A ballad, in the tradition of Crosby, Stills, and Nash. It’s nice.
I’m into this color scheme—mint green and maroon—which spring is serving up in my garden everywhere somehow.
Hi. It’s a spring morn and I’m at work listening to the Galaxy 500 station on Pandora until I reach my allotted free listening hours for the month. Which is any second now. Life is great because our new T-shirts just arrived, and once you have T-shirts, then it’s official—you own a business. Yep, a whole new class of people talk to me now—like, owners from other shops in the neighborhood stop and introduce themselves to me while I’m out front scrubbing the windows. And at least once a day someone will say to me, “Thank you for building this skatepark.” Cool, hmm? Stop in here and hang out with me and all the ten year boys who are spilling soda on the couch even as I type.
It must be hard to make a movie that everyone already knows the ending to. The guy chops his own arm off with an imitation Leatherman—hey, it was in the news. I think the best part about this film was the scenery—the austere landscape of Canyonlands. I was there in December and I’ll never get over it. But I can’t lie, I did spend most of the movie just going, “When’s he gonna hack it off!” And I can’t possibly be alone in this.
Satanists! Murders! Church burners! This is the movie about Norwegian black metal, and how these guys were and weren’t what people thought they were. Pretty engrossing. Mostly what I got from it is that it’s hard to know what to do to protest something. Say you’re pissed about the Catholic Church’s 2000 years worth of blowing it—specifically, you’re pissed that they snuffed out your native religion and built a bunch of churches on all your sacred spots. So … Burn ’em down? But then you get slapped with “Satanist” (which is’t the same thing as “anti-Christian”). And somehow you’re point’s totally lost. I dunno … it’s a dilemma.
If you haven’t yet, watch it online here.
If you didn’t do a heinous shot of tequila on your birthday, howcome?
I believe there’s a time and place to read the classics. But I haven’t found that time or place for War And Peace yet. I mean I’ve tried to plow through it twice now and neither time stuck. The farthest in I made it was 20 pages … it seemed like all the women were princesses and they all were named Mary, or Marya, and all the male characters were generals in the army and named Peter and Pierre. So confusing. But I’ma changin my ways. As of yesterday, I’m doing it. I’m reading War And Peace. After all, it’s “The Greatest Novel Of Our Time”—or so the book’s back cover reads.
Asparagus. It’s impossibly easy to cook. Just put it in a pan and take a sec to eat some cereal straight from the box and then blammo, it’s done. A little oil and salt and you’re in heaven.
John Turturro. Jesus in The Big Lebowski. Al Fountain in Box of Moonlight. John Turturro is regal.
“Hot Freaks,” by Guided By Voices. A minute and 43 seconds long, and pure radiance. And just listen to the lyrics—what do they even mean?!
So first we built skatepark, and now we’re the owner/operators of it. Lifestyle-wise, it’s, like, a departure for me. And up to this point, I’ve been too busy to miss my old life where I split town for weeks every winter to destinations unknown, jotted down notes, and then wrote about the adventure later.
Too busy until now. For a second this morning, when the sun was out and a spring quest was calling, I really, really needed to get on a plane. So I’m just looking at other people’s stories about the journey instead. It’s gonna be okay.
As you should know from my earlier reportings, my big sister’s an artist—and she’s got a new show coming up this Friday. Sadly, I can’t make it (they’ve yet to invent that teleportation device allowing instant travel like in Star Trek), but her new paintings make my head spin. If you’re in Colorado this weekend, get yer self there.