Dallas, TX (so many stars) and Closing

Two nights ago, myself and a gaggle of my best friends got a little decked out, called on the spirits of those who went out smiling, and stepped on bicycle pedals in order to see Neil Young at the Dallas Meyerson Symphony Orchestra center. You can bet your ass that we did it in the only way we know how, but I am not entirely sure "how" that is. We saturated the fun machine to where, I think, even the machine was having a good time. It even seems I was a little sick from the level of enjoyment. No way it was all of the beers, because I have been hung over many times before. Now that I am off to less green (but still intriguing)  pastures, I realize how great it was.

From Neil Mouthfeel Young

Not exactly an accomplishment, but it was a moment to recognize some past accomplishments, as small and insignificant as they may be. Recognize! So, I feel the need to ice a few cakes, to put on the kybosh, or, for the snake who eats his own tail, to finally consume himself completely and vanish. Things are changing, and it starts with this blog. It needs to die, and I can't believe it even lasted this long.

Thank you, all who read this, it has meant a lot to me to hear your comments and to feel your eyes on my scronny, naked spirit. If you don't mind, I am going to continue to behave as if the comments and eyes are still there.


Here is an entirely different website if you need to supplement your old blahg reading habits.

Dallas, TX (star^*)

        The last 3, 4 days, ¿where am I? , have been so wonderfully draining and full of moments that I will not forget. Seven guys set out to set up camp, sit and settle thoughts within themselves in order to set things right with the entire group. We camped by the Morris Sheppard dam, Possum Kingdom Lake, which is an impressive ~50 foot concrete god, displaying a power to hold back the extreme force within the other side of the lake. The area we camped was the low side of the dam, where the Brazos river comes back to life. The valley was decorated with signs that read something like
"WARNING! In the event of a dam release, this area will flood. You will have two minutes to evacuate after the alarm sounds."
         We talked about our procedure for evacuation, but none of it serious. In hind-sight, making it out of the brush and surrounding river in two minutes would have been somewhere between physically unlikely and increasingly doubtful, but I am somehow still altogether certain we would have made it, most of us. The night was full of the kind of merriment you would expect at a "bachelor party" camp out. There were home made beers. There were songs anyone would love to remember, but that no one could possibly contain. There were laughs so hard that our stomachs almost ripped, cigars that make you look cooler than Teddy Pendergrass drinking a milk shake in a snow storm. There were hot dogs.

      Day two. Hang overs mixed with the desperation of friends trying to raise each others' spirits when their own is wimpy and wobbly. As it happens, all we really needed was to get into our canoes and into the glorious cold water, because once we were on the river, the current seemed to pull us straight up from the muck. We paddled, but mostly discussed the best way to paddle, being that none of us are experts. We blocked the sun with all of our might. And we drank beers, but mostly discussed the coming doom that was the empty bottom of the plastic cooler. About midday, we were 3 miles down the river and many beers deep. Seventeen miles to go until we finish, so we will try to camp somewhere along the way. Late in the evening, we were at two-thirds of the way down the river, running out of daylight, and completely out of beer.
       The sun is going down behind the hills, and we did exactly what anyone who was exactly like us would do at that exact moment, we decided to skip camp and paddle to the finish no matter what. We knew we would be traveling through midnight, we knew it would be dark, and we knew it would be troublesome. We were right. Every 10 minutes you were lucky if you had not banked up on a shore, only to have to push yourself back and feel for deeper waters. No sounds, other than all of us trying not to sound a bit frightened. The potential for snakes, and the company of many many flying, biting bugs. We did make it of course, and without any serious repercussions. The canoes were flooded. All of us lost items that we never really needed, and all of us lost even more of what we did not want.

Dallas, TX (**************************)

Possum Kingdom Lake. Two day, double bachelor party. If you don't hear from me, it is probable we all just decided to stay out there permanently, living off the Largemouth Bass in small straw huts.

Middle of the week. Middle of everything. (part 2)

If you follow this blog, you read about an adventure through Dallas's Fair Park and a music video we shot there.

Ladies and Gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure (or annoyance, even perhaps pain in some cases):


Things I do not need to know:
Don't tell me I need a new stylist. I know this.
Don't tell me to "not quit my day job". Too late.

Amarillo by Mornin (final)

I really have neglected to describe the Amarillo landscape as I have witnessed it. First, let me re-cap the high, and low, lights of the past several days.

I got to see an Uncle of mine whom I have not seen in many years. He turns out to be a reader of this blog. If you are reading this Uncle, know that we both are scarred from failed attempts to pay for family dinner or for groceries at the Piggly Wiggly with your mother around. It is a scar I like to show off.

My mom also came to town. We ate fried food and went out to the locally predictable, regionally intriguing, and globally so-so "Cadillac Ranch". I really enjoyed it. See, look at us enjoying.

From Amarillo by mornin'

Before all of that happened, my good ol' friend Justin and I were caught in an instantaneous rain/hail storm as we were walking back from a tornado cellar. I have never found myself walking, jogging, laughing, peeing myself, sprinting, and being pegged with small balls of ice as we run into a darkness that very well may be a tornado. We lived.

Amarillo has been a strange mix of events looking back. We went dancing at, not at one, but two different gay clubs in the past week. We danced and danced. It was great. I guess the straight people in Amarillo aren't into the whole dancing thing. Also, I have not, in a long while, felt so completely unwanted and disliked while riding a bicycle down a somewhat busy street as I have here. I can't blame them though, I am quite a bit slower than them.

All in all, it was great busting up all of my friends' plans to spend time with each other. I managed to not break anything too important here, or make any one too mad. I did break most unimportant things and ticked off everyone at least a little bit. Good friends.

Tonight, I was treated to the finest in Amarillo entertainment. We bought some drinks, drove out in the country, talked about philosophy near some cows, talked about art in the strong breeze, talked about music with the radio on, and laughed about people and the funny things.

Cheers Amarillo.
Though, it's not bye for my friends.
Dallas, here we come.

Amarillo by mornin' (Bside)

Guess who just received a make-over.
My number one companion, GENETA, my guitar, also known as "the zombie stunner" and Queen Frog Splash, that's who.

I started about a week ago, and have had to lug around my various tools and treats to finish the job. It took some serious ~12 hours of sanding by hand (the only way I would allow myself to potentially desecrate my mother's 2006 present to me) and a few interesting sessions of applying furniture lacquer. This was definitely not a week long project, but at the moment I feel comfortable (lazy) enough to take the "gentle persistence" approach to all important tasks. The end result is not too shabby, a few defective spots in the lacquer and some areas you can tell that I had no idea how to use sand paper. Oh ya, and there is a beard hair frozen in the lacquer somewhere, which I did not intentionally do, but I am glad it happened.

From Amarillo by mornin'

From Amarillo by mornin'

I am happy with the finished product and excited to devote my newly freed "time" to other vital issues such as: train myself to open eyes under salt water, play the Foreign Exchange market, and rewind cassette tapes with my mind. Ya, and look for cool cities with wind power jobs. I think my pal Justin looks forward to the day his apartment doesn't smell like melted furniture and sweat. It's going to be a while.

Amarillo by mornin' (A)

It has been a bit of bouncing around. Here, to there, to this, and then back. I won't bore you with the details, because I don't really remember them.

