Month: December 2007

Woke up around 8:30 AM.

Showered, brushed my teeth, got dressed in my new Levi’s.

Texted Tracy. (You can assume that I continue to do this throughout the day)

Got breakfast at Twin Paradox – coffee and a cinnamon roll.

Drove my car (that was due back at 11:30 AM) back downtown to its assigned parking.

Bought a bottle of water at the Peterson’s on SW 4th.

Bought a Christmas gift for a friend at [redacted].

Saw the 11:15 AM showing of “I Am Legend” at the Pioneer Place Mall Theater. Before the movie, I noticed the one-sheet for “The Dark Knight” – and there’s a line that looks like a scrambled-letter code running along the very bottom.

The trailer for “Iron Man” looked awesome. Robert Downey, Jr., as Tony Stark? Perfection.

The trailer for “The Dark Knight” looks… iffy. Seeing a picture of Heath Ledger as the Joker > actually seeing Heath Ledger as the Joker.

Enjoyed the movie very much. Will Smith uses his friendliness and charm to show how an extrovert would be devastated by being, literally, the last man on Earth. Very suspenseful. Saw the ending coming from a mile away. Still loved the movie.

Got a slice of pizza (Green Chicken & a Caesar salad at Pizza Schmizza). Refilled my bottle of water.

Walked up to the Fox Theater to catch the 2:00 PM showing of “Juno”. It was a sold-out showing, according to the theater employee who walked in with 5 minutes until the trailers started; but there was a whole row of seats open and no one to my left or right.

Enjoyed the movie. Laughed out loud several times.

Saw a rainbow immediately after walking outside. From my angle, it appeared to terminate at Powell’s City of Books. Or possibly the Technical Store.

Took the bus back to my home neighborhood.

Had a reuben sandwich and fries from the Limelight for dinner. Stacy the waitress remembered my name, and called me “hun” several times. Made my evening.

Surfed at Twin Paradox for the last several hours. Had two cups of coffee.

Came home.

Put my running clothes in the washer.

Remembered the code on the “The Dark Knight” one-sheet. Can’t find anything about it on teh google.

Blogged this.

…and now what?

A quote from an 11-year-old interview with David Foster Wallace:

“I guess I, when I was in my twenties, like deep down underneath all the bullshit what I really believed was that the point of fiction was to show that the writer was really smart. And that sounds terrible to say, but I think, looking back, that’s what was going on. And I don’t think I really understood what loneliness was when I was a young man. And now I’ve got a much less clear idea of what the point of art is, but I think it’s got something to do with loneliness and something to do with setting up a conversation between human beings.”

…coupled with some dialog written by Cameron Crowe, from the movie “Almost Famous”, spoken by the incomparable Philip Seymour Hoffman (playing a fictionalized rock journalist Lester Bangs) to young Patrick Fugit:

Lester Bangs: Aw, man. You made friends with them. See, friendship is the booze they feed you. They want you to get drunk on feeling like you belong.
William Miller: Well, it was fun.
Lester Bangs: They make you feel cool. And hey. I met you. You are not cool.
William Miller: I know. Even when I thought I was, I knew I wasn’t.
Lester Bangs: That’s because we’re uncool. And while women will always be a problem for us, most of the great art in the world is about that very same problem. Good-looking people don’t have any spine. Their art never lasts. They get the girls, but we’re smarter.
William Miller: I can really see that now.
Lester Bangs: Yeah, great art is about conflict and pain and guilt and longing and love disguised as sex, and sex disguised as love… and let’s face it, you got a big head start.
William Miller: I’m glad you were home.
Lester Bangs: I’m always home. I’m uncool.
William Miller: Me too!
Lester Bangs: The only true currency in this bankrupt world if what we share with someone else when we’re uncool.

…and that is my meditation on creativity for the week.

My rebellious side is asking, “Do I really have to be lonely to write? Is that really what it takes? Isn’t there a better way?”

I’m not saying I create great art. I just write. I write because I can’t not write. But I also know that I am lonely. I have good friends, awesome friends, friends for whom I would sacrifice large imponderable things. But when they’re not around, I wonder if they’re thinking of me. I feel the lack of a connection, and I know that the lack of connection begins and terminates within me and my mind. Rationally I know that that kind of connection is rare and that not everyone feels it, and yet I still feel unique in my isolation.

And so I write.

And my rebellious side is asking further, “If you are writing to start a conversation… then when do people begin to talk back?”

I have no real answer, on this cold, dark, December night. I’m probably just too tired to see the answer right in front of me.

