I’ve done for a long time now.
Last night I read my translation of Rimbaud’s Le Bateau Ivre;
a one-hundred line poem that was a precursor to surrealism;
and nearly managed to put everyone to sleep.
I was disappointed, though I understand that even though
I put months and months of work into that translation,
that doesn’t mean that anyone’s going to appreciate it.
This is why in every instance I try to do things
for myself as opposed to others; I’m my only critic whose
reaction is fairly guaranteed. I’ll stick to shorter,
more beat-driven prose for future readings; play it safe.

I’m beginning to get tired of meeting new people but
not really getting to know anyone. The world is filling
up with familiar strangers, people I can say “Hi” to in
the street but with whom I’ve never really conversed with.
Perhaps this is a symptom of a general disdain for small-talk
(though I do it fairly well these days), or a subconscious
desire to remain mysterious (oooh, the allure), or just a
basic lack of time and resources to spend all day hanging out
in the cafe (much as I’d like to). I’m in the familiar
situation of working with people that I like but with whom
I never speak outside of work; even after Tami and Mike broke
that trend for me in Ohio, though fairly late in the game.

It’s things like this that make me miss college: the
constant accessibility of a semi-interesting group of
peers that probably at least share a few interests with you
in the name of your common generation. Of course, I’m
surrounded by college students now too, and still don’t feel
like I have a whole lot in common with them; but then,
there are vast differences between my college experience
(Evergreen) and what the kids are like here. The two colleges
act like competitors, simply because they’re geographically
close, but in reality they couldn’t be any different from
each other. I’m still waiting for them to figure out that
I’m an agnostic existentialist and lynch me.

And as I’d sit upon my pyre, waiting to burn for my heathen
ways, I’d look down and see that it’s the sorority girls
standing before me with their packs of matches, turning my
cremation into a pledge ritual for their trendy, blonde rushes.
And as the lit match fell they’d turn to each other and say,
“Math is hard, let’s go shopping!”

Nothing scares me more than sorority girls.

Categories
personal

When monkeys dance

Waffling over swing; I let myself get stressed
out about it, but for no particular reason.
I was up front in saying I don’t know if I’ll
have enough time to really devote myself to it,
but I gave in and said I would do my best.
And in this, I no longer feel stressed;
dancing last night I had fun and felt alive,
and not over any school boy crush
(or any crush at all, for that matter),
but simply because I was dancing and it was good.

Mondays I get to help Christine teach her
beginning swing class, and in turn I get to
take her Balboa class for free. That’s a sweet deal.

Since I get off at noon today, I’m gonna work on my
apps to the Oly Public Lib, then I think I’ll go
visit Judy in her french class before the poetry
reading tonight. You never know who might be there.

Woefully short on news of interest, or thoughts of
interest, really – I’ll retire my ramblings for the day.

Categories
music personal

… like no-one’s watching.

Sometimes, I dance like nobody’s watching;
but only when nobody’s watching.

On the big speakers: Paris Combo

Thursday night I went up to a little restaurant
in Seattle called the New Orleans. There was a fun,
live band there playing jazz and swing, mostly
older stuff. The bass player actually used to
play with Count Basie! Anyhow, I met some of the
really good swing dancers of Seattle, and was completely
in awe of their hep skills. However, I’ve decided not
to pursue swing dancing as such a … career option.
For me, it’s a fun hobby, and having about a thousand
fun hobbies, I don’t particularly want to devote more
time to this one than any of the others. I like
all my hobbies. Having decided that takes a big weight
off my shoulders; swing shouldn’t be work. Even so,
I’ll surely be dancing every Tuesday, and I want to learn
how to Balboa, and I might even go up to Seattle
every so often, so by no means is swing out of my life.

The La Casa Comics site is
looking a tiny bit better, which is to say that now it
has a very cool banner up top thanks to Tim, and as
my temporary position entering data has ended, I should
have more time to get it swinging before another job lands
in my lap. That may not be too far off, however.
I’ve been applying for jobs like it’s going out of style.

In other news, I found my swing shoes! Yeay!
Also, Daniel has finally started updating his blog, which is
worth checking out, if only ’cause he’s a complete loon,
and in China.

Categories
personal

Much More Than A Soup

So, I’m sitting here waiting for my “Cup Noodles”
to cool off, waiting for a call so I can be whisked
away to Seattle, where I will frolic with a swing
crowd so intense they make dervishes look like
they’re standing still. Hey man, no joke.
And I’m more intimidated than I’ve ever been.
And that’s exactly why I’m going.