This very second, I am in Amarillo Texas. I imagine I will have much to say of this city, particularly about the general populous (human), but I have a week to do it and so far I have not been able to quite settle the thoughts in my mind. However, I have calculated my opinion of the special group of friends that I am truly here to spend time with, and the calculus ensures good times have happened and more good times to come. My buddy pal Justin is teaching his last week of school, so it is exciting times.
He and another of my best friends are soon to be wed.
Their summer of love approaches swiftly
and I am here to do what I can.


Tonight, my thoughts drift to another subset of creature friends, similar in smell, but otherwise very different. This year, seemingly more than any other, I have met, belly rubbed, and ran around with some great dogs. Canines. Pooches. I have always enjoyed dogs, but why this thought is so clear tonight, I am not certain. These guys have just really been provokers of good thoughts. The simple fact that I think of these strange friendships in this way makes me think I am a lot more travel wary than I give myself credit for.
The road, it wears. I am more and more grateful for the good friends.

From Caro Grad

Science Poetry

It has been sometime since I have posted. I suppose it is because I am morphing into a new individual with new goals, far different from the person I was when I began writing this blog. Because I recognize this, it almost seems wrong for me to post here anymore. Awkward.

Briefing: I am in my old hometown of Portales New Mexico living off of the sweet energies of my parents (what's new?). Soon I will make my way back through the plains of west Texas to pursue new adventures.

I have been here reading science poems. Here is my favorite so far:

"High-transmissivity composite left/right-handed uniaxial bulk metamaterials
were fabricated in a multilayered dielectric/hole metal array technology
and experimentally assessed at submillimeter wavelengths
by time-domain spectroscopy." - S. Wang et al

Beautiful isn't it?

Middle of the week. Middle of everything.

A story.
While in Dallas, my pal Will and I rode bicycles with our guitars to the historic Dallas Fair Park to look for an advertised art festival. When we got there, we did not find many people or what might resemble a festival, so we rode around looking at the large fair ground facilities from outside of a fence. At the back of the park we found an open security gate, which we rode through with only minor concerns for the law.

Inside was fascinating, empty game booths, tattered tarps, quietted rides, and a frozen ferris wheel. It was exciting to ride through this sleeping playground and imagine the differences there must be during fair season. After a circle through, we came back to the rear gate to find it had closed. This was more humorous than troubling, and we rode back around in search of an escape. A convenient escape was not to be found, but we decided on jumping the fence and lifting our bikes over. Once to the other side, I couldn't help the feeling that we should have made more of this.
"We should have recorded a video or somethin'."
"I'm in."

After climbing back over the chain link and barbed wire we discussed our plan.
"A music video?"
"Yea. We can play guitar by those giant cable spools."
So we started our recording with me playing by the ferris wheel. It was exciting. Not only had we re-snuck into the place with a purpose of guerrilla video recording, but the rare opportunity to have footage of yourself playing guitar at such a strange place was reason for a small dose of adrenaline.

About two minutes in to the first shot, I glanced right to see a bird fly away from my singing (yelling?) At about two minutes and five seconds, I glanced left to see a security guard staring at us from a golf cart ten feet away. Out of practice, I was able to move on with the show. The man was not making a move, he was letting us finish. At the end of the last chord, we both turned to the man.
"Hey man." "Hello sir."
"How you doin' guys. Let me ask you, how did you get inside of the gate?"
We told him a short, nervous version of the above.
"No problem guys. You know, it is nice to see someone in here doing something positive. That's why I let you finish. And I can let you back out now."
We giggled like school boys and thanked him. We started to pack up and I turned back to the guard. "Do you want to be in our music video?"
He looked down and left for a moment to allow quicker blood passage to the right side of his brain. "Sure!"

We explained a few of the director's ideas and off I went in Larry the security guard's golf cart. Director Will got on his bicycle and recorded me playing guitar while riding with Larry. We were having a great time. Larry even suggested different spots for interesting backgrounds to our video and we gladly took his suggestions. Larry said we helped him pass the time in what normally feels like a prison cell, and he certainly helped make our day.

To what I think will be your immediate disappintment, I will say that I do not have a video to show you, nor can I promise I will ever have one. Will got some awesome footage and it needs to be edited together to be right. Perhaps one day.

-typed on a small computer-like device.

Dallas, TX (**********)

Happy Friday to all my friends rolling the grind stone and trimmin' the fat.

I have decided to stop downloading music illegally in order to focus more on supporting some musicians. This leaves me searching for ways to "stream" new releases before I go looking to buy them, and luckily there are many great resources out there to help me stay honest. I have established a few more rules for myself on this topic, such as:

1. I won't give a dime to the "Big Four" record labels and their subsidiaries (if I can help it).
2. I will buy directly from the Artist or Artists' distributor when possible.
3. I will buy from local record shops.

This doesn't mean that I won't support those few, good artists who are on major labels. For them I will try to attend concerts or buy merchandise, because, to my understanding, this money typically goes to the artist, while a vast majority of record profits go to the fat cats. Trying to be a smart consumer, so hopefully these are OK steps in that direction.

Oh boy, all this consumption has left me little room in my pockets for creation, but it's all alright. Feeling pretty good sitting on my stool with my tongue hanging out and my belly crawling out over my belt.

~Back in the world of the practical~
Without a single guitar, Will and I went to the Dallas Museum of Art last night for, what I thought was, free night. The man at the front desk asks for $10. Huh? No, no. Free night, right?
"No, not unless you have student I.D.s."
"But, your website says free night tonight."
The man says no, but offers to let us in for $5.
No I say, "I'm sorry, but we came a long way (we did not come from that far at all). Can I speak to a manager or somethin?"
"I am the manager, now if you can show me where on the website it says that, I will let you in for free."
I floated on my cloud of smugness around the desk and cracked my computer knuckles. Other museum visitors watch in line from behind us with a mixture of annoyance and anticipation.
"See, here it is right heeerrrre" I deflated like a whoopee cushion. Tuesdays are free, not Thursday.
I was embarrassed, but the manager was a cool guy and let us both in for $5.

The museum was great. As usual, I spent most of my brain cells in the European 18th/19th/20th century paintings. For the first time, Will helped me notice that there is one very important attribute to human paintings that make or break it, it's the peoples' eyes in the picture. We found a handful of paintings where the subjects' eyes make them look "zoned out". There must be a reason for this, perhaps the eyes are not focusing on the same point in the image, or the eyes are a different size. I have yet to figure it out, but I plan to. I am rambling, next time you are in a museum maybe you will look for it, and it will bug the hell out of you.

On our exit we saw that we had completely missed the special exhibit, "The Lens of Impressionism". As we were walking into the exhibit a lady stopped us. "You have to purchase additional tickets for this exhibit". No big deal, we were pretty worn out anyways so we were just going to head home. Before we left though, I wanted to do something to try to iron out all the wrinkles. I walked back up to that same manager at the desk and asked to make a $5 donation to the museum. "Thank you sir, but we do not accept donations by credit card. But here, take these for your generosity." and he handed me two tickets for the special exhibit and two "member" passes to the museum. I just could not win! This guy was too strong. So we drank down that special exhibit until our four visual cortices were only small, incongruous dots and lines serving as the artist's representation of the actual. It was Impressive.

