Saturday, June 13, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
He was actually checking out a chick that just jogged by. Silas has been at the shop, operating the lift and getting greasy and exercising his joy.
You may recognize the striped thermal from the Oysters post. This is a different kid, acting sullen.
A tricycle may seem like a step back from the furious glory of the Skuut bike, but goddammit, a boy has to learn to work the pedals sometime.
Good work, Cal.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Old Car
The rear main bearing was installed upside-down
starving the cam of oil and of course seizing the crank solid
I broke the engine down this morning and dragged the pieces off to the
men with the big machines to have their way with them
They will come back to me clean but
tonight my nailbeds are grey
stiff jeans and my
white shirt shows a spray of oil across the belly
The gash in my forearm goes right through the
tattoo and there's a flash of pink meat underneath
which makes everything feel real and alright
I rode my bicycle home from the shop and spent the evening
rolling around on the front grass with my sons
They are gorgeous creatures
They are gorgeous creatures
I keep falling asleep with my eyelids fluttering
dreaming about driving the old car again
The rear main bearing was installed upside-down
starving the cam of oil and of course seizing the crank solid
I broke the engine down this morning and dragged the pieces off to the
men with the big machines to have their way with them
They will come back to me clean but
tonight my nailbeds are grey
stiff jeans and my
white shirt shows a spray of oil across the belly
The gash in my forearm goes right through the
tattoo and there's a flash of pink meat underneath
which makes everything feel real and alright
I rode my bicycle home from the shop and spent the evening
rolling around on the front grass with my sons
They are gorgeous creatures
They are gorgeous creatures
I keep falling asleep with my eyelids fluttering
dreaming about driving the old car again
Monday, June 1, 2009
Swell Maps
I woke up from my nap today humming this song.
My boon companion, heterosexual life-partner, and designated driver J Bluh turned me on to these noise/punk superheroes 15 years ago, and thanks to the majick of the porn box, I can now share them with you.
You should listen to this as loud as you can stand and do a herky-jerky dance.
And here's another bit. Remember the loudness. And the dancing.
My boon companion, heterosexual life-partner, and designated driver J Bluh turned me on to these noise/punk superheroes 15 years ago, and thanks to the majick of the porn box, I can now share them with you.
You should listen to this as loud as you can stand and do a herky-jerky dance.
And here's another bit. Remember the loudness. And the dancing.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Ghosts
A couple of weeks ago, Berg had a post about hybrid cars, and I promised him that I would soon be bringing something back from Idaho that would make his skin crawl.
"Kind of greenish and gets about 6mpg" I think were my direct words.
I have now re-cemented myself to the roots of all of my happiness and miseries with the return of the Green Ghost.
The Saga of the Ghost.
In 1996, I came back from New York City, heartbroken, broke, busted.
The girl I left in San Francisco left me while I was gone, and the girl I went to see, well, she didn't want to see me. Or at least her man didn't want her to see me. There was talk of violence and a lot of tears.
I remember sprinting through JFK, a trail of papers, songs and poems and maybe money too, spilling out of my backpack. And an all night flight. A cab ride back to to old 20 Sanchez.
The girl I loved was dead. The other ones wanted nothing to do with me.
I did I guess what any young man would or should do when staring down a sadness of this sort:
I bought a car.
Sort of a creampuff, in a $700, I got it off the son of the old man who bought it off the lot, kind of way. Two-door post, skinny tires, quiet.
I paid the guy half and he let me drive it away.
When I turned on the defroster, a lot of pine needles blew out onto me.
I took it to the exhaust shop, and made it loud. Hit the Pick-and-pull for a set of cop wheels and some meats.
I never really loved the car back then, but it suited my personality. I fit in it and it made me feel alright.
Yes, I drove with open containers, a thousand dollars worth of parking tickets stuffed in the glovebox and my arm hanging out the window.
I was driving it when I finally decided on a wife. It got towed away and auctioned off, and thru a miracle of coincidence found its way back home (though I could never register it in my name in California ever, ever again). It languished in Oakland with a bad motor and a worse front end. I tried to sell it. No one was buying.
Other cars came and went, got crashed, sold, left in the rain somewhere. A big-block turned on a stand and crushed my hand and I swore off cars forever, and returned.
And returned.
It went on a trailer to Idaho with my folks. Snowed in in Grass Valley for 6 days and over Donner at 35.
Finally out of the city for the best summer of my life, I treated the car like a full time job while my woman laid peacefully indoors, our twin sons turning inside of her.