Energy’s been low this week.
Like Tim might say:
A thousand monkeys at a thousand typewriters;
but where did the monkeys go?

Like Spike Spiegel would say: As if.

Categories
love music personal

Like string cheese with rhythm

Most mornings I feel fine, even like I
might actually be a “morning person”.
Today I feel like I was dreaming of Prometheus;
tied to a rock all night as birds ate my
precious internal organs. Okay, so my innards
feel fine; I’m just dead tired.

The girl I’d been hoping to see last night
never showed. Strike number three of the week,
and affirmation of my lesson for the week:
I’ve no control over aught but myself;
let the world do as it will and enjoy it.
And in that vein, something interesting that
did happen: I was invited to join a swing team.
Now, I’m not a bad dancer, but the people on this
team make me look like Charlie Brown trying to
kick a football; so I’m a little intimidated.
Still, this is my chance to become really, really,
really ridiculously good at dancing, and to really
devote myself to something; and with my lesson of the
week, I don’t know if I could possibly pass it up.
Alternately, it’s a good excuse to quit smoking and
start getting in shape: two things I NEED to do.

As with all things in my life right now,
I will try to keep my expectations low;
or actually, I’ll try not to have any.
But, I think this could go all the way.
You know, whatever that means.

–

Tonight is pay-what-you-can night at the State Theater
to see Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. Theo and
I are gonna hop down and see what it’s all about.

Guil: (understanding) Game. (Flips a coin) The law of averages, if I have got this right, means that if six monkeys were thrown up in the air for long enough they would land on their tails about as often as they would land on their–

Ros: Heads. (He picks up the coin)

Guil: Which even at first glance does not strike one as a particularly rewarding speculation, in either sense, even without the monkeys.

Hell, in my opinion, if it involves monkeys,
it’s pure genius.
Okay, so that’s just a dumb flash game …
but this is cool.

Categories
love personal

Half empty, half fool

So here I sit, in my perch of power,
high above the world (about 4′ up) in
my gigantor throne of referenceness;
when all of a sudden my empty library fills.
I just went from ten students cheerily emailing
to 50 students and a nun frantically hitting
ctrl-p “PRINT!” like armaggedon’s scheduled
just after lunch. Nobody sent me the memo.

Port Townsend didn’t happen. Nor did the
pajama party (which I failed to mention previously),
nor did the big lunch date. So, I vegetated
all weekend (mine is Sunday and Monday); and
developed a serious case of the red eye –
“blood for eyes”. Gah!

–

Tonight is the dance of swing: the end of
one week of patience and the beginning of a new.
I’ve been working on letting things be what they are.

I remember too well the summer before I met Emily,
pining about at two in the morning;
walking across town to tap-tap-tap at
Theo’s windows so we could drive to Denny’s and
have an exi-romanti-crisal midnight-freakout;
chasing after a girl that never wanted to be caught
but was completely willing to use me for a thrill.

And yet even now I’m unsure if:
those were the best of times,
or the worst of times.

But the fact that I’m quoting Dickens scares me.
Time to flee. Ciao.

Categories
humor internet love personal webcomics

You can’t handle the tooth!

Darbey Conley can do amazing things
with four little panels. Be sure to check
out today’s comic if you haven’t.
It’s pure genious; like smores.
Also pure genious: tokyoplastic v.2.

So, waiting by the phone for my big lunch date.
A few butterflies, but mostly a solid calm.
I haven’t even had the date, yet it’s already
been a positive experience for me;
an excellent chance to examine my thoughts,
question my ideals and assess my values.
You know, all that stuff.

There’s a lot still there to learn and
my faith in the beauty of this world is unshakable.

Categories
love personal

… checking it twice.