Dallas, TX (*********)

I have been busy. I am very busy.
Busy getting my heart eaten by Spring.
Walking along sidewalks, pelted by flowers from the flowering trees.
The fragrance of Lilac and Honeysuckle blend into a tide of thick air that pushes its way through my chest.
After a light rain, a rainbow escaped the Earth's crust and melted my eyes as I typed by the window.
Dogs don't bark anymore, they speak.
And I can't stop taking pictures.

From Settlement Dallas

Saturday, instead of riding in the bicycle fundraiser that we have been training for, we decided to stay inside to dodge the rain soaked roads. The forecast online said it was to rain a majority of the day, so we stayed in. We were potentially beat down from the Dr. Dog concert the night before, where we brought. the. house. down. At one point my friends' dancing was more entertaining to some of the audience than the activity on stage. My throat was on fire, and I shit you not, my ears are still ringing 3 days later (I hope I don't have to get this looked at). I can only speak for myself, but I was beat down.

We did our own bicycle riding around downtown Dallas looking for the world to reveal certain mysteries to us. Six helicopters were circling the sky and led us to a marching demonstration. Twenty thousand people were reported to have been marching, all of them speaking out against the recent changes in immigration laws in Arizona, and the word that the state of Texas is considering enacting similar laws. I am not here to write about politics, but I will tell you that after we watched people walk by for a few minutes, we walked, with our bikes, along with the demonstrators. We demonstrated.

When Sunday morning came, we were ready to do nothing but finally ride the second half of the bicycle fundraiser. A lot of the other riders, who rode a grueling 85 miles the previous day, must have thought we were pretty good seeing how hard we were riding, and I wasn't exactly telling everyone how I skipped the first day. But we did ride well, finishing 75 miles of hills, torture, and laughs in a damn good time (I think). I cussed at my two buddies quite a bit as I struggled to stay with them. By the end of the ride I was exhausted and I thought I started hallucinating when I saw two nuns crossing the road in front of me. One of the nuns winked at me, talking in what sounded like Latin. The other turned into a dragon and flew away.

From Settlement Dallas

Dallas, TX (********)

Two friends coming to Dallas tonight. We are going to see the band Dr. Dog tonight and then it is bicycle riding for the next few days (weather permitting). I am not sure which event I have been preparing for more. One thing is for sure, my legs, voice, and body are going to be put to the test.

From New Mexico

Dallas, TX (*******)

Last night my current house parents and I went to the Pocket Sandwich Theater and it was grrreAt. The show was "Sherlock Holmes, a melodrama" with some pretty good actors, wonderful script, two sing-alongs, and the encouragement to throw popcorn on the stage. Cheap beers, pop corn, and pop corn.

From Settlement Dallas

Dallas showed me that there is, in fact, hidden and obscure art pocket sandwiches, and just in time too. I was starting to worry that the best art Dallas has to offer was a great mural of Jame Brown now circled by the deck of a ridiculous sports bar.

From Settlement Dallas

Dallas, TX (******)

The little things count, especially when you are very little yourself.

I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I did not do anything interesting today, but I did participate in activities that would interest you if you still read my blog after all of the previous garbage I have thrown up onto this white blankness in order to feel ultimately better about myself because I can make someone continue reading a very long sentence just to find out that at the end there is nothing but a tiny black dot.

"I battle to stay ahead of the tiger who is chasing me. I run faster and faster, because as I move forward I am also picking up and throwing small animals that lie in front of me. The animals fly backward over my head and land in the ever-growing tiger's mouth." - Grant Chanin

The day's hardest work was trying to save the Crane Flies from their long-legged doom stuck indoors. There is little food for them indoors, yet they like to venture in, rarely finding their way out without guidance. After work I met up with some buddies while they had a drink and I took some pictures.

From Settlement Dallas

Dallas, TX (*****)

Now that I have your attention, I would like to take this opportunity to update you and my future self of a few of my goals:

• Be nice to people
• Ride bicycle long ways
• Work toward sitting in "lotus position"
• Evict the Plantar Wart tenants in my foot apartment
• ....
• 
  

Ahhh. Feels good to say that out loud, even virtually.

More on bullet #4 - Dealing with Plantars Wart
I have had a sizable wart on the heel of my foot for years now, possibly 4 years. The wart did not bother me, but it came to a point where it was painful to walk with bare feet. I really like walking bare feet, but who am I to say these little creatures aren't allowed to live here. Plus, these little viruses have been belittled by friends, hated by girlfriend(s), and challenged by my immune system. Someone had to stand up for them! Anyways, it came to a time where they need to move beyond this life to the next, so I have been applying a generous coat of super glue to the area they occupy in order to suffocate them, as recommended by many aspiring web medicine gurus on various internet forums. The result?
Here is what is left today:

From Settlement Dallas

Mostly dead skin and callus, hopefully. It is possible they are still hiding in there, but this is a major improvement from the old days.

Here is what it used to look like:

OK sorry, I don't have an old picture. In all truth, it did look pretty close to The Penguin.

Dallas, TX (****)

Dallas, TX (***)

From Settlement Dallas

Dallas, TX (**)

Four days in Dallas now, but who is counting? No, I am not getting antsy in the least bit. My hosts have somehow discovered a method which allows me to find comfort in their home. How have all these people I have stayed with do it? As far as this place is concerned, maybe it is the record player, or the chalkboard painted doors, or maybe it is New-Mexico-looking rugs. Most likely it is just friends and beer and friends drinking beer that keeps me satisfied. Is it highly conceivable that one day I will snap and realize these things aren't important and that having a place of your very own IS indeed crucial to happiness? Perhaps, but at the moment I would have to strain with all of my tensible organs to imagine going back to that sort of living. Thank the good energy in the universe that I have these pals who put up with me, and all my material possessions, and my language.

The main activity here in Dallas is preparing for a big bicycle ride next weekend. We are riding in a 165 mile event for multiple sclerosis. The training so far has been so-so. My legs are still here, and my mind is becoming more and more ignorant to the fact that I am forcing my body to operate in ways it would not normally need to. One of the most fun activities for me is riding a bicycle with my buddies... into the sunset...

Besides bicycling I have been eating avocados and keeping my nose hairs at bay. It is back to the old college antics around here. The other night while I was showering Will came into the bathroom, turned off the lights, and dumped ice water on me from above. What he failed to consider is the fact that I hang around his house most of the day while he is at work, cooking up something colossal.

Here is a photo of my friend.

From Settlement Dallas

Dallas, TX (*)

Since being a vagabond of self indulgence, I feel I have done a decent job of seeing new challenges and then turning those challenges into something useful, like a good story or a shoe string. However, an idea came into my head that was very do-able, drank a majority of my thoughts and planning, only to give me my first real feeling of failure this year. I had my stuff packed up and I was to ride my bicycle from my parent's home in New Mexico to Lubbock Texas. All ready and rarin' to go, and then I chickened out. It was going to require that I ride a longer distance than I have ever ridden before and camp a night or two near the highway along my way through west Texas. Was it the weather, was it the wild? I don't know, but I bailed on the idea to drive my stinking car to Lubbock. But, life is good, life is peachy. It was refreshing to be with my parents for a week. They are starring characters in my dreams and it is always good to be around 'em.

