Vintage: Back in the States (January 2009)

Dulles in late December was like the first day waking up after a long illness. My head was just coming back to earth after my sinuses teetered on the brink of seeming implosion during the six hour transatlantic flight. American flags in the sunset were familiar and foreign, like childhood memories of places and smells I don't remember remembering.

Three days on the edge of Amish country with my best friend from 6th grade, at least four lifetimes ago. Anathello sounds and Mrs. Goebbels murdering her children. The world is falling apart with such pained beauty. But not here, there is redemption; Wal-Mart has a buggy barn.

The Philly airport security line is a security nightmare. Huge glass window overlooked by the parking garage, lines stretched along the length of it. Someone should change that. Monotone cheery voices explaining how you could make a shoe-sole out of plastic explosives. I spent New Year's in a hotel run by Indian college students in Sacramento by myself. I woke up at 4am and skyped, showered, returned to the airport and headed south, where San Diego seemed out of context. Point Loma's beautiful scope and scape, I was trying to capture the sound of the waves in caverns, the spray as it flew into the air. Dutch Blitz with Megan and family. Pelicans, massive Sea Lions, bottle-nosed windsock modern art dolphins. I was trying to capture the pulse of change, the person in the mirror and my family. My mother saw the first whale spout and told me I should move on and settle down. This seems impossible. Later, wearing paths in the grass in Live Oak Park like old friends falling apart with collected voices and broken hearts. A hug for closure at the harbor. 

Yosemite was an echo of Prague cathedrals, tourism and tangible space, sacred juxtaposed with the flash of digital cameras and foreign languages. Half dome helped pine columns hold up a quiet blue sky fading to veils of mist and twilight. I could see God there but I couldn't hear him. Hushed pines and snow, potraits through ice, and quiet water falls.

Skipping stones on the Bear with Liz. The gang told 12-year old Dania they were gonna take her out of that Guatamala home dead or alive. She fell asleep on my sister's shoulder, still holding her hand, Christmas eve facing who knows what future. Liz said she would've stayed there if she didn't have us back here. Stayed in community, in a place where two languages would be needed to be understood. I understood that. Dropping stepping stones across the river in front of us. Futures are changing. Everything will change. My brother says he's staying here. Black bean soup and crazy music, August Rush, and at 2am lights out my dad's in the living room singing silence. I try to join him on guitar but he's in a different key, and then we sing songs that no one here in Norcal remembers, because they weren't there in the youth group in Pensacola. My mom asks for Overwhelmed. Yeah, that's about right. We're still waiting on foreclosure.

Jen in Pensacola wanted that song too. Mikey and I stayed up studying Hebrews and I was at home for the fourth time since last semester, with another one of my families, this one debt-free. I forgot that he speaks my family's language. "And you know what else, I've never liked your spinach puffs!" Bedtime conversations on the politics of Med School and marriage. This is still home but everyone has changed, perhaps me most of all. High school faces out of context, people I recognize but didn't talk to then and don't talk to now in other lives, other worlds. JK in the living room, Carnival of the Animals on youtube and some banjo. 12 miles on rollerblades, fried green tomatoes, Vietnamese Salty Plum drink, and finally a Starbucks on the third try. Two long walks with brothers, Old Catholic and "I'm not really sure but I'm open." Broken and damaged people still live. We're all broken. Mom with a husband in prison for a second time, pressing charges. Or chopped blond hair and a divorce at 21. And yet we are still so much more. Jacob with his bum hip and bag of tricks. And God's still leading Him. 21 years working for a manipulative uncle and a skull of stone. I complete my ensayo on La memoria, la identidad, y la metaficción for Spanish Historical Memory at Aberdeen in the Atlanta airport on five hours sleep. Last bit of work for the term. Closure.

I started this trip by missing an Amtrak in DC and they put me on a bus instead. Fitting that I should be 10 minutes late in Fort Worth, so I can see another friend. Public trans, rice and weenies, and the Dallas Greyhound station til 5am. This is the only place homeless people have asked me for food instead of money. Man trying to get back to New Orleans to find some closure I reckon. Worldviews, philosophies, hurt. Soldier on his way to see an old friend and escape the memories. Kissed a young Mexican girl he'd never seen before: "Not sure why I did that." "I can't let this go."

It was halfway through my first class when I arrived in Norman. Lady from the Pink Elephant picked me up from the bus stop and gave me a ride to campus. "Wonder if the inauguration's still going on." She pops on the radio and "I, Barack Obama, do solemnly swear..." I put on my headphones and sit on the south oval and wait, the First Single "you know me." 