1. When I was about 2-3 years old, I tried to eat a slug. I say “tried” because they’re sticky and very hard to swallow.
2. Because I was born April 2, I’m an Aries. Because I was born in 1980, I’m a Monkey.
3. I’m convinced this gives me incredible super-powers.
4. I was born in Port Townsend, Washington.
5. The nearest doctor when I was born was on the other end of the phone-line, talking my dad through the process.
6. My name is Ahniwa Dawn Ferrari.
7. I used to hate my name. It’s hard to be different.
8. Now I like it. It’s fun to be different.
9. My name comes from a conversation my father had with a cloud.
10. He used to tell me that it means “Man of Peace.”
11. I went to the Evergreen State College, where I got my BA with a major in Comparative Literature and a minor in Francophone Studies.
12. It amuses me that most people don’t know what “francophone studies” means.
13. I feel a little guilty that that amuses me.
14. During High School, my best friends would always date my ex-girlfriends immediately after they broke up with me.
15. Strangely enough, this didn’t give me a complex. Nor did it ever affect my friendships.
16. I’m better at video games than you are.
17. I first started playing video games at the Bowling Alley in Port Townsend, long before I was tall enough to see the screen. I stood on plastic crates.
18. Teenagers would stand around me, as I stood on this crate, and “ooh” and “ahh” at how awesome I was at Super Mario Brothers.
19. I feel no guilt or shame in saying that video games have been and are an important part of my life.
20. I think that the benefit of video games is often overlooked.
21. I’ve always owned a Volkswagen. Well, you know, since I was 16.
22. I had an ‘84 VW Rabbit from ‘96 ’til ‘01. I’ve had a ‘93 VW Fox from ‘01 to the present.
23. If I bought a new car, it’d be a Toyota Prius.
24. Though I’d feel I had betrayed my beloved Volkswagens.
25. I’m confident, but I’ve no idea how that happened.
26. I used to be incredibly, incontrovertibly shy. I think I still am, deep down inside.
27. I’m an existentialist. You can figure out what that means to you.
28. I like to write poetry and I’m perfectly happy with the idea that I’ll never publish a single scrap of it.
29. Arthur Rimbaud is my decadent hero.
30. Albert Camus is my existential hero.
31. Dostoevsky is my russian hero; Gogol too.
32. Erik Satie plays piano in my living room; or I wish he did.
33. Growing up I had huge crushes on female rockstars, particularly Gwen Stefani and Shirley Manson.
34. One day I’ll write a novel. Maybe tomorrow.
35. November is national write-a-novel month, so maybe I’ll do it then.
36. If you want to get technical, I have five half-siblings.
37. If you ask me, I’ll say I have a brother and a sister.
38. They’re both awesome people in completely different ways.
39. I look up to Theo.
40. Unless I’m standing on a chair. He’s really tall.
41. I love games, video and non. I’m particularly fond of Pinochle and Canasta.
42. I miss my friend, Kas.
43. I work in libraries, and I love it.
44. I plan on getting my Masters of Library and Information Science (MLIS).
45. One day, I’d like to be the director of a small-town public library.
46. Or head librarian in an academic library. Both sound fun.
47. I’ve kissed a guy (kissed though, not made out with).
48. I get crushes easily. I rarely act on them.
49. I’m very calm. Sometimes this annoys people.
50. I’m stream-lined for the new millenium.
51. Actually, I have an italian belly that I really need to work off.
52. I had long hair for a long time, then I cut it off in Ohio.
53. I think I’m growing it back out again.
54. I’m convinced that Washington is quite simply the best state there is.
55. I’m easily annoyed by falsity, particularly in people.
56. I tend to automatically follow ideas through to their logical conclusion. This tends to annoy people also.
57. I’m very honest, though not so brutally as I once was. I’m trying to treat the world more gently.
58. I think I may be incapable of experiencing regret.
59. I like swing-dancing, and I’m good at it.
60. I’m a bit out of practice, though.
61. In general, I’m patient. I’m trying to be moreso with people that annoy me.
62. I prefer naive faith to practical cynicism; well, maybe.
63. I lost my virginity at 19, and at 24 I’ve only had sex with two different people. This seems about right to me.
64. I’m an agnostic; because I think it’s arrogant to say that God does or does not exist.
65. I haven’t read more than 30 pages of Douglas Adams, though I’d like to.
66. The favorite quotes I can think of off the top of my head are by Henry Miller, Albert Einstein, Oscar Wilde, Arthur Rimbaud, and Friedrich Nietzsche.
67. I think that makes me an obvious literary dork.
68. I spent three months in France.
69. I promised a friend that while I was in France I would kiss a beautiful French girl on the Pont Neuf.
70. I never did, and despite the fact that it was sort of out of my control, I’ve always felt a little guilty about it.
71. Eddie Izzard is my absolute favorite stand-up comedian.
72. I like mimes, particularly when they’re a little creepy.
73. I don’t sing in the shower. Not usually.
74. I don’t get bored easily, except when people try to talk to me.
75. I speak an absolutely tiny amount of Russian. It’s a very cool language, though.
76. I’d really like to be able to speak like 10 different languages, but I’m too lazy to think that’ll ever happen.
77. I don’t feel depressed often. When I do it’s from a sense of overwhelming loneliness.
78. I believe that all experiences can be good experiences.
79. I hate being judged, and especially misjudged.
80. I’ve got a spare smile for a stranger.
81. Cowboy Bebop changed my life. I can’t explain how.
82. I’ve a pet, stuffed lizard whose name is Crookshanx. He’s awesome.
83. I love the rain.
84. I’m scared of the ocean, despite having lived by it my whole life.
85. It’s almost killed me twice.
86. I would like to learn how to draw, and particularly how to sketch people.
87. I would also like to learn how to play the guitar, better.
88. I’ve an incredibly over-active imagination.
89. I’ve written children’s stories, and I’d like to publish them one day.
90. I’ve got all the time in the world.
91. I prefer a small group of good friends.
92. I’ll try anything once, and most things twice; hardcore drugs are the exception.
93. I think it’s more important to feel great things than it is to do great things.
94. I would die for my friends.
95. I don’t think anything can justify war.
96. I don’t even think anything can justify violence.
97. I’ve never been in a fight, even though Joe Kirby really wanted to fight in the middle of the highway after the closing night of the play.
98. I’m slowly getting better at keeping in touch with my friends.
99. I believe in loving freely, and forgiveness, and that everything’s a choice.
100. I’ve got a hankering for cheesecake.