Next, a rainy, short three days in Lubbock to see my old roomie best pal Danny and his gal, my therapist, Daisy ~@~ . We drank muchos cervezas, ate muchos Mexican food, and pretty mucho figured out that the answer to any problem is "Whatever makes your friends laugh." Also, I went to my old college stomping grounds and visited two professors. One had a little time available, and I was able to tell him all of my crazy tales of confident irresponsibility. He gave me some great advice and talked the truth to me enough that I now consider him more of a friend than old boss/professor. We even went out for Chinese buffet that night.

Another handful of days in Lubbock would have been really nice, but the wind blew me down the road to Graham Texas, where my friends Winston and Caitlin are spending day and night developing a utopia of farming, beer brewing, and all-around merriment. It was Winston's birthday so Caitlin made, I kid you not friends, the best birthday dish spread I can remember. Bratwurst, schnitzel, a 30 chocolate crepe layer cake with hazelnut creme, salmon brie appetizers, and a 30 pound apple strudel that looked a lot like a monster from the movie "Tremors" and tasted delicious. When I first got to Graham, I found their address, arrived unannounced, and don't remember anything else other than eating, drinking, and laughing.

From Graham TX

My good ol' buddy friends Will and Amanda were also there for the birthday extravaganza, and on Sunday I followed them back to their home in Dallas, where I am now, drinking a glass of warm soy milk and typing furiously on their living room couch. From the looks of things, I am going to be here a while, so plenty more about the Dallas scene to come.

An Ode

Too many memories to really attempt a real memorial. Hell, it is a blog post, and to hope to truly commemorate the biological lives of those you have shared many stories with is foolish hope indeed.

Pets are a strange thing to say the least. There really is no better creature to harbor the uncontrollable emotional output of the human mind without hearing their opinions or unnecessary feedback, and they do it with the grace that only a small mind and big stomach can give. I don't want to get too personal here, but I needed to make something of the something that is in my thought cloud.

Mojo, the fattest and happiest Beagle I've known, I will do my best to remember to bring you a slice of turkey when I meet you to do the zombie dance one day.

New Mex

For the last few days I have called home the town, house, and people responsible for the earliest years of my being. The experience here is a challenging one, a ferocious challenge, the likes of which I have yet to meet since uprooting a few months ago. Many of you may blow scoffs at the tiny challenges the jobless wanderer must face. I will meet your scoffs halfway and add a down-turned look of bashful agreement. The wonderful friends in my recent past, who have hosted me with all of their grace and charisma, do not come close to the masterful artistry that is my parents' ability to have me here. And therein lies the challenge.

My folks and I set off for Las Cruces, NM to visit my youngest sister. She is at New Mexico State University, studying the biology of humans in order to help fix broken biologys one day. Driving through New Mexico for any extended amount of time does not allow me the chance to miss inspiring visuals. You don't miss 'em because there is not much out here. Perhaps this is indeed one of the splendors. "The beauty of what is not", if you will. I suppose I might ruin all of this by singing her praises so high. My eyes are filled with the green hills and peaceful ranches of the majestic Hondo Valley. Consider the ponder-some pink cactus plants in front of the black rock, jutting from the faded plain. Visions of climbing these rocks to smoke peyote with native men in order to find your spirit animal. I will try to upload pictures later, hopefully I am with my spirit animal.

Chain rust

Look. I can't lie to you for a few reasons. Reason number 1 is that I strive follow a thought movement of radical honesty. I use the word radical here without exaggeration. I forget what reason 2 is now.

The gap in my blog posting was for purely selfish reasons. I wanted more mystery back in my life. Also, I wanted to save my thoughts and see if they developed into a forest rather than a flower. What I underestimated was the magnitude of will power and responsibility required to tend a forest. I am not so strong.

Back in the Lone Star state for a time. I started to think of this as the end of my journeys now that I am back in a personal comfort zone. Well friends, if that is what ends a journey than I imagine journeys are constantly living and dieing just like our cells, just like our moments, just like us. So here it is, I explode to this somewhat faceless public with philosophical garbage that is obviously backed up from my lack of explosion.

Story time - In Tallahassee Florida, I found myself in the greatest state of freedom ever to be had, and that is walking around. I walked to a new used bookstore to look for travel books. It was a giant warehouse with shelves slapped around space. The owner later admitted to me that he and his buddies would drink bourbon all afternoon and would build shelves through the night. I wanted to tell him I already knew this, but I prophesied offense. A young kid was also there talking with the owner and he asked to play my guitar. He played a few licks that showed me he was not messing around and that he knew his way around the thing. He then went on to tell us that he had just been to rehab for marijuana, but he is off to finish high school now. No comment. Next, I was off to meet my good ol' buddy friend Kirk at a coffee shop, but not before peeing in an alleyway. Walking up Monroe Street revealed guitars in a pawn shop window. Inside the pawn shop revealed very concealable hand guns in the glass case window. Two young gentlemen were contemplating the purchase of said hand guns. Talking amongst each other using common phrases such as "For real" and "For sure" and "Hellz ya". Perhaps they are going to practice their marksmanship at a shooting range. I hope for the best, and I fear for the worst. I'd rather not hope or fear, so walk on, walk on to meet your friend.

Crowley, LA

Here I come Austin!!

Boston (tres)

I will tell you that I snapped back to consciousness as I was trying to unlock the door to my cousin's apartment building with the waist string of my shorts. I found myself locked out, outside of the apartment building at 3 or so in the morning, no shoes, and no glasses. I contemplated walking all night until the day came, but I chickened out and woke my cousin with the doorbell instead.This is your sleep walking brain on beer. Kids, don't do this at home.

Today I explored the MIT campus. I planned on attending a seminar on microbots, but, again, I chickened out. Otherwise, it is the usual "covering the yet covered streets" before I take off tomorrow. Catching the Amtrak early in the morning. Boston was a wonderful place, majorly thanks to the college kids, the Big Dig, and my hosts. I tell you, I know how to pick these hosts. All of the people who have allowed me to consume their couch over the last months have been nothing short of heroes for me. My cousin Kirsten and her husband Andrew are certainly no exception. I would like to think I will see them again soon. I wish I could do all of my recent travels all over again, but I imagine I have a problem with those yet uncovered streets out there.

I have decided to take a break from the blogging. I have enjoyed very much condensing and filtering my true thoughts into what I hope has been a palpable journal entry for you. However, I am undecided on the value of the blog to my long term plans. Just know that I am, and always will be, far away from you doing my best to be myself, or a lot closer to you than you realize doing my best to better my concept of myself. Thank you for reading this as far as you have. If you need to get a hold of me, I am sure you already know how.

Sincerely,
Russell Knudson

Boston (dos)

Though much has transpired since yesterday, I feel compelled to tell a seemingly irrelevant story instead. I reserve the right to write fiction.