The next day I accidently got a job instead of my room keys. Walked into the wrong office. Cool beans. Broke Nathan's bike pedal with a backpack full of beans. Classes. German, Russian, English. Seguiendo Ché through South America at Audrey's. I feel alienated and yet so excited, so at home, especially at my church, the Stone. Friday night my life is compartmentalized into three minute pizza timer intervals punctuated by thoughtful walks in the cold and my customer service voice on the phone. Mops. Skype talks, emotions, and attempts at closure. Reopening old friendships, dropping and adding classes. Pained silence.

Ice storm interrupted transition. Sliding snow frisbee. Dutch Blitz in Herrick. Am I gonna graduate? The world is falling apart, but not here. Economic hitmen and white terrorism make sure that happens elsewhere, like Panama. The train rolling down from OKC spewed a haze of snow into the air as Hoppípola played, and I swayed to New Soul as my hands froze. Finally caught up on Lost. Cain's salsa como deja vu and talks with my roomie. 330am I'm looking at teaching English in Russia. How far is St. Petersburg from St. Ericksplan? Plans. Kelsey's talking about modern day slavery and law degrees. I'm talking about modern day slavery and justice with a friend in India. Skyping 'bout families and injuries and honours degrees with my friends from Germany. I received an e-mail from my Irish professor that was tagged with Glen Hansard. But the associations there are too stretched to explain. "Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time."

"Take this sinking boat and point it home." I got about twelve skips on one stone, and I told Liz that I was gonna quit while I was ahead. I've dropped my heart into so many people, so many places, but I can't seem to drop a dream or a class. Bored and busy. I looked both ways when I crossed the street, first the British way, then the American way. All this was subconscious. But she changed my mind. I threw another stone in the stream. I'm still confused, don't know where I'm going. Home? Yeah God, wherever you lead.

Vintage: Summer News Flashes (not to be confused with hot flashes) (Aug 2008)

Apparently the Bunny Messiah has come and gone. I'm not sure what this means for us humans, but my friend Gina had a rabbit named Sammy who was born on Christmas and died on Easter. The most interesting thing about this is that I'm certain the bunny anti-Christ has already come...although I can't really decide if it's the little white rabbit from Monty Python or the Easter bunny. The theological implications are endless, but needless to say the salvation of our furry friends is hanging in the balance.

Speaking of apocalyptic visions, I went to the beach in California...apparently it was a nude beach, and the guys were the fattest people I'd ever seen. I was about to make a sarcastic comment when my sister told me they were actually elephant seals.

Alexa rocks my flip-flops. I know this because she told me so and then wrote it in the dust on our van in Mexico. I'm not really sure "rocking one's flip flops" means. I mean, everybody rocks socks...though, then again, I'm not really sure what that means either. I could understand if we were talking about rocking our socks off. But then I still don't understand why you'd be so hard on a rocking chair, unless you were having a serious crisis or had just drank two monsters. (By the way, is anyone else disturbed by the concept of energy drinks with zero calories that say “do not give to young children?”) Rocking chairs remind me of this Atlanta Braves coach who would sit in the dugout rocking back and forth all game, every game.

And just when it looked like the Braves' season couldn't get any worse, Russia has recently invaded Georgia. Or more precisely, they've invaded the ungovernable part of Georgia that wants to defect from Georgia, plus the other half of the country that's nearby. I guess that must be the area around Atlanta, cuz I can't imagine revolution in Savannah, not after what Sherman did. Go home Russia! Georgia belongs to the U.S!

But if the Georgians are gonna defect again, I think California should secede from the Union too. We should probably wait until Bush leaves office though, because I don't want to be blown into the Pacific. Anyway, the main reasons I think this is important is that 1)Arnold Schwarzenegger could be president. 2)We could put Arnie on the 20 dollar bill. 3)Becoming a separate country from the U.S. would allow for the IMF to come in and help us with our state government's spending problems. 

And the gold for cutest Olympian goes to...Shelly Ann Fraser, the Jamaican girl who won the 100m. Killer smile that won't stop smiling + braces = unbeatable. In second, we have Shawn Johnson with the Silver. 4'9"...sixteen years old. She just looks like she's out there having fun...and then she does four consecutive backflips on a balance beam without readjusting her feet. 

