Septembering

Hey! It's my birthday month! I'm always really happy in September because of its coolness, its calmness, its slanty sunshine and crisp nights, plus the likelihood of cupcakes coming my way toward the end of the month.

Already this September I've gotten on and off planes, eaten the best deep-dish pizza of my young life, drank beer mixed with kambucha for the first time (tart! boozy!), and watched the fog roll in over San Francisco Bay. I think it bodes well for the year to come—but the future's unwritten, right?

Anyway, peeps who know me know that this past year's been wild—the wildest, actually. Some shit sucked. Some shit ruled. A lot of shit changed ... I'm alive, though, ain't I?! See, there's always hope, for me and for you.

When New Doors Open

For years I've wished for a windowed front door that looks east to face the rising sun of morning. This way, all corners of my house could be bathed in golden light between the hours of 8-11 a.m. A nice humble wish, I think. Anyway, Peter Sherowski came through town this past weekend and obliged, spending two whole days sawing, shimmying, clipping ancient siding, and generally sweating just to wedge that fresh oak front door in. If you care about these sorts of things, then you'll understand that it's a cut above my 50s-era metal security door—about 100 cuts above, really.

While he was doing that, I tore down and rebuilt my living area. I don't like painting. I'm not good at it—sloppy is what I'd call myself. But ya know like all those unavoidables in life, you do it if you have to.

Prehistoric art made by the children of yesteryear.

My best efforts at neatness and order.

Favorites 8.23.13

Justified: It's only a TV show—not a masterpiece or anything. Still, there's a corner in my heart for the idea of the modern day cowboy, for Lexington, for haunting hillbilly music. Plus, Timothy Olyphant!!!

Tacos: As a street food, their naturally casual. And as a non-carcass-eater, I appreciate their simplicity. Beans, cheese, a sprinkle of cilantro and chili pepper—call me good.

Home improvement: It's only a phase—I don't get OCD on my living space all the time. But the joys of patching drywall and sealing terra-cotta floor tile should not be unknown to you.  

Bob Dylan, "Went To See The Gypsy": 1970 demo song on NPR First listen right now (click HERE and let er rip). A mysterious tune that smolders with electric piano. Dylan's a wizard—he can rid you of your fear.

The Weekend Report

Undertook traumatizing home improvement project, wore kerchief over my hair to ward off paint, looked like an old photo of my mom doing same back in the 70s.

Attended gathering at the Bracewell residence, got clouds of campfire smoke in face, skated backyard mini ramp until exhaustion, stayed out past 1 a.m. (!!!!).

Drank tall, strong coffee, finished traumatizing home improvement project with sweat running down face.

Stood in front of fan and took off all clothes, donned bathing suit, went to river with my pal and read and toasted and stared at the place where the trees meet the sky. Beach fire in the vicinity, more campfire smoke to face.

Summer Breeze Makes Me Feel Fine

Season-wise, I don't discriminate. I like ’em all for one reason or another. And the turning of them makes being an earthling truly sweet, no?

What I think I love most about summertime though is the air. It's substantial—you experience it. The stuff wraps around you, carrying saturated colors and smells. Tank tops at night, a graceful sun beam shooting through the trees, the deepest azure of a slow-moving river, a whiff of of jasmine from the vine crawling up the portico ... Things that might otherwise be unaccessible to you, in other words—they're all unlocked by this soft, fecund breeze.

If you're out and about in the next few weeks (which, I mean, why the fuck wouldn't you be?), just take a sec and breathe it in. Feel it. That's good stuff, I contend.