Categories
love personal

Then began the rainy season

Our rainy season is like 8 months long.
I love it. We’ve had some sunny days yet,
but I don’t think we’ll get many more.
It’s almost October!

On Halloween, Theo and Tim and I were thinking
about decorating our house for Christmas;
just to be tricksy. I added that we could even
dress up as the Christmas versions of
The Nightmare Before Christmas characters.
We could even dress Toby up like Zero, though
I doubt he’d appreciate it very much. Of course,
that’s why it’s fun. *evil cackle*

–

I’m driving up to Port Townsend tonight to
visit my family; even my dad’s up there at the moment.
Also, I think my swing shoes may be hidden in
a box up there somewheres, and I’d like to find them.
I tend to sock-hop, as it’s much better than dancing
in sneakers; but last week the floor was all gross,
so shoes have become something of a necessity.
I have some nice ones; if I could only find them!

Our website is coming together well. Though it looks
the same right now, yes, we’ve scanned a lot of images
and Tim made an awesome banner for us. Like, really awesome.
I’m not too sure yet what format the homepage will take;
but I’m hoping it will grow somewhat organically,
adding this and that, one bit at a time, ’til somehow
I realize it’s really an official full-on website.
I suspect I’m naive and fooling myself. *sigh*

–

So, what’s going on, right?
Honestly, I feel like this last week
has been caught in Limbo, a little bit.
I did, however, get my job application sent
out on Thursday, and the final postmarked deadline
was Friday, so that’s like,
not even procrastinating for me.
Way ahead of schedule. Rar.

I meet Danielle for lunch on Monday;
a new encounter with an old stranger.
What could be stranger? I’ve managed to get
rid of most of my expectations for our
meeting; now mostly just hoping we get along
well and it isn’t horribly awkward.

Tuesday night is swing night,
and even now on Saturday I get butterflies
when I think about it.

The absurd is the result of man’s battle
to make sense of a non-sensical world.

Sisyphus, don’t fail me now.

Categories
love personal poetic

Swing this!

Wow. So, the most fun I’ve had swing-dancing
in a long time. I wasn’t expecting that, honestly.
Also the most smitten I’ve been with a new acquaintance
in a long time. I wasn’t expecting that, either.
With dancing only once a week, life
forces patience on me. Wait it out; reflect.
If I had it my way, there’d be swing-dancing every
night, and my questions would be answered within a week.
Still. Still; still. Still.

I say it, but my heart doesn’t know still right now;
it’s taken up the dance where my feet left off,
crazy like a dervish, nervous,
palms sweaty in the charlston.
I’m such a sap.