And although I know my masculinity might be questioned over my choice for bronze, Usain Bolt's little pose and chest bump as he strutted across the finish line in world record time was too cute to not get a nod. (GEEZ DUDE! YOU COULD'VE OBLITERATED THE WORLD RECORD, BUT INSTEAD YOU PULLED UP WITH 30 METERS TO GO! I guess he wants to make things sporting, so he can break the world record again later.) Here's your bronze medal, Mr. Bolt.

That's a wrap. Not like a shawl, but like one of those cheesy chicken things in a warm tortilla...aahh. Which is what I think we should give the Russians to pacify them. I mean, I'd be cold and belligerent too if all I didn't get some good Mexican-American food occasionally. Let's just not start the Cold/Civil War II, okay guys? I want to be able to visit St. Petersburg someday, and Tbilisi too if it's still around. 

Seriously. Peace. Out.

Pishkyekistan

I've decided to resort to humour as a means of survival.   Six months here in the third world.  Consider this my plea for marriage...I mean, help.  Sorry about that Freudian banana, people here seem to consider the two terms, help and marriage, synonymous.  I'm trying to make the best of life, but people here don't even know what tacos are.

"Not just no, HELL no."  That's what my amazing and cranky English teacher used to say.  Can anyone help me with a Russian translation?  My future wife will thank you. 

What do you say to a kid who looks depressed about YOUR love life, like you were an ideal person until he figured out you have commitment issues or I don't know, haven't lived in one place for more than 9 months in the last four years?  Fo' rizzle.

So seriously people, the third world:  this is how it works.  There's the first world, i.e., the USA, i.e., We're number one, didn't you watch the Olympic basketball tournament?  There's the second world, which consists of Europe, Australia, and Canada.   You know, 2nd best, like, you would be cool if you provided the world with more quarterbacks and weapons of war, but you're kinda sissy.  Then there's the fourth world:  that would be like Russia, China, and all those other upstarts who think they're better than the United States.  And the fifth world, wherein a pending US or French invasion or airstrike is imminent...places like Mali, North Korea, Montana, and Iran.  And then there's everyone else:  i.e., here.

According to the CIA, the average person here makes like $1,000 a year.  I don't think the CIA accounts for goats and horses though.  Oh, that's something you should know, people have a horse fetish here.  The national drink is Komuz, which is alcoholic mare's milk.  I would tell you that I have tried horsemeat here, except that it's too expensive--it's for rich people, i.e., not me. 

In the 1st world, I would be making like 20 times what I make here teaching.  Recently one of my friends tried to pitch me a nice social worker job, that would be making 1/10th of what I make now.  So I don't have it so bad, I mean, really, if I could make $200 a month extra giving plasma like I did in Oklahoma, I'd be set.  I should ask our American neighbors about that.

Yeah, the airport.  My first sight when I came here was a fleet of US Air Force C-17s.  Somebody in foreign relations here is a real clever guy.  This country's largest profits come under the auspices of a Canadian gold mining company.  The people here like revolting, they were on the streets in the fall trying to get the gold company nationalized.  However, I think the lack of gobs of wealth is probably healthy, and the reason we don't have a dictatorship like every other country in the region.  Anyways, so the country's elite institutions of higher learning are American and Turkish--although there's also Korean, German, and European-funded private schools.  Larger companies with foreign investment are mostly Turkish and Russian.  And best of all, we rent out air force bases to the Russians and the Americans, while the Chinese are building our first real freeway across our Eastern border straight to the capital.  Can you say World War III?   Well, probably, except for the fact, that only the Kazakhs care about horses that much, and they're much too busy swimming in oil money and taking bribes to care.

What is living in the uncivilized world like?  If only words could describe.  Occasionally, cows get mixed up in traffic.  The people are revolting.  The other day we were at school and there was rioting downtown.  The teachers were like "hmm...maybe another revolution?" before taking another sip of tea and proceeding to check their "Odnaklassniki" accounts.  (It's like Vkontakte, the awesome Russian Facebook, only much worse...worse than Myspace even.)

If there is one thing that speaks to the barbarism of this place though, it's the smoking.  Seriously people, who you do you think you are, James Dean?  Ugh, I haven't inhaled this much second-hand smoke since I dual-enrolled at the University of West Florida.  About three times a week I want to walk up to a cute girl and say "you'd be gorgeous without that cigarette."  I'm thinking I should try it, just to see if it works as a pick-up line, I could solve the country's problems and all my personal problems if things went well.  I figure if marriage will solve all my problems, why stop after the first one?

