.Sherowski Daily.

My days have been grounded in alternately working hard and then lounging and doing nothing, dumbly, on my new couch. I am not burdened by an obsession with material objects, but I can connect with things of quality on a cellular level. With that said, this Dania couch is the new little life-temple that I’m worshipping at.

On a side note, how creepy is it that I cohabitate next to a couple fucking carnivores with razor sharp incisors and maybe, just maybe, one of them might go berzerk someday and decide to breakfast on the flesh inside my skull or something. Nah … ?

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“How strange is the lot of us mortals! Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he sometimes thinks he senses it. But without deeper reflection one knows from daily life that one exists for other people — first of all for those upon whose smiles and well-being our own happiness is wholly dependent, and then for the many, unknown to us, to whose destinies we are bound by the ties of sympathy. A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving.” — Albert Einstein

Yessssss.

admin Uncategorized albert einstein, human existence, wise words

Excited for this one! Anyone who knows me at all knows that Jack Kerouac is my fave. Always has been, always will be. I know the Sierra Nevadas to be wild and starry-skied because of Dharma Bums. I know the Nor Cal coast to be raw and lonely because of Big Sur. I know love to be a stand off because of The Subterraneans, The Town And The City, On The Road … too many to mention here.

Also, I’ve been having neck problems lately and have resorted to standing on my head daily (good for the spine?), which I know to be something Kerouac did to allay his own neck pain. The act of hunching over a typewriter (back then) and a computer (now) being pretty much on-par bad for one’s back.

Anyhow, I’ve posted this one before, but here t’is again. A poem by Jack Kerouac:

How to Meditate

-lights out-
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a “I-hope-you” or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes-and
with joy you realize for the first time
“thinking’s just like not thinking-
So I don’t have to think
any
more”

admin Uncategorized good books, jack kerouac, on the road

So Cal, you have your sparkling beach break; Jersey, you have your shore. But here in Oregon, our summertimes are defined by “river life.” Actually, it defines both summer and winter—one season, you go to the river, and one season, you think about how awesome it’s gonna be when you get to go to the river again.

The Sandy, the Clackamas, the Washougal, the Lewis … I know it’s not that time of year yet, but I’ve been persevering through rain, cold, and darkness for the next chance to toast on some round river rocks alongside one of these mighty rivers. And I know I’m not alone.

Come mid-June or so, river spots become a replacement for bars and parks and other places to gather. And if you have the whole day, then you’re obviously about to float. Required: Intertube, coozie, sunnies, and river shoes (kicked Vans slip-ons work great!).

Floating from one spot to the next provides soft, lazy hours of quiet, allowing you to contemplate the way the tree tips touch the sky and the odd birch leaf spiraling down stream at the exact same pace as you. Of course, if someone happens to bring a floating cooler, then things get a little loose out there on the river. Only within the realms of fun and safety, though, you understand. You come home from a day like that all sandy, sun-tanned and tired—but good-tired, you know? Ah, river life!

Like I said, I know it’s not summer yet, but my bones are positively ACHING for a river day in the extremely near future. See you out there?

A beauteous rope-swing spot near Hood River.

Lefty loves his unca’ Justin!

The journey is its own reward.

admin Uncategorized lefty, oregon, river life, summer

For the first time in my life I’m having recurring back troubles. Spasm of pain would be a great way to describe my left/mid spinal situation. Unfortunately, it’s not from DOING anything, just from sitting and working, staring at a screen and then a catalog and back to a screen whilst my fingers jab madly at letter keys. It’s awful, this is getting old—I’m DOING IT!

I broke down and went to the chiropractor, and it was enlightening. After sticking me with electrodes, they showed me some sort of computer graph of my spinal tension. Lo and behold, a clusterfuck of biomuscular distress on the right side of my neck! “Everything’s connected,” blah blah blah—but how crazy is it that my neck feels normal to me? According to the doctor, the source of the pain is not where the pain has manifested. It’s a kinda metaphor for my life, really.

In other news, it smelled like spring today and I thought of Easter and cherry blossom canopies.

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Things that I did today:

-Laid in bed with my eyes open for a full half hour before I got up. (I work afternoon/evenings, mornings are my motherfuckin leisure time).

-Listened to Kurt Vile, “Freak Train.” (I mean I’m beyond caring if you like what I like, but this song’s more mood than song. Like a middle finger for the world that you can stick in your pocket and pull out when needed.)

-Hoops at Laurelhurst park. (I’m the wackest of the wackest white chick to ever step to the court. My dog steals the ball from me. I made two shots in a row and felt the need to gloat in triumph.)

-Read from Nancy Milford’s biography of Zelda Fitzgerald: “F. Scott, in an immaculate Norfolk jacket, gesturing nervously with a cigarette, Zelda brightly at his side, her clean wild hair brushed back from her face. But it was not her beauty that was arresting. It was her style, a sort of insolence toward life, her total lack of caution, her fearless and abundant pride.”

admin Uncategorized freak train, kurt vile, zelda fitzgerald

I like how Lefty rarely plays at the dog park—just stands there wide-eyed watching everyone else rip around—but the second Rusty Scott walks through the door, it’s all cheek nips, slobber wheels, and squeals of joy. What gives?

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Feeling crispy from hosting multiple nights in a row of events at the park. I like socializing, but when forced do it too much I throw reverse and become an edgy bitch. I like drinking, but I don’t like it when an entire subculture seems to depend on it. I’m only saying this because I just mopped half a keg of heffeweisen off the floor of the front office and am feeling slightly un-psyched. But this song is helping, you know?

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As someone who has flown at all times and in every possible condition, I can say with certainty that the absolute best time to fly is 11 a.m. on a sunny weekday. You breeze through the metal detector in a set of striped socks, you amble onto the plane with a toasted sesame bagel, and you’re asleep in a pool of sunshine before you hit 10,000 feet. Good stuff.

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I’m curled up in a nest of crumpled receipts right now, basically in self-employed-contractor tax hell. However, I’m stoked on this movie I watched the other night. Hanna—a sort of Darwinian thriller with luminous colors, sets, and sounds. Plus, Kate Blanchett. If I could be any actress it’d prob be her because she’s complex and bad ass—more than just a set of tittays.

admin Uncategorized cate blanchett, hanna, movies, taxes