Categories
cinema personal

La Casa Comics

For anyone who pays close attention to my blog –
I don’t think anyone does, really –
you may have noticed the new link under the
“An Absolute Must” heading, that looks like it says
(because it does) La Casa Comics. Any of the truly intrepid
may have visited this mysterious site and noticed it looks
like crap. Well, that’s because my notepad skills suck,
thus far, but I’m looking to improve them dramatically
over time, so stay tuned. La Casa Comics
(ed. note: now located at http://lacasacomics.com)
is the website of myself and my two roommates, Theo and Tim.
Theo and I have been doing a comic collaboratively called La Casa (of all things),
chronicling the adventures of three twenty-something guys,
dealing with ravenous monkeys and the
17 laws of attraction (17 and 1/2, really). Theo also does
his own thing with these two cop-guys and aliens,
and Tim is working on a monkey-conspiracy story, so it
should be pretty entertaining once we get it all out there.
So like, check it out, and stuff.

–

Speaking of synchronicity, it turns out that a young woman
I used to work with at Ruby’s (an Oly restaurant), went to
France with the same program I did (only 2 years later), and
stayed with the same family that I did in Betton (near Rennes)!
And, contrary to the fact that I thought they might have disliked me,
they remembered me and showed her the pictures I had left and
everything. Talk about crazy. So, it was fun to compare our two
experiences with this family and Rennes in general; and France in
more general. It seems like once a week I get together with
french-y people (like myself) and talk about experiences and
adventures in France. Bear in mind that I went to France over
four years ago, and only for three months. In that sense,
it seems kind of silly that it’s a constant conversation topic
amongst my peers. A lot of value has happened in my life
since then, but somehow it seems like France is always going
to take the cake. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I’m not trying to be a downer, though. I do enjoy these
conversations; very much so. But I can’t help but wonder
at what point, if any, a three-month trip to a completely
civilized country loses its significance;
or will this always and forever be the pinacle of my experience?

–

Swing dancing tonight, and I’m dragging Theo along with me.
I told him that even if he didn’t dance, he could practice drawing
motion. It sounded clever and enticing to me, but I think he’s just
coming along to dance. I’m betting he gets asked to dance more than
me, but that’s absolutely and totally fine. Dancing is great, but
dancing with strangers is a little less great, and they’re all
strangers. I remember how much more fun it is to have a constant
dance partner, to learn and to practice with, and in the end to
feel comfortable with, most importantly. With strangers, it’s hard
to tell if they’re enjoying themselves, and it’s hard to tell if
they’re judging you or not.
It’s fun, but it can play havoc with the ego and the psyche.

Watching Man on the Train last night, Jean Rochefort has a line
as he’s playing the piano, to the effect of:
Everyone always thinks that one must enjoy playing music.
They say, “Oh, the happy hours he must spend in front of the piano.”
Well, playing music can be a dead bore too, let me tell you.
And then he goes on to say how boring Schumann is, but how he
likes Schumann for appealing to his love of failure. The point,
however, is people could easily say the exact same thing about
dancing; and I would have the exact same response.
Sometimes, dancing can be a complete bore, too.

On a huge tangent, Hollywood is making American, big star versions
of what I consider to be very watchable foreign films:
Taxi is becoming Taxi and Shall We Dance? is becoming
Shall We Dance? Why must we remake these films
instead of watching the originals? With Taxi, at least it looks like they
changed the film in a few ways (though they kept the ending to the
letter), but with Shall We Dance?; the scripts are
completely identical! Perhaps on the opening night of each of
these films, I’ll boycott, stay home, and watch the originals.
You’re all welcome to join me; bring some popcorn.

Categories
dance personal poetic

Harmless sentimental

It’s amazing how a kind word can make you cry
where barbs of scorn and anger fail;
and here I was at work with nowhere to hide,
doing my best not to well-up and blubber.
But thank you for that; it makes me happier than I can say.

I’m looking into a radical template change,
so things may be a little unstable here for awhile.
If so, now you know why.

This is the completed swing poem,
which I did not read at the poetry reading
because I’m not entirely happy with it;
but there you go. The “Kas” journal is now filled.
Now I just have to find Kas.

– Like a Jitterbug –

Swing word schemes like a jitterbug,
if that’s all there is my friend
then let’s cut a rug.
Legs loose like spaghetti,
feet like Andretti,
come feel the music
let’s rock the beat steady.
Let me cop a dance,
it’s my last chance
to get by with a smile.
A spin and a dip,
I’ve flipped my last chip
to a turning wheel;
whip around on a heel
and stop to feel! [pause]
Crazy like a dervish,
nervous, palms sweaty in a Charlston,
stop me if you’ve heard this.
Tight curves on a ballroom floor,
I’m floored, my eyes and limbs adore.
We tip-toe through a slow dance,
my last chance
to get by with a smile.
I flip my last chip,
dip;
smile.