Speaking of James Dean, men here wear two colours:  blue jeans and black jackets.  Anything not brown, black or blue jean, everyone stares.  I'm thinking the next time I go to the United States I will purchase my friend Tim's wardrobe.  Tim has a different color pair of pants for every day of the week--salmon, red, turquoise, green--I feel like, somebody needs to convince the men of this country to allow for some variance in appearance.  Vo ob-shey. (Which means "Fo' Rizzle," in Russian).

Anyways, as far as I can tell, the other thing that's a dead giveaway you're in the third world is that everyone thinks their life will be better if they could only move to Los Angeles or Manhattan.  I.E., they haven't seen the Jersey Shore, they've never sat in traffic for five hours, they've never seen a Manhattan apartment ad ($$$$), and their musical literacy is so low they don't realize how awesome it would be to live in Brooklyn.  One of my students turned in the lyrics to "Whistle" by Flo Rida as a homework assignment.  If this had been New Jersey, that would've been a dirty joke and the kid probably would've asked if anyone wanted to perform oral on him after class.  My student, however, remains blissfully ignorant.  None of my friends here know that Mumford and Sons, Florence and the Machine, Lecrae, Josh Garrels, Ellie Goulding, or Jenny and Tyler (i.e., all my favourite bands right now) even exist.  They probably think Sufjan Stevens is a new age guru.   But everyone knows what dubstep and Gangnam style are...

Anyways, what I'm thinking is that I should start my own local business empire:  first, I'd open an indie record label and a Mexican restaurant.  Then I'd start a secret society that would burn all black and brown clothes in the nation, causing severe shock and eventually another revolution.  With James Dean as my holographic puppet president (Hey, they brought back Tupac.), I would outlaw cigarettes.  My propaganda machine would extol the merits of Sufjan Stevens, publish my poetry as mandatory reading for university students, invent a new religion that involves watching westerns, and last but most importantly, show foreigners talking about how the main reason that Pishkyekistan is a horrible place to live is that local people believe that it's a horrible place to live and can't wait to leave and won't leave English-speaking eligible bachelors alone in their headphoned Florence and Machine paradise, but instead ask you a million times a day if you miss America and if you've heard of Flo Rida or 50 Cent. 

"Well, actually, what I miss is having friends, which is what you would be if you realized that I don't have a visa-stamping machine in my apartment and that I'm not interested in you hooking me up with someone who doesn't know who Marcus Mumford is."   Oi vey everybody.  Vo ob-SHEY.

Vintage: Diary of a Klutz (July 2008)

I like to think of it as Animal Magnetism. I attract danger, like Jason Bourne or Vin Diesel. I have skills, like Jet Li or Martha Stewart. When ordinary folks would fall down on the wet floor in the KFC kitchen, I just slide on by because I have fallen down on ice enough times that I know how to walk without traction.

I like to think of it as keeping other people on their toes. You didn't expect me to drop that dime out the drive-through, did you? Are you the kind of person who will open your door and get out of your car right in front of the window? Or will you coolly dismiss such small change with a wave of your paw? That's right, I'm an also an excellent judge of character.

So when I see two guys coming after me, one with a water hose and one with a bucket full of water, I know it's time to run. And running is one of those skills that one picks up with Animal Magnetism. (Like a magnet picks up paper clips.)

Except not so much, cuz I tripped and sprained my foot, spent the next day in the ER, and have missed work for almost a week now.

Which brings me to a sub-note:

Tips for Making an Impression in Youth Ministry

Tip 1: Make it challenging. Don't just let them catch you and soak you without a fight.

Tip 2: Make your first time memorable. Don't just hang out, get injured.

Tip 3. Make it sporting the next time around. Just because they think you'll be an easy target on crutches doesn't mean you should let them soak you without a fight.

End sub-note.

So I've been on crutches lately. And yes, high-schoolers find strange glee in chasing down and drenching people on crutches. (Honestly, I thought it was hilarious, though part of me still can't believe they did it.)

But that's okay, when you have my kind of Animal Magnetism, you get crutch skills. And that's why I was playing dodgeball and tackling flights of stairs in search of buried treasure on Friday night; and mud-wrestling elephant seals, eating pirozhki, and walking miles along the California coast on Saturday, all on crutches. (Well, except eating pirozhki...that I did on my fat butt.)

Okay, so I might have put the crutches aside to play dodgeball, and the Elephant Seal mud-wrestling was more a…spiritual battle than a physical one. But with my Animal Magnetism, it was quite the fight.