It’s been a rough week and a long December. Maybe next year will be better than the last.

G’night for now.

I’m overflowing with post ideas right now.

I want to write about the Everyday Music girl. Seems she’s a popular topic for craigslist’s Missed Connections. Search for “Everyday Music” and you’ll see what I mean. I’m not the only shy guy who has been attracted to her beauty and friendliness.

I owe Athena a response to her post responding to my comment about the angry passionate comments she gets. Bottom line: I blog because I want attention. Duh. So of course I’m envious of the comments she gets. And she dresses ’em down so beautifully. Makes for entertaining reading.

I could go on and on and on about kipple, which is the useless stuff that accumulates everywhere, and was popularized by one of my favorite authors of all time, Philip K. Dick. I mention this because Grant Balfour posted about kipple on 43 Folders today.

I’ve got a rant inside me about something that’s very personal, but is probably more embarassing for others in my family than it would be for me. So I hesitate to write it out. But it might slip out at some point.

And every time I talk to Tracy I get a dozen ideas for things to post about. Today we discussed strippers who don’t shower before their shift, and walnut butterscotch fudge, and how hot Ricki Lake is and how not hot Amy Winehouse is, and when breasts (all breasts) look their best, and bootstraps and how I’m not finding them lately… lots of stuff.

And yet, I just want to hide in bed, pull the covers over me, and sleep all day. No energy.

On the couch. Pigging out on donuts and pad Thai and vodka.

I’m 31 minutes in and I’m tear-y.

Kate Hudson is lost and hot.

Three little words that hint at why I’m at work today: chain of custody.

You’d think that professionals in law enforcement would know that stuff. Don’t they watch teevee?

To those who know what I’m talking about, that shit is funny.

My nose is running. My head is ache-y. I just want to curl up in bed. It’s 34° F outside.

So why am I still going to work? Not sure.

It’s 78° in Cancún right now.

Scene: Tall man in his twenties, wearing a bright red Santa hat and jacket, stands a step or two farther back from the urinal than is normally prudent. He sways on his feet. The two non-Santa-dressed men, one tall and bald, the other shorter and wearing a snappy fedora, approach and select the two open urinals on either side of the taller, younger, Santa-dressed man, and begin to make use of the facilities.

Santa Boy: (slurred) How’re you doin’?

Kevin: Good!

Brian: We’re merry!

Santa Boy: I’m so wasted!

Brian: I see. Did you start at noon?

Kevin shifts position to avoid Santa Boy, who is swaying dangerously near.

Santa Boy: Yeah, it’s early. But I should go home.

Brian: It’s a long way back to the North Pole.

Santa Boy: It’s OK… I’m staying with my parents.

Ah, yes… Santacon 2008. Outside, drunken revelers of all ages, dressed in Santa clothes, partied and yelled and rode tall bikes and yelled some more, as they wandered from bar to bar to bar to bar, all day long. The scene on the front porch of Powell’s City of Books had resembled a Christmas rave, with booty-shaking girls in red and white mini-dresses danced on the railings.

Next year, I’m participating. How could I not? Summer has the naked bike ride; winter has the Santacon. Portland is awesome.

Tonight, she was wearing a ring on her wedding finger. I don’t know if I noticed one before.

And she says she regrets her past.

I still don’t know her name.

I pigged out (apologies to any actual pigs reading this) last night. Not sure why but, after dinner, I went to Foster’s Market and bought a bag of Doritos ® Blazin’ Buffalo & Ranch ™ Flavored Tortilla Chips (the 99¢ bag), and not just one, not just two, but three delicious donuts – a jelly-filled, a chocolate creme filled, and a bear claw.

So good. Yes, I ate them. All of them.

And I sat and caught up on all the TV I have not been watching, and then I started watching “Almost Famous” (not the director’s cut) and then went to bed early.

This morning, when I counted up the calories I had yesterday, which included a Burgerville Pepper bacon cheeseburger and their Yukon Gold waffle fries… Oh, man. I had more than double the calories that I’m shooting for.

Now I’m sitting here in my running clothes and eyeing the mid-30° F weather outside, knowing I have to go run off some of these donuts and chips and cheeseburgers… and I’m just not feelin’ it.

Time to run.

The internet tells me that it’s currently 46° F in Portland, my hometown, right now.

The internet tells me that it’s currently 70° F in Cancún, Mexico, right now.

That’s a 24° F difference.

Damn, I’m colder just thinking about it.