Like I said, I don’t really like it.
But I’ve gone and subjected you to it anyway;
I’m atrociously evil. Rar.

Categories
love personal

Unquestioned answers

Looking back over old blog posts,
I remember that I always knew the score.
I came to an understanding before I needed to,
like a shephard moves to higher ground before the rains.
When you wait ’til the last minute,
the last minute is always too late.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to say;
trying to answer the questions that you want answered.
And I’m at a loss for words.
I’ll keep trying if it will help bring peace of mind.

Categories
cinema dance personal

Ain’t Misbehavin’

Okay, maybe misbehavin’ just a tiny bit,
in my own, silly and sentimental ways.
It was a long weekend, my friends;
a new pinacle of absurd decadence.

Friday night, Theo’s brother Colin was up
from California, and as he was heading out
Saturday morning, he wanted to make the most
of his visit and “party like a rock-star”(tm).
We hung out in our garage space for awhile,
playing darts and beer-pong
(the strangest & most pointless drinking game in all creation),
and then they all wanted to hit the bars.
I wasn’t going to go, really;
but then Colin forced me to (literally, physically!).
Anyway, we went to the Brotherhood, played some pool,
and then down to Jake’s to watch people dance.
(Jake’s is the gay club in town, where the Go Club used to be).

Theo stayed on with Rob ’til the wee hours;
I stumbled home alone at around 1:30 and slept
like an inebriated baby.

–

Saturday was our Cowboy Bebop marathon,
and a thing of beauty it was.
We started at about 1:00 in the pm,
and finished around 1:00 in the am.
We got through the whole thing,
including the movie which we watched in
sequence with the series (in between discs 5 and 6).
Not incredibly tired at the time,
I stayed up watching Smalleville all night,
through the next day, until Sunday at around 11 pm.
I watched the entire second season in a day,
which was absolutely ridiculous. I highly recommend it.
As my brain started to shut down, I started to confuse
Smalleville with Cowboy Bebop, to the point that the action
at times looked animated; and I thought people were flying
around in their space ships shooting at each other.
It was a little bizarre. Then I slept like a
giant-overloaded-brain baby.

Monday I woke up late and recuperated;
and thank God for a three-day weekend.

–

Tuesday was my first full day of work (9-5),
doing data entry at the Advancement Office.
The work is fine (read: mind-numbing but easy),
but would be a lot better if I understood the point.
Basically, we are taking the info from the old records,
which were in MS Access, and checking it against the new
records, which are in PowerCampus. Since most of the
info in the PowerCampus records is more current than the
MS Access info, in the case of a discrepency we usually
go with the PowerCampus info anyway, but flag the discrepency
for someone else to look at. Granted, we do change and fix
some data; but they’re paying out a whole lot of money
to get this done, which I don’t entirely understand.
Under no circumstances am I complaining;
it’s an easy paycheck.

–

Tuesday night I went swing-dancing at the Olympia Eagle’s Ballroom.
I saw fewer people I knew than I had hoped I might (2),
but I knew the DJ, and as soon as I walked in she came over
to say “hi” and then introduced me to all the best dancers
in the place. There was some amazing dancing there,
and rusty as I am, I felt self-conscious and inadequate.
However, I still had a ball (small pun).
There’s no better way to meet people than to dance with them,
and I danced my little feet off (quite a feat! haha).
I had forgotten how much I missed dancing,
and I’m tickled that there’s still a scene here in town.

Tonight is the Open Mike / Poetry Reading at Last Word Books.
I’m planning on reading The Embarrassing Episode of Little Miss Muffet,
by Guy Wetmore Carryl. Sometimes I think I’m the only one who’s ever
heard of the poem; but it’s a great poem to read aloud.
I’ve no idea what I might read of mine. Perhaps I’ll write
something new for the occassion. Maybe something dance-related;
last night was an inspiring muse.

Swing like a hu-man,
can-can, rat-ta-tam-tam,
douse my cakes in the frim-fram.
Feet flail like spaghetti,
fast like Andretti,
sweat like the serengeti
as I rock the beat steady.