Vintage: Abril In Fragments: Rivers, Communist Pigs, time is passing (stay in right lane) (Apr 2009)

Lost? Put back the stars. Is time a stream or spaghetti? A passing train? Poor Daniel Faraday.

My mum sends me a message for the future: learn how to be friends.

Future: Mexico. Go. No. Swine Flu. Danged pigs.

Pigs underneath iconic capitalist costumes of the 50s dancing on stage. The priest gassing the people with the sign of the cross (opiates?). Christmas gifts, two gas masks, but the third box is poison gas. (Of) Montreal might be communist, and their keyboardist looks like Nicole. I eat my first hamburger of the semester I think I'll pass.

In Central Europe 1989 communist Totalitarianism is passing away. Protesters oust government in ten days. Solidarity. And I think that MEP's charge that the EU is for peace makes sense and that's why it's important to incorporate the "east" to prevent a interwar repeat failures of democracy. Extremist parties play on fears. In Bulgaria, revolution was anti-Turkish civil rights. Yay democracy.

Catching Second Wind sing Chicago Mr. John Calvin all things grow, old friends: Alana, Audrey, Stephen; new friends: Lyssa with a red scarf curled into pigtails, Jazz, Sam.

Saxophone follow the grey cat in circles like time spaghetti and sit on dry fountains where the stream holds for a while. Beatbox down the South Oval, keeping time: Modern Music (might be communist).

Sing On Fire with David (Oh, and friend Mr. Stokes too, he's a good lad). Sing on Fire in Crossroads for Corey (Solidarity?). Sing On Fire in the dirt in Mexico. Sing On Fire again this fall with the leaves.

When we meet, we are passing each other, striders on the stream. "I'm standing on the edge of me."

Be prepared. ("I've got horns that open bottles and I've got horns that hold my keys." ) For what?

Are you leaving? Kelsey is leaving. Stop taking people for granted. Call Justin, Liz, and Laura. Call Mikey.

I know at least five Lauras. In April we talked about Mexico for quite some time, met on the South Oval, had lunch by the duck pond, gave awkward hugs, and said hello in British accents, respectively.

I also know four Ryans: in April we facebooked frequently, planned to go to Mexico and lead VBS games, jammed out at Youth, and missed planning another game night.

One Ryan and one Laura didn't recognize me for like a week after I shaved.

I know a couple of James Metelaks.

Talk to your mother. This would be better to do before you talk to any females. And sort your own crap (But thank you Maja, for listening anyway).

Pick up the phone, pick up the remnants of a broken house. The walls will have to be torn down. Trash littered around the yard: shelf mushrooms growing on a shovel. Foolish words littered around. I saved the little bicycle, but which of the two seats is the one missing? My bike is broken. Twice, same problems: brakes, back wheel needs replaced. Similarly I find myself making the same mistakes. On my way to Target Stephanie saves me a trip, Rachel saves me a back wheel, and Bepo gives me a bike. Thank you.

Keep sowing kindness, love. But why is darkest Africa a symbol of poverty? Let us give ourselves to feed the hungry. Jamie is getting married and they'll wear green beads.

Trisagion at youth, a service of songs and liturgies. Contrast. Jack Bruno Rachel Soldier Boy dancing. Contrast. College decisions, pros and cons. Eli is posing on top of his jeep. Heath has the stinky leg down. The Backstreet Boys have shown up in Creative Non-Fiction on faith, Jack's car, and nostalgic musings. Basketball with the neighbor kids; Rahhal helps a little guy dunk while Chad trash talks a guy half his size. "The losers have to jump in the pool. It's full of mud." Chicken nuggets, lemonade, frisbee and ice cream.

I have moved hundreds of cases of ice cream in the last month. It's like Tetris. If you ever work at Braum's, ask people at the checkout what they did during their day. Don't just ask them how they're doing, they'll just say fine. If you do ask the right questions, you might meet 3 law students, 5 GAs from different countries, hear two World War II stories and numerous interesting jobs, and a man might mention he seen "everything but the dead raised" when it comes to healing.

And when Boluwaji (sp?) talks about the whole gospel, I can almost believe. But when Greg came we had a dental student look at his jaw and when Greg sang he didn't because it was locked up, but his violin can still sing. I'm still praying and remembering the man in Glasgow (full of communists) on a stretcher.

Sleeping at last. No, not so much. I try to write the pain, but it could never be just to the people involved. I spend my days remembering alternating every breath between past, present, future--my nights doing homework. I have much farther to go. If you love let her go plays as you write a letter. My mother points out that I have a tendency to never live the now. I go a week a without showering, but it keeps raining. Have dinner with and walk with Tim. Sit on the South Oval with Katie and Sarah and watch clouds pass by.