It is too easy to wonder while walking in warm sun, cool breeze. It is too easy to wander as you wonder. My wanderment brought me to Boston Commons park, which is a popular place on a day as wonderful as this. Images so cross legged, hair blown, and smile wide. I find myself needing more, something unexpected, and in this state of searching you commonly find it. As my mind crawled up the texture of a nearby wall, a man's voice made it snap back to me on a lightning spring.
"Any change for the homeless sir?" the man said.
Head shaking side to side, puzzled face I reply, "I have nothing for ya today man."
I look him in the eyes to try to feed him my seriousness and sympathy.
"Thanks anyways," he says and I continued past.
This scene has been all too common on my travels, so my mind replays the encounter almost instantly. On many similar occasions I have told a fib as a means of escape. Saying "I don't have any money", when I do. Upon personal reflection it is always an embarrassing and disappointing reaction, and today I reflected just like the others.
~Forty feet in front of me, a man in a wheelchair is holding his arms extended high. It appears to be a motorized wheel chair with accessory bags on the sides and rear, full of items. The bags exude adventure and turmoil, but not as much as the man's sun hat, and not near as much as the man's face. I am close enough now to see he has in his hands a fishing pole pointed up and in front of him. My first thought is that this man has a line hooked to the top of a park light post directly in front of him and he is pulling himself toward it. I imagine him getting around the city this way, with his hook in the crack of a building wall, with his hook in a pedestrian's back jean pocket. My eyes re-focus and see that there is in fact a fishing line going past the light post, right over my head. The man, aged skin and frail body, wears a confusing smile. Confusing, as I cannot tell if it is truly a smile of deep joy or the crooked smile that is formed from degraded facial muscles after a stroke. I am now right up to the man, and I am turning back 'round to see what it is that he is fishing for.
The thin white line stretches out through the blue sky and into the branches of the winter bare tree at ~fifty feet, but I know there must be more. I am talking to the man with a small portion of my functional brain, and searching the scene with the rest.
"What is going on here man?"
He may have answered, but I wasn't paying attention, because I had found it. ~Four hundred feet to the east, ~two hundred feet off of the Earth, a colorful kite is whipping in wild winds. It must be well beyond the edge of the park and over portions of downtown Boston. It appears that it needs to fly only ~ten more feet to land on a ~ninth floor balcony of the high rise condominium building across the street. At the site, a rush of warmth generated at my core and spread outward toward the underside of my skin. Barely bigger than a speck of red, yellow, and blue dipped then rose upward. A desperate dive and several simultaneous somersaults, with a tail of ~three ribbons following right behind. I realized I was laughing wholeheartedly, and I turned to find the man passing the fishing pole to me.
"hold...hold" he says with difficulty.
I grabbed the pole. A sudden recognition of duty came over me and I manned my mission. I said something to the man, but I cannot remember what. The line appears to be tangled in the branches of the nearby tree, but it is difficult to be certain. Regardless, she is flying strong.
"Do you ever lose her and half to go chase it down over there in downtown?" I ask.
The man gurgles a response that I do not comprehend. He is still locked on the flier with deep intent, and in this moment I saw the reason for my confusion regarding the man's smile. Thanking him multiple times, I handed the rod back to the stroke suffered man. Broken lips revealing crowned teeth, and a royal blue smile beaming from his eyes.

From Boston 10

Boston (uno)

Wonderful dinner last night with my cousin Kirsten, her husband
Andrew, and some of her husband's family. They thought they had a nice
evening planned, and then the bearded guy dawning the black trench
coat dropped in on them like a landslide of hobo energy. We had a good
time though.
I am off to walk the freedom trail and drink green beer. I go to
Harvard tonight to watch Joanna Newsom!!! This concert has been the
only scheduled thing in my life for the past month and a half, so you
can imagine the importance.

Yankee Doodle Bridge (1)

On my way to Boston. That is where The Pixies are from I'm pretty sure. My cousin Kirsten is there, so this should be a riot. Members of descent from the larger, more developed branches of the tree I grow are all leafy and wooden just like me. Riot.

I just crossed the Yankee Doodle Bridge as I ride the Megabus from NY. At long last, a great bus service! I had heard of this Megabus company back when they were getting big in Europe and just starting in the U.S. What's cool about them is, if you book early enough (and the ads will no doubt tell you this as well), you can get tickets for $1. I am paying $13 vs. $18 on the Greyhound, and Megabus is far better. The only problem is that Megabus is only in the Northeast quarter of the U.S.

What a time in NY. Thanks of course to J and KD for their times. We had such a times. I won't soon forget it, and I hope they remember how to speak proper English, because we have been straight silly all week.

Da Big Ol Apples (for-seven)

Last full day and night in the NYC. I spent it with my good ol' pals. I was fortunate enough to attend the first tasting of a new brewery's first beer today. Warm Belly Brews (c) from Brooklyn had a tasting of their first beer, "Winter Britches". It was pretty darn good and we believe the beer to have medicinal qualities that are lacking in other beers (which is right around none), but this was not proven theoretically or experimentally.

The final dinner tonight, was created by chef Justin Mac, not to distinguish it from the many wonderful dinners that I experienced here. Many of my favorite vegetables, legumes, sugars and spices were converted in this past week into the me that I am today. After dinner, Katie and I worked on an inside pocket for my guitar case. She did most of the work, but if you peeked in at the right moments, you could find me sewing and listening to the Rolling Stones "Exile on Main Street" album. I imagine the Rolling Stones and sewing are an appropriately balanced diet.

For some of your future references, here is how to tell if your infestation of "couch bum" has matured:

From Da Big Ol Apples

Day 1
<------>
Day 7

From Da Big Ol Apples

Da Big Ol Apples (for-five/for-six)

GENETA

Disclaimer: The content below may be the result of blog constipation. I have not been blogging regularly like I should be.

After you and I last met, I went to meet my house parents at the New York Museum of Modern Art for Free Fridays.
1. The "MoMA" will not allow you inside with, nor will they hold on to ("check"), your guitar. Why? Because who in their right mind brings a guitar to a museum? This guy, and I am sure a handful of other people, that's who. They told me the huge franchise hotel across the street will hold it for $3. I hustled 'cross the taxi-cab artery because the red high five hand blinked at me violently. The hotel concierge says "Sir, we have never held public items, only those belonging to guests. Sorry, you are not the first that the museum has sent to us." What can I do? I can't hide it anywhere, this is New York City for crying out loud. No one is near enough to my heart to watch it. Wait a minute.. I am wearing a long trench coat. Yess.
2 .I really lucked out, because J and KD were looking for me outside the museum when I walked back. We talked it over, I slung it on my back and under my coat. It stuck out about a a foot behind my knees. I also looked like I was trying to perform mitosis out the back of my jacket. We squeezed in tight with a crowd pushing in past security. They are looking people up and down. I'm not going to make it. I made it. Walk fast, don't look back, don't look suspicious, don't look. I hear the guards say something behind me and my skin turns cold. I turn around. Justin and the guards are talking and it turns out the guard would not let him in because he needs to check his umbrella first. HAHA. I turn around and hustle around the corner. We wait for Justin of course.
2. Now I am in, but still paranoid at each turn because of my illegal device. It actually sparks an angry cell inside of my heart-brain, because something as friendly as a guitar should not be targeted, but of course I see why the rule is a justifiable one. I settled the angered cell with the appropriate neurotransmitter. In fact, I lost my paranoia as well, because I realized I cannot enjoy the museum in fear and also I doubt the inside attendants even know the rules on guitars. Boy was I right. I trotted all over this place, really enjoying myself. It is not like I was trying to play a concert in there or anything (though it did cross my mind).
7. The main reason we are here is to see the temporary Tim Burton exhibit, most of which are drawings by him related to his wonderful films. We are very excited for this. Down the first hall of the museum, we quickly find out that the Tim Burton exhibit is not free and is SOLD OUT. We did find a small collection of Burton's work outside of the exhibit. Demented Polaroids, early sketches of "Nightmare Before Christmas" (Zero!). We were sad, but we moved on with our heads high.
3 . The MoMA is great. To compare art museums of late (though I am not sure how relevant comparisons would be) the MoMA was better than the Chicago Institute of Art, but not as great as the New York Metropolitan Art Museum. Ahhh the colorful Kandinsky, and to my surprise the few pieces of impressionist (who I bash in a previous post) Claude Monet's "Water Lilly" series rocked my socks off. There was a crazy "performance art" piece going on that involved two ladies staring at each other at a table, which is supposed to go on for 700 hours total. Was disappointed to find no Salvador Dali.
5. The two floors of paintings beat our minds to mush meat, so it was time to leave. On the way out, as J hits the water closet, KD and I stumble upon the entrance to the Tim Burton exhibit. We start walking toward it, but sure enough a lady is stopping everyone and asking for their tickets. So we turn to sing our song of defeat. From behind me the ticket lady says, "Hey! Guitar guy! You made it in." And she smiles. I reply, "yes". She says, "You can come on in, it's cool." I got on my high horse to ride right on in to the exhibit (yeehaw), Katie and Justin following right behind. It was extraordinary! Gives me warm fuzzies to see all of the wonderful drawings and concepts Mr. Burton had put onto paper/canvas/microchips before and during his great movies. There was recognizable material from most of his great films. I was most interested in the "Beetlejuice" stuff.

I would love to stay in, or come back to, New York for "pay what you wish" Fridays at the Whitney and Guggenheim Museums. Very happy to have seen the MoMA.

Since Friday I have pretty much just been boozin' it. I will attempt to excuse myself by saying I have actually been dedicating my small moments of inspiration to even smaller creatures, little poems in my stomach, a drawing or two, and my capacity for smiling. Today Katie graciously let me play with her wood burning tool and it was thought provoking. Perhaps it was the fumes from burning wood, but for the first time in almost 4 and a half years, I found a name for my sidekick, teacher, and the supporting character for almost every single Blahg post, my guitar. I took the tool and burned the name into the back of her head like any true pal/lover/father/daughter/boyfriend would do. Maybe an ode to the birth of concepts, the genesis of   (insert word)  , maybe a heightening respect for the breakthroughs in the knowledge of the animal genetic framework, maybe for the band Phil Collins and Peter Gabriel started in, but mainly because I found it to be a pretty name.

Da Big Ol Apples (for-three/for-four)

Happy Friday friends. Don't read this, go out and play.

In order to show that New York has not swallowed me whole (yet), I signed up for a visitors library card at the main Public Library just so that I could make a quick post to you, my loyal blog readers. Contrary to my last statement, I imagine that I am swallowing more of New York, I can feel it in my hips.

Jumpin Jehozafats my library ID is long. My ID card looks like they tried to fit a majority of pi on the back.

Today I took the subway deeper into Brooklyn to visit Erasmus Hall public schools. This is where my friend Justin teaches and he asked the principal for the permission to have a visitor. It was, without a doubt, a very sobering experience. Not that it was a scene that I feel I was ill-prepared for, because it does not take a brainiac to know what the public education condition is going to be like in inner city Brooklyn. However, there are subtleties that they can't show you in the picture shows: kids passing through security scans every single day before class, large portions of the student body walking around the halls instead of being in class, and in my humble opinion very strange organizational decisions made by administration (the way teachers are assigned to classrooms, roaming students on lunch breaks, etc.). Thank the good spirits that there are teachers doing what they can. I believe it takes thicker skin than most to be an educator as is, but man oh man do they have there work cut out for them in these kinds of environments. I will give Justin a hug when I see him later. All the rest of you, go hug your teachers.

I did get to go to a pep rally at the school while I visited. One more thing I can check off the "Things To Do Before Your Biological Self Stops Working" list.

Like I said, I am in Manhattan now, going to some museums tonight, but more on that later.

Da Big Ol Apples (for-two)

The weather was so wonderful today I had no choice, but to go run around Prospect Park. Besides that the day was relatively adventure-less: listened to Miles Davis "Bitches Brew" for the first time (ya man!), apertivos with my house parents (Justin and Katie) Katie makes a mean margarita, and we drank our dinners down. J and KD bought tickets to see The Magnetic Fields (band), and I was planning on just staying in for the night, buttt I went along for the ride to Manhattan and boy am I glad I went.
 - Busking in the subway - Was really nervous for some reason, but once it starts pouring out of you it is tough to stop. Try to sing louder than the trains.
 - Busking in Time Square - The NYPD kindly asked me to "cease pan-handling in this sector", so I relocated 5 blocks up to 47th St. I took some pictures with some French tourists who must have confused me for an interesting American landmark, but they were really nice about the songs I was playing. Otherwise, I collected my usual mix of disgusted looks from younger girls, semi-appreciative looks from much older women, and scoffs from most men. On the rare occasion a male doesn't mock, he usually gives me a dollar or some change. I have natural reaction now to sing much louder and take a few steps after the men who jeer as they walk past.

It was a great night.

From Da Big Ol Apples

Da Big Ol Apples (for-one)

Woooooo!
I forgot how much the excitement of this place got me the excited too. I hope it lasts.

Amtrak has remained a good experience in my eyes' mind. The track from Chicago was a bit more bumpy than previous tracks. Bumps in the night, strange dreams, animal in nature. Animals and vegetables.

Found my good ol' friend J Mac (Mac-N-Sac, apparently his new street moniker here) at a Tuesday night beer tasting. We knocked back the tiny samples with the old times at the front of our brains and the delicious free beer dancing in the uppermost regions of our digestives. It was an easy block to J and Katie-friend's apartment where KD was preparing Sober Noodles (?). It was the jam-track, whoa. Tofu, kimchi, already two things that I know that I am not sophisticated enough for.

I am glad to be here with these guys and I was telling them tonight that this visit will be extra easy for me, as these two crazy cats may be the only people on the planet that laugh at me when I speak in my made up languages. I include that comment, because you will most likely be showered with abnormal volumes of broken English, vulgarity, and nonsensicals on these next several posts.

Prepare to be for-shitted on! (sorry Mom)

Sweet Home Chicago (six)

Went to an awesome sketch comedy show last night. So very impressed, but I just don't have time to write something creative about it here. If you ever go to Chicago (quick, get a pencil and copy this down) I recommend going to "Too Much Light Make The Baby Go Blind" at the Neo-Futurist Theatre. I creid a little bit, I laughed a whole lot, and I thought with deepness.

On my way to New York New York. Brooklyn, beers, and good friends.

Dear Chicago,
I had a wonderful time. I hope to see you again. Take care of Klevis for me, he and his roommate Tim were wonderful hosts (goats eeee!). Tell Michael Jordan that, next time, I'm going to find him.

Sincerely,
Russell Knudson, grand kid #6

Sweet Home Chicago (five)

Holy Guacamole! On the top floor of the Chicago Public Library, there are six "music practice rooms" available to anyone, anyone who can properly identify themselves (this means some form of government issued identification). Every room even had its own upright piano, amazing. I was excited to find this, but, perhaps for the first time in my life, I waited until the time was right before diving in. Plus, it was a beautiful Chicago day, and I thought it was a great opportunity to play on the street. The subway was taken, so I just went back to the front of the library. I have had a hard time lately finding an activity as spiritually cleansing as busking. You have to really forget about your strange worries and accept the worrisome looks from strangers, to the beat, on the street. It feels great, try it. Plus I made two bucks. Now it's time to get to the practice room :) Here is a silly picture I took in there:

From Sweet Home Chicago

After the jam down, turkey jam, Klevis and I rode the subway headed to play some basketball. It was either this or go looking for Michael Jordan. We went to play basketball. We are definitely not the basketball animals we used to be, but I gotta say, the young men of the Lakeview YMCA were not ready for the fast, bumbling, scoring goofiness that is we. And finally, there is no better way to replenish all of the tomatoe sauce and cheese that you sweat out playing basketball then eating a famous Chicago "stuffed" pizza from Giordano's. Yodi.

From Sweet Home Chicago

Sweet Home Chicago (four)

Yesterday was Chicago's Birthday. Happy birthday Chicago, glad to be invited to the party.

Every Thursday, from 5 to 8 pm, the museum at the Art Institute Chicago is open free to the public. Oh hells ya, I was there. Stories of Georgia O'Keeffe and the inspiration behind her paintings. The battles of the American modernists trying to show the Europeans that, they too, have deep feelings. I enjoyed the museum much, here is my critique:
Painting - Lots of American (both pre- and post- 1900), little European (disappointing) that were mainly the Impressionists (which I am not a huge fan of), and hardly anything else (which I am OK with).
Sculpture - .... I'm just going to end my review now, because I only go to museums to look at paintings. Ya, they had some sculpture, Asian/Indian artifacts, and a GIANT section of photography. You could find me looking at the artifacts and sculptures. You could not find me looking at photography, though I could use some lessons.

I played at the somewhat historic "Gallery Cabaret" open mic last night. Musically, it definitely wasn't my night: forgetting my lyrics, how to play guitar, and not shaking my hips enough. I was given even more of a shunning than my other heavily shunned appearances. The sound kept cutting out on me, that's my excuse. There were some really good folks that played there though, so I had a good time. After the bar, I ate hot dog #2 of the Chicago visit. My nutritionist would be outraged.

Tonight Klevis and I made our own ice cream and drank beer, like real men, right? We called it date night. Much to Klevis's dismay, we did not use goat milk or goat cream to make the ice cream.

From Sweet Home Chicago Klevis (c), scraping the last from the ice cream maker

Sweet Home Chicago (two, some of three)

Gotta hand it to this place. It is pretty smooth, pretty boppin', pretty jivin' despite the weather. I am sure most Chicagoans (Chicagonians? Chicagonites?) would laugh in my face when I say the weather is something less desirable today, compared of course to the winter they are coming out of. I am sure on certain days I would laugh in my own face for occupying this many brain cells with the weather, especially when there are concepts out there that need to be wrestled with, namely: chemical dependencies in humans, how to resurrect the spirit of Ignaz Semmelweis, and generating enough sustainable energy to light a giant billboard that reads "Hello. In order to save the planet, most of you need to leave."

Yesterday I got out there and did the usual thing. Bicycled to various spots in the nearby areas, took pictures, talked to street Corn vendors about competition in their territories. A man driving a Salvation Army truck saw me with my guitar slung on my shoulder and he asked for some pointers. I told him, "I say you should learn how to play some basic chords before anything else." He said, "Oh ya, chords, like with the frets and the thing..? ...!!.. %#$".

It has become a bit too commonplace for me now, this free-loading, walking, talking, picture taking thing I am doing. I have tricked myself into imagining I can sense the overall energy or spirit of a particular area after being there for a few minutes, or just long enough to count how many people honk there car horns for no good reason.

I wanted a picture of downtown Chicago from as close as possible to Lake Michigan so I stepped onto a low rock pier. You see this wave?

From Sweet Home Chicago

It attacked my foot and, in order to raise the energy levels of it's own internal water molecules, left my right (Rhonda) foot wet and cold.

From Sweet Home Chicago

I am just looking for excuses to post pictures now.

Sweet Home Chicago (one)

Chicago just about ate me up this morning. Where am I, where am I going, what? These were all questions that I asked myself and anyone standing close enough to here my mind buzzing. I was disappointed too, because the areas of Chicago I needed to get around are areas I had walked around on occasion in the last year. I blew a train ticket on a train that wasn't even running today. I bought a Dunkin' Donut's donut's donut to allow me to use the internet, only to find out they didn't have internet access. I ate the donut. All of these decisions, in hindsight, were due to my lack of planning before I arrived. I typically write in my journal the address, telephone number, and general directions on how to get there, but today I had only an address. So, I just decided to jump on any northbound train to distance myself from the downtown hoityness and find myself a place that would let me use the Yellow Pages or internet access. I blindly picked an exit on this particular train, walked up the street to a place with wireless internet, and BINGO! I had happened to get off the train just down the street from where I was trying to go. It could not have worked out better. What is the moral to the story? Well, I am sure Aesop has already covered it. Boy, does he have some good ones.

After I brushed my teeth and wrote a couple letters at a coffee shop, I was able to foot it, take mental notes of establishments I can buy pizza and take pictures. This afternoon I met up with my good buddy Klevis. Drank a beer, bought groceries (avocados are cheap here! Why?), and lifted live goats above our heads for exercise.

From Sweet Home Chicago

*I apologize if my final comment from yesterday came across as sexist, that was certainly not my intention. The scene truly did rouse that metaphor in me, but that is not to say that there aren't just as many males out there who don't dance, don't have anything to talk about, and don't get any attention at the party. Hell, I do dance (or some form thereof), do talk, but that doesn't mean the attention I get is positive by any means. :)

Kansas City, WA

Just a quick stopover in Kansas City, the Mizzou side. I decided to eat the metaphorical dog excrement and ride the Greyhound on to Chicago tonight. If I was riding a real Greyhound, I would be absolutely excited, but I'm not and I'm not. I get the feeling I frequently complain about this particular bus company, yet if they are so crummy then why do I continue to use their services? Well, I must thank them truthfully, because it has gotten me around for pretty reasonable monies. However, the organization, or lack there of, of this company continues to surprise me. Today though, it all ended up very nicely as I payed $67 for a ticket that was quoted online as $120. That's nice.

It feels good to be back out and moving. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, because it is never anything at all against the beautiful people who have hosted this dislodged creature over the last month. I just cannot help but feel the winds of freedom blowing through my luscious blond hairs as I am out perusing the alley ways of strange cities, or playing guitar in front of gas stations. I worry I may have contracted a traveling bug that I won't come back from fully, which was sort of the point I suppose. I don't know, we will see how chipper I am about traveling after I sleep with my head against the bus window tonight.

Here's a picture of the "Power and Light" area I stumbled upon here in KC. It reminds me a lot of the girl that went out to the party all dolled up, but she doesn't dance, she doesn't have much to talk about, and no one is paying her much attention.

From Manhappening, KS

Manhappening, Kansas (V)

Neil Young's performance tonight at the Olympics closing ceremonies opened my heart with a surgeon's smile and cut it into butterflies. It was my favorite event by far and he deserves one of those medals covered in six grams of gold. I was fortunate enough to only see two other Olympic events, and after watching the highlights, I fancy to say I saw two of the best of the entire competition: Shaun White's win + victory lap and the end of the Canada-USA hockey game. If I would have watched anymore television there is no telling how many energy drinks, personal hygiene products, and automobiles I would buy this week. We all know I need one of those items.

Tomorrow morning I say "so long, and thanks for all the fish" to Manhattan. It was a good time here, and nice to hang with my sister. I was given the level of serenity I had hoped to find, and this allowed me the opportunity to try new things, some of which I am happy about. However, I did find myself, on occasion, abusing my freedoms to a new level, embarrassingly so. For example, today consisted of sleeping late through an oncoming hangover, eating at a franchise fast food place, playing Super Mario World, and watching TV. I really blew it, and fear I will pay for it dearly. You live and you learn. You learn how soft around the middle you can allow yourself to become.

Off to Chicago. Chi town. Chi City. Home of Jake and Elwood Blues. Excited for the pizza and street people. Excited for the excitement.

Manhappening, Kansas (IV)

*This is not a paid advertisement of Boulevard Brewing Co.

Manhappening, Kansas (III)

Today I took even less steps away from my sister's place. Just playing music folks. Trying to write songs about you and how you make me feel.

Am I wrong to dream of a world where all of my friends are friends with my other friends? I started an attempt to make this happen with my virtual friends today, but I think I just made a lot of people mad. Not angry mad, but crazy mad. Sleepy mad. I still may move forward with it though, who knows. If you don't know what I am talking about, just ask me. You can always ask me anything you like.


I was welcomed to Kansas properly tonight. No, not a ho-down. No, not a disco. We watched Dorothy and friends in their adventures to Oz. But wait, it was not "The Wizard of Oz", because we watched the sequel "Return to Oz". What a wonderfully strange movie! I really enjoyed it, though I did fall asleep toward the end. I particularly appreciated the chicken Billina and the soldier Tik-Tok's views on lifelessness. I cannot believe Disney actually claims this movie.

'sgreat.

Manhappening, Kansas (II)

My sister asked me if I would teach her how to play Chess. "Sure!" I said, though I warned her that she is learning from a sham instructor. I suggested that she take down a page or so of notes. She agreed, reluctantly. This morning, I went over her notes from last night. Here are a few excerpts of what I read:
"Knight - Moves in an "L" shape, two one, can jump friends and enemies, only one to jump folk"
"Queen Bomb - Moves like a freak..."
"King Monster - Like a fat lazy bastard..."

I setup a little recording studio in my sister's room and did not step more than 3 steps away from her house all day. I sat in despair as the creative juices all sat in my stomach and gave me gas, instead of turning into song. I would have settled with something interesting to write on my blog for the day. I thought about just posting a video of a car tire spinning continuously.

And then I wrote a song! I was happy.

Manhappening, Kansas (I)

I mounted a red-eye Greyhound that burned holes in the night through central America (United States of) and brought me to Junction City Kansas this morning. I slept well: scarf pillow, footrest full extension for optimal knee relaxation (sarcasm), and the attention-hogging Kansas landscape blanketed in darkness to keep me from distraction (quasi sarcasm).

I feel I have learned a few fundamental properties of the American universe in the last few weeks, but have yet to really discuss on the public interweb. First thing, when you don't have a cellular phone, and you use your laptop for all forms of communication (barring smoke signals, drunken gazes, and high fives) you develop a true sense of free wi-fi hotspots. Places like hotels and coffee shops become a staple of your signal stealing. The main point is I have yet to be in a situation where I could not find an unsecured signal. I am not sure if people don't know how to put a password on their wireless, or just don't care. So I let my sister know I made it to Kansas and this place made it too easy:

 

Secondly, people like the guy/gal with a guitar, particularly in the more rural areas. Many ask what kind of music you play, what kind of guitar you have. This is usually a segue to what music they play and what guitars they have, without having to ask them or appear interested. It is interesting that the guitar is one of those items that everyone and their grandma owns, yet it is an item that is strange enough in the public sector to illicit contact from strangers. It is a beautiful thing, and this alone earned me a free ride today from Junction City to Manhattan from a nice guy at a gas station. I didn't even have to play him a song!

Tonight my sister made chicken enchiladas while we drank beer. I am in Kansas, which means I am close to one of my favorite breweries, Boulevard Brewing Co. I was disappointed to not find a few of their brews in the store today though, and ended up with New Belgium Brewery's new attempt at an Indian Pale Ale. It is not bad, but I would prefer Boulevard's "Double Wide IPA".

I am here in Kansas with one mission (other than hanging with my sister), and that is to record some music. A friend once told me that Leonardo Da Vinci said "The idea is divine, creation is just servitude" (paraphrased). That thought has left me lying happily, naked on my back on the beach of laziness. It's time to try something new.

Denver (4 and 5)

Beautiful Denver. The snow is turning to steam on the black top. I can see some sidewalk and grass, as if she is undressing. Oh Denver, I'm blushing.

Today Sarah made me a bad ass scarf with my initials in it! I have never owned a scarf before. I am terribly excited to face some cold wind and laugh in it's face.

I have had a good time here, to say the least. In fact, a little too much, all thanks to my temporary suite mates. We definitely through it down on St. Ball Street.

Hope to see these guys, and Denver, again in the not-to-distant future. Thank you "Sarah and Rachel's Ball Street Hostel Bungalow, Denver".

Denver (3)

Denver Public Library, again. Hells yeah, though I didn't learn quite as much as I did there yesterday.

I did learn today that Denver has some very impressive public art works. Not only that, but Denver seems to have a strong dedication and feeling toward the promotion, support, and interest in public arts. It is a beautiful thing and makes me smile. Here was one I saw today, my favorite so far:

That, my friends, is a giant blue bear looking into the second story for the Colorado Convention Center.

Really dope.

Anyways, I just goofed around today. Wait, what is it that I have done every other day that I have posted on this? I ended up walking into this convention center to see what was up, and there was a Home and Garden convention going on. I talked to an energy consulting company, who focuses on solar power installation, for quite some time. This conversation reminded me of how much I loved engineering. I hope the god of engineering still remembers me and would allow me to calculate something for her again one day.

Tonight I consumed, for the second night in a row, a navel orange that was the size of a small human head. As I ate it, I hoped, deep down, that the Vitamin C that I was ingesting was making my head as intelligent as a small human's.

I will be lucky if any of you still read this blog much longer.

Denver (2)

Every aspiring artist has certain important, yet common, checkpoints they reach through their journey. For the lowly bar/coffee shop/open mic playing musician, one of these checkpoints is "drunk guy coming on stage uninvited to sing with you". I am not too proud to apologize for this particular performance of this song, I don