Ran it in, aligned. My arm on the old familiar door. Some good fun before the inevitable explosion. Because things do. They just do.
Towed from Sweetzer summit all the way to Weiser and stored-up again, full of cardboard boxes and mouse turds and here I am living this bicycle life in Portland while the Ghost has languished.
I have so much tied up in this deal. Money and a physical sort of pain and all the emptiness and shit I've never dealt with. Blood on my hands and crushed friendships and a thousand, thousand drunks and awakenings. All the promises I made to myself and forgot and betrayed.
Well, anyway, I got my car back. I drove out there with The Snus, Weezy, and The Cuban, put the fucker on a trailer and balled it back home. These guys don't know about any of this. They think it's a bad-ass car, and that it looks good on me, and that's about as far as I guess I need to take it.
"Kind of greenish and gets about 6mpg" I think were my direct words.
I have now re-cemented myself to the roots of all of my happiness and miseries with the return of the Green Ghost.
The Saga of the Ghost.
In 1996, I came back from New York City, heartbroken, broke, busted.
The girl I left in San Francisco left me while I was gone, and the girl I went to see, well, she didn't want to see me. Or at least her man didn't want her to see me. There was talk of violence and a lot of tears.
I remember sprinting through JFK, a trail of papers, songs and poems and maybe money too, spilling out of my backpack. And an all night flight. A cab ride back to to old 20 Sanchez.
The girl I loved was dead. The other ones wanted nothing to do with me.
I did I guess what any young man would or should do when staring down a sadness of this sort:
I bought a car.
Sort of a creampuff, in a $700, I got it off the son of the old man who bought it off the lot, kind of way. Two-door post, skinny tires, quiet.
I paid the guy half and he let me drive it away.
When I turned on the defroster, a lot of pine needles blew out onto me.
I took it to the exhaust shop, and made it loud. Hit the Pick-and-pull for a set of cop wheels and some meats.
I never really loved the car back then, but it suited my personality. I fit in it and it made me feel alright.
Yes, I drove with open containers, a thousand dollars worth of parking tickets stuffed in the glovebox and my arm hanging out the window.
I was driving it when I finally decided on a wife. It got towed away and auctioned off, and thru a miracle of coincidence found its way back home (though I could never register it in my name in California ever, ever again). It languished in Oakland with a bad motor and a worse front end. I tried to sell it. No one was buying.
Other cars came and went, got crashed, sold, left in the rain somewhere. A big-block turned on a stand and crushed my hand and I swore off cars forever, and returned.
And returned.
It went on a trailer to Idaho with my folks. Snowed in in Grass Valley for 6 days and over Donner at 35.
Finally out of the city for the best summer of my life, I treated the car like a full time job while my woman laid peacefully indoors, our twin sons turning inside of her.
Ran it in, aligned. My arm on the old familiar door. Some good fun before the inevitable explosion. Because things do. They just do.
Towed from Sweetzer summit all the way to Weiser and stored-up again, full of cardboard boxes and mouse turds and here I am living this bicycle life in Portland while the Ghost has languished.
I have so much tied up in this deal. Money and a physical sort of pain and all the emptiness and shit I've never dealt with. Blood on my hands and crushed friendships and a thousand, thousand drunks and awakenings. All the promises I made to myself and forgot and betrayed.
Well, anyway, I got my car back. I drove out there with The Snus, Weezy, and The Cuban, put the fucker on a trailer and balled it back home. These guys don't know about any of this. They think it's a bad-ass car, and that it looks good on me, and that's about as far as I guess I need to take it.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Slurping Oysters
Young Silas shows us how to do it.
First, a bit of lemon. No hot sauce for this dude.
Then, into the gob. Note the look of sublime concentration.
Ahh, wonderful...
...if a bit briny.
Big ups to the guys at EaT Oyster Bar for another fine lunch.
First, a bit of lemon. No hot sauce for this dude.
Then, into the gob. Note the look of sublime concentration.
Ahh, wonderful...
...if a bit briny.
Big ups to the guys at EaT Oyster Bar for another fine lunch.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Walt Whitman
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other.
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that
pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and
poke-weed.
-from "Song of Myself", 1855
I should revel in this Springtime, but I keep finding myself crying in the car and
lamenting the whole world.
I hope that you are doing okay.
Are you?
And you must not be abased to the other.
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that
pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and
poke-weed.
-from "Song of Myself", 1855
I should revel in this Springtime, but I keep finding myself crying in the car and
lamenting the whole world.
I hope that you are doing okay.
Are you?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
My Ma has been here visiting for the last week. It's been great. She loves being in Portland and is a great help with The Lads.
Today, while we were driving around, she got a call from my sister that was kind of strange. Sis was on her way to lunch and saw an old man in bib overalls and a long white beard, riding down the street on an ancient, rickety bicycle.
Odd enough, I guess, to see anyone on a bike in my podunk Idaho home town, let alone my stepdad.
He has a couple of really beautiful motorcycles and a nice old truck, but Mom figures he's gone crazy, or doesn't want to buy gas anymore, or doesn't want to risk a DUI on the way home from the bar.
His biker buddies are going to freak the fuck out.
Sis is mortally embarrassed, but I'm really proud of him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cherry blossoms are out, and the gutters are full of pink snow.
Let us revisit.
I haven't brought home any beer in over a week.
This was supposed to say "I haven't had any beer at all in a week", but I found out the hard way that switching to just whiskey makes me want to punch the whole goddamn world's fucking lights out, and that wine is expensive and makes me sleepy.
So, I had some beers at the Victory. Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay?
Today, while we were driving around, she got a call from my sister that was kind of strange. Sis was on her way to lunch and saw an old man in bib overalls and a long white beard, riding down the street on an ancient, rickety bicycle.
Odd enough, I guess, to see anyone on a bike in my podunk Idaho home town, let alone my stepdad.
He has a couple of really beautiful motorcycles and a nice old truck, but Mom figures he's gone crazy, or doesn't want to buy gas anymore, or doesn't want to risk a DUI on the way home from the bar.
His biker buddies are going to freak the fuck out.
Sis is mortally embarrassed, but I'm really proud of him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cherry blossoms are out, and the gutters are full of pink snow.
Let us revisit.
I haven't brought home any beer in over a week.
This was supposed to say "I haven't had any beer at all in a week", but I found out the hard way that switching to just whiskey makes me want to punch the whole goddamn world's fucking lights out, and that wine is expensive and makes me sleepy.
So, I had some beers at the Victory. Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay?
Saturday, April 18, 2009
I really feel like Peter Davis has his things in order.
Here's me, in my typical state, eating sardines and drinking canned beer at 2:26 in the morning.
My boys are asleeping in the next room.
Here is a poem by Peter Davis.
To My Two Kids
I love you. I love you both, so much.
I love you both, so much.
I just love you and I don't know how
to love you more.
I just love you so much.
I love both of you so much. You are better
than anything in the world. I cannot think
of one thing in the world I would trade you for.
I wouldn't trade you for millions of dollars
or fame or power. I would not trade
you to see all of my other dreams in life
come true. I just love you both so much.
I just love you so very much.
As I kissed you both before bed,
as I hugged you both before bed,
I couldn't have been happier. I would
not trade your hugs or kisses for
anything in the world. I would not trade your
hugs and kisses for millions of dollars
or fame or power. I love you so much
that I wish I could love you more and be even
more to you, even more for you, help you and love
you just that much more. I love you both so much.
I would love to say something better than just
I love you, but I don't know how to say I love you
anymore plainly than to say, I love you. I just
love you both so much. I know that my parents
love me and now I love you too. I love you so
much. I had no idea that I could feel this way.
I had no idea the love my parents had for me. I would
not trade you for my parents or my brothers
or my wife or for anything in the world, not millions
of dollars or fame or power.
I had no idea that love could describe how I
feel for you and how parents feel for their
children. I did not know that vocabulary was so
inadequate. I just love you both. I love you both.
I just love you both so much that I want to
invent something new to describe it. But I can't invent
anything new. I just love you both so much
and want you to know how much I love you because
that is part of the point of all of my love. I had
no idea that love had a point before. But now I know
the point. The point is you. I just love you both.
I just really, really love you. I love you so much.
I just really, really love you both. I would
not trade my love for you for anything, not millions
or fame or power, not people or food or immortality.
I would not trade you or your love for anything
or any other love. I love you both so much.
I love you both so much more than I can say.
I love you both so much more than I can say.
I love you both so much more than I can say in this poem.
Here's me, in my typical state, eating sardines and drinking canned beer at 2:26 in the morning.
My boys are asleeping in the next room.
Here is a poem by Peter Davis.
To My Two Kids
I love you. I love you both, so much.
I love you both, so much.
I just love you and I don't know how
to love you more.
I just love you so much.
I love both of you so much. You are better
than anything in the world. I cannot think
of one thing in the world I would trade you for.
I wouldn't trade you for millions of dollars
or fame or power. I would not trade
you to see all of my other dreams in life
come true. I just love you both so much.
I just love you so very much.
As I kissed you both before bed,
as I hugged you both before bed,
I couldn't have been happier. I would
not trade your hugs or kisses for
anything in the world. I would not trade your
hugs and kisses for millions of dollars
or fame or power. I love you so much
that I wish I could love you more and be even
more to you, even more for you, help you and love
you just that much more. I love you both so much.
I would love to say something better than just
I love you, but I don't know how to say I love you
anymore plainly than to say, I love you. I just
love you both so much. I know that my parents
love me and now I love you too. I love you so
much. I had no idea that I could feel this way.
I had no idea the love my parents had for me. I would
not trade you for my parents or my brothers
or my wife or for anything in the world, not millions
of dollars or fame or power.
I had no idea that love could describe how I
feel for you and how parents feel for their
children. I did not know that vocabulary was so
inadequate. I just love you both. I love you both.
I just love you both so much that I want to
invent something new to describe it. But I can't invent
anything new. I just love you both so much
and want you to know how much I love you because
that is part of the point of all of my love. I had
no idea that love had a point before. But now I know
the point. The point is you. I just love you both.
I just really, really love you. I love you so much.
I just really, really love you both. I would
not trade my love for you for anything, not millions
or fame or power, not people or food or immortality.
I would not trade you or your love for anything
or any other love. I love you both so much.
I love you both so much more than I can say.
I love you both so much more than I can say.
I love you both so much more than I can say in this poem.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Springtime
Mr. Chris got at me this morning with a link to this blog.
I told him that I am familiar with it, but that I steer clear of it because it makes me feel dirty.
Springtime in Portland, too. Which means the roll-ups were open at the bar last night, all the sweet kids were lined up to get loaded, and I rode home with a fat roll in the pouring rain and went to sleep as the chirble-wirbles were beginning their morning songs.
Through a concentrated effort of whining, cajoling, and back-stabbing, I have maneuvered myself to be down to three good bar shifts and an admin day. This is good news for you, dear readers, as I may actually find the time to sit down her and regale you with tales from beautiful Portland, the west coast's most passive-aggressive city.
Or, is it?
Check back. I'm going to try to stay on top of this.
I told him that I am familiar with it, but that I steer clear of it because it makes me feel dirty.
Springtime in Portland, too. Which means the roll-ups were open at the bar last night, all the sweet kids were lined up to get loaded, and I rode home with a fat roll in the pouring rain and went to sleep as the chirble-wirbles were beginning their morning songs.
Through a concentrated effort of whining, cajoling, and back-stabbing, I have maneuvered myself to be down to three good bar shifts and an admin day. This is good news for you, dear readers, as I may actually find the time to sit down her and regale you with tales from beautiful Portland, the west coast's most passive-aggressive city.
Or, is it?
Check back. I'm going to try to stay on top of this.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
It's Hard to Be Engaging, When the Things You Love Keep Changing.
No, I sent you that letter
To ask you if the end was worth the means
Was there really no in between?
And I still don't feel better
I just wondered if it could be like before
And I think you just made me sure
But then that's typically you
And I might have been a bit rude
But I wrote it in a bad mood
I'm not being funny with you
But it's hard to be engaging
When the things you love keep changing
Brassneck
Brassneck
I just decided I don't trust you anymore
I just decided I don't trust you anymore (ohh)
First time you came over
Do you remember you saying that you'd stay for good?
No I didn't think you would
Well we couldn't have been closer
But it was different then and that's all in the past
There I've said it now at last
You grew up quicker than me
I kept so many old things
And never quite stopped hoping
I think I know what it means
It means I've got to grow up
It means you want to throw up
Brassneck
Brassneck
I just decided I don't trust you anymore
I just decided I don't trust you anymore (ohh)
I just know
You weren't listening were you?
Oh please go
Whenever you'd prefer to
I said it means a lot
When you use an old phrase
But then so what?
We can't have it both ways
I know
You're not bothered are you?
Even so
I'm not going to argue
He won't object
Keep writing to me
Just don't forget
You ever knew me (ohh)
Sunday, March 22, 2009
O, hai.
I like this picture.
The Reigning Sound will have a new record out soon.
I will get back to this blog sometime.
I've been pulling a bunch of 12/13/14 hour shifts. I bought clogs. Fucking clogs.
Don't ask me, Lads, for I just don't know.
The Reigning Sound will have a new record out soon.
I will get back to this blog sometime.
I've been pulling a bunch of 12/13/14 hour shifts. I bought clogs. Fucking clogs.
Don't ask me, Lads, for I just don't know.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Team Pigface (me and Huf) in full effect.
We rode with Sean-bob and Grimmy up to Sauvie a few weeks ago. It was cold but dry. I have a loose rib that feels like it's stabbing me in the innards, so I didn't do much more than suck wheels the whole way up and back.
Haven't been on the road bike since. Still commuting on Big Blue.
I'm all legs and guts with little sparrow lungs.
(Photo stolen from BG's flickr.)
We rode with Sean-bob and Grimmy up to Sauvie a few weeks ago. It was cold but dry. I have a loose rib that feels like it's stabbing me in the innards, so I didn't do much more than suck wheels the whole way up and back.
Haven't been on the road bike since. Still commuting on Big Blue.
I'm all legs and guts with little sparrow lungs.
(Photo stolen from BG's flickr.)
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I really hope that Peter Davis doesn't mind me putting his poems on here. I try to keep them as far away from mine as possible, so they don't get fucked-up.
Dear Blog
I try to be good to you and pay
attention to the way you
look and compliment you
and tell you loving things like,
I love you, sugar, and stuff
like that. But you are
demanding in your always
existing way. I try to love you more,
stroking your soft face with the
backs of my fingernails and cooing
to you as I put you to bed.
I think of you like I think of Tina,
conflicted and attracted
but also about ready
to go apeshit.
Dear Blog
I try to be good to you and pay
attention to the way you
look and compliment you
and tell you loving things like,
I love you, sugar, and stuff
like that. But you are
demanding in your always
existing way. I try to love you more,
stroking your soft face with the
backs of my fingernails and cooing
to you as I put you to bed.
I think of you like I think of Tina,
conflicted and attracted
but also about ready
to go apeshit.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Sorry readers.
Too busy to post.
Keep checking in.
I got some shit to say, I just have to find the time to say it.
Love.
Too busy to post.
Keep checking in.
I got some shit to say, I just have to find the time to say it.
Love.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Not much new on this side. New job has been keeping me plenty busy, what with all the meetings, phone calls, and running around. We had a little neighborhood meet/greet last night that went off without a hitch.
The restaurant is in the corner of a famously dilapidated building in Chinatown, which is also, wholly dilapidated. To say that the neighboring businesses, property owners, and other interested parties are happy to have us there would be understating the case. Many smiling faces for us.
I haven't checked in here much, since I've kind of been getting my ya-ya's out over at the SALTS blog. Must have something to do with winter (it's snowing again), but all I want to do is taste stuff, and then talk about it.
I have been eating at least one can of sardines a day, and I feel fucking great. Those little bastards with all their omega-3, calcium, and iron are doing the trick.
Anyway, check it out, if you don't mind a bunch of fish nerds boring one-another to death with the minutiae of eating what amounts to the dog turds of the culinary world.
Even Berg is disgusted by the whole mess.
The restaurant is in the corner of a famously dilapidated building in Chinatown, which is also, wholly dilapidated. To say that the neighboring businesses, property owners, and other interested parties are happy to have us there would be understating the case. Many smiling faces for us.
I haven't checked in here much, since I've kind of been getting my ya-ya's out over at the SALTS blog. Must have something to do with winter (it's snowing again), but all I want to do is taste stuff, and then talk about it.
I have been eating at least one can of sardines a day, and I feel fucking great. Those little bastards with all their omega-3, calcium, and iron are doing the trick.
Anyway, check it out, if you don't mind a bunch of fish nerds boring one-another to death with the minutiae of eating what amounts to the dog turds of the culinary world.
Even Berg is disgusted by the whole mess.
Friday, January 23, 2009
I got a new job.
Before we went to Idaho I interviewed for a lead-bar position for media-darling and ass-kicker AR's new Spot in Chinatown.
Came home to a phone call, a bunch of meetings, an ass-high stack of paperwork, and a restaurant on the verge of greatness.
You can call me Mr. Assistant General Manger.
I believe in the Vision, and am wholly committed to its Success.
Weird, right?
Came home to a phone call, a bunch of meetings, an ass-high stack of paperwork, and a restaurant on the verge of greatness.
You can call me Mr. Assistant General Manger.
I believe in the Vision, and am wholly committed to its Success.
Weird, right?
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