"To clear this clouded mind" I walked down two creeks to the river and picked up my biannual case of poison ivy. "Feed the roots and honor the tongues of the animals." Bullfrog tadpoles, Carl, I thought I saw a turtle disappear, but I know I didn't, however, there's gotta be some magic in turtles' on a high dive, in frogs who remain unseen until they leap out in front of me. Hawks and egrets are omens, but for good or for ill I cannot tell. It looks like I'm staying here until I have more money in my account. I walk to the island and try to sleep with my toes in the river. "Pooling all accounts of peace while passed beneath the canopy glow." The sun burns. We will pass. Slipping under fences, staying out past curfew, breaking the Sabbath for rock music because I feel I have nothing left to say to You, and there is no peace there.

Should I sell my stuff? That's what I preached on April 6th. The early church might have been communist. Greg (Toffee Crunch) sometimes I feel like you're the only one of us revolutionaries trying to live it, despite your mistakes and theologies. I'm still trying to write mine but it came out all wrong. Steven said so and I think he was right. The son of man has no place to rest his head, and I have nothing to give, (solidarity?) and I hope, Greg, that he holds you then if you lose your place.

I'm trying to find mine, Habitat for Humanity? My mom insisted I find one, so I'm living with Nathan for now. Funny-looking kid, he's a brick. We walked down the culvert on Tuesday before we went to the Gazebo where Brittney sang "You won't Relent" and it's been stuck in my head ever since. Please don't God. I sang Overwhelmed which carried me back to the living room in January worship with my parents which carried me back to youth in Pensacola. Does anyone else remember With Every Breath? "Throw your hands to the sky."

I tried to catch the monarch butterfly between the blue and the bricks. The river rolls down Elm and the rain it keeps coming down. The lightning fried Kelsey's surge protector and I had a lovely Easter brunch with some storm chasers. We will pass.

"You can sing a new song." Come what May (or June, July, or August): Austin, Edinburgh, Arizona, Lithuania, Foreclosure, Finals papers, Dallas, Mexico City, Chicago, Paul's Valley, Cal Poly, Divorce, St. Petersburg, Hong Kong, Russian Tanks, Record Labels, Pennsylvania, Oxford, Vancouver, Yokota, The Air Force, Kenya, New Hampshire, Ensenada. For now, for once, I'll be the one staying here. Happy trails friends. :) Go in peace.

Vintage: Landscaping: Fighting for Civilization at a Grassroots Level (Apr 2010)

Self: Ok, James, no Lost until after you've done your taxes.
James: BUT SELF!!! There's only five episodes left!! And Desmond's back and separated from his beloved Penny by his wicked father-in-law!!
Self: Nope, not until you've done your taxes...
James: *Sigh*...ok, what about facebook notes?

On the outer edges of civilization...Weeding is pretty much the futile process of taking the natural prolific, beautiful, and often edible plants out of the flower beds long enough for a picture. "Why bother?" you ask? Well, cuz it pays good, and I'm not about to question the lifestyles of rich people. (Well, besides those King Charles Spaniels...That I will question...they're SO ugly once they grow up...but everybody's got one, so you have to have one too.) Anyway, a dayful of weeding is tough work...it's hard keeping suburbia safe. But luckily for Lands-cape-a-man, you can always munch on some clover, dandelion, or if lucky, some mint...or if you're not so lucky, you can always chew on pine needles (but watch out for hemlock...that would be a mistake, Socrates)

On the outer edges of civilization...is there an Echo in here? Maybe it's in my head (Oh crap, Gollum just ate the mousy one. Gollum: Dids not, precious! Self: Whatever.) Echo has like 50 personalities in her head. Virginia Creeper and eggplant! Talk about creepy.

Speaking of personalities, I want to create a fictional gardener who uses plant names as exclamations and give him a grand adventure.

A public service announcement: So many of you have probably stopped wondering about my future plans because they've changed so many times (Jumping Snapdragons, is that kid ever gonna make up his mind?). My current plan is to deal with those nasty hobbitses...I mean, to volunteer in a homeless youth shelter and then hope I get transferred to a country ending in -éxico, -onduras, -mala, or -Ick! A RAGUA! (Rodents Always Goring Umbrella-carrying Adolescents...I don't think they exist) So if I do that, the next time past July I'll be free is in 2012, about a month before the world ends. I'll be 25.

A public service announcement: On turning 25, my life plan is to get a golden retriever, name her Mandy, and take a binding oath of no kissy-kissy or marriage or dating for the rest of my life. Then I'll write her love songs and become a wealthy crooner. I know it's been done before, but that's exactly why I know it can be done! Then all the single ladies will wish they'd proposed to me sooner, but it will be too late, because I will have eyes only for my beloved Mandy. And because the world will end that month.

The world is changing. People are graduating and moving on. People are getting married. Luckily for me though, all of my friends are avoiding women like the plague that they are.

Although I'm not sure why the world is ending, I think it has something to do with the Mayans and my sister's evil plot at world domination. A word to the wise: don't move your tulips to Nicaragua in the next two years, that's where she's starting her evil empire! (William Walker tried and failed, but Liz will make it work)

Speaking of evil plots of world domination, I've discovered that there is a much worse corporation than Wal-Mart out there. It's called the WTO. Well, that was what I wrote my capstone about, no but seriously, I'm talking about the drug cartels. Iin Mexico college students and buses and random people on the street are getting shot, killed, maimed, etc, around the border and beyond all because Americans really like their cocaine and heroin and marijuana. This has gotten to the point where it has seriously undermined the authority of the Mexican government in some areas, and thousands of innocent people are dying. Frankly, I'm appalled at my country. But I've found the solution! On my flight back on the customs form, I realized that if I just get a government job for another country, I can forfeit my United States citizenship! What do they call the KGB now? Do you know if they're accepting applications?

Speaking of evil plots of world domination, the Rossum corporation...Echo...umm...security guards...man, I never saw that one coming. So I'm going through immigration at DFW and the dude is SO obnoxious. He's like where'd you go? I'm like Mexico. What'd ya do? Volunteer. With a group from the states? No, with locals. Am I gonna find drugs if I look in your bag downstairs? No. And then the worst part is, he lets me go...he doesn't bother to check my story (I had 50 pages of journaling and 600 pictures) or anything, just passive-aggressively decides he's scared me enough. Then they took my ham sandwich away in customs. :( 

Maybe it's all the Clancy novels I read growing up, but I'm always kinda insulted when people consider me a terrorist threat or feel they need to take something for other people's airplane safety. Every time, I'm always thinking, you know, if I was really a terrorist, I would so NOT do things like that, and then I start hatching a plan. But ham sandwiches are a dangerous weapon. In Mexico, though, they're a lot stricter (except they don't make you take off your shoes...shoes are apparently only a major threat to US airports). I definitely got patted down twice...they took my EMPTY water bottles. And they asked to see my rubber ducky. Yup, Squeaky was flirting with the bag check ladies. Talk about a personality.

Speaking of personalities, although I'm not sure why the world is ending, Joss Whedon is really good at creating characters. His latest show Dollhouse, has individual characters take up multiple personalities through this idea of brain-imprinting. (And In the show, the abuse of brain-imprinting and "wiping" is why the world is ending.) Not only is he stretching the limits of what we think of as human...he's also creating the most complex characters known to fiction! However, on the far reaches of civilization, Malcolm Reynolds is drifting because Fox cancelled that show...and now Dollhouse (disclaimer: neither of these shows are kid shows). So why is the world going to end in 2012? Probably because he's going to make an even better show that will then be cancelled, and fans will revolt. Or maybe, after two years of spinning from the climax of Lost, people's brains will explode. Or, turns out my sister is actually Darth Vader and allied with a communist conspiracy.

RED freakout. Story time: So the CIA and the United Fruit Company don't like the nationalizing tendencies of some of Guatemala's leaders in the 1950s...so they try to overthrow the gov't and the CIA makes some very high level hits...after which Guatelmala goes into a 30-year civil war. Frankly, I'm appalled at my country. Luckily, Joshua Huff and Ryan Heerwagen are going to found the American Anarcho-Capitalist Party (Or AACK!, for short), which will hasten the world's end. 

I will fight (for bovine freedom!). At this point I think our only recourse is to go back in time. Now, I know what you're thinking, Marty McFly's disappearing and all that...we don't know what this could do. But I think we need to steal the pen of whatever Mayan dude wrote that crazy stuff down, then the world won't end. Won't that work? I'm very confident about time travel, because even though Desmond is a lackey of his evil father-in-law in the time-travel induced future, he still meets Penny. I have faith in the humans (Affirmative)...well, as long as they're not politicians. Reading Mexico's history has me pretty cynical on politics on both sides of the border. My favorite theory: that the reason that we only took a third of Mexico after the Mexican war was because the North didn't want to give too much political advantage to the South. Yay for pragmatism. Speaking of which, did anyone notice that clause of the healthcare bill that was a nice FAT gov't subsidy specifically for pharmaceuticals? Some lobbyist is getting a killer Redwood-sized raise. 

Speaking of raises, I really wonder how long the US can keep making its debt and trade deficit bigger. Like eventually, our credit card's going to max out, yeah? Unless we just bully people into giving us more loans...which loans are just like giving away power ANYway so what the dandelion is our government thinking? Plus, since we elected a communist sleeper agent to the presidency, the United States will probably join the Russian Federation. At which point, the world will end and it will be revealed that Vladimir Putin is actually my friend Tim Graf, and my Russian will come in handy, but my scheme of joining the KGB will be ruined because for all practical purposes, I'll be a US citizen again. Applesauce! At that point I will probably imprint myself into Mandy's brain. Then we will be together forever, the two will become one brain; I will, as a canine, forfeit all citizenship, and like my great forefather Grommit, take off for the Moon in my beloved spaceship Serenity. "no you can't take the sky from me." (Well, unless it falls...isn't that part of the world ending?)

Lands-cape-a-man/Mandy/Gollum/Squeaky/James/Self and the Pansy Gardener: Out.

Vintage: How to Write (Oct 2010)

First write everything that comes to your mind and keep writing, keep writing, keep that pen on the page, don't think, don't critique...did you see 8 mile?  (it was so-so)  The pieces of paper Eminem scribbled on weren't in lines, weren't in rows, just words and ideas scattered on a page and he didn't limit himself.  He wrote on the bus, at work, whenever he got a line he wrote it down.  Don't limit yourself.  Write crap.  Lots of crap.  Don't worry about grammar, don't worry about whether or not it makes sense until after you finished the danged poem/story/whatever.  Blossom.  Freely associate whatever is coming into your mind.  Run in circles.  Write the same crap you wrote yesterday, write it different today.

Heart:  Record man in  "Walk the Line" says something like 'You're dying in a gutter and you got five minutes to live.  What song you playing?"  Write that song.  Play those songs.  Write with purpose.

Be you.

Push/play:  Garden State:  "Do something that's never been done before."  Combine words.  Combine ideas.  Wreck grammar and genre.  Read ee cummings:  you can do a-maze-ing things with w(lovely)o(shocking)rds.

Invoke/Evoke (Universality?): Quote an epic poem from your universe (Tolkien), drop place names in a song (cheater):  it makes things seem real.   For example, "Empire State of Mind" is mediocre poetry, and okay music, but it evokes a place (NYC) and the dreams of millions of people in a powerful way.  In the real world, there are millions of things going on that we don't see but get hints of all the time.  Passersby.  History.  Relationships.  These unimportant things make literature seem real.

Now make them important.  Is this worth writing?  Worth reading?

Imagery/Specificity: Take your pick:
1)James mournfully chomps apple pie amongst the vines under gold Olive Garden lights OR. 2)He was eating at a restaurant.
A poem needs a place...it can meander through place, it can be a stream of images, but the reader needs a pillow, a place to rest, an image, a room.  Evoke taste/touch/sound/smell/sight.

Humanity:  humans care about humans.  Most love songs are terrible poetry but people think "hey that's like me and so-and-so."  Or "I wish that could be me."

Trim.  Say only what you want to say.  Orwell:  Test every word.  Spare none.  Cut all words without meaning.  Prune and cull.

Layer.  Limit yourself to three lines.  Say as much as you can.  Have a series of lines be a tiger, clouds, and a subway train all at once.  Learn to layer.

Edit.  Take those two pieces of crap yesterday, combine them with Thursday's crap, grab it by the tail and flip it on its head.  Repeat.  Then add more layers, trim some more.  Trace the progression.  Where did you start?  Where did you end?  Are the words taking you there?   Does style match content?  Does it flow?  Every great poem I've written has been through at least ten edits.

Read it.  Out loud.  If you don't believe in it in your bedroom, how do you expect others to read it?  Now, for those of you who are perfectionists...read it to an honest friend, someone who will tell you if it's terrible.  Never throw anything away.  Instead, edit.

Get an outside opinion:  Because nobody else lives in your head.  Workshop.  Get critiques.

Share:  Blog, read, share, read, submit, read, self-publish, read, get published.

Oh, and don't listen to me:  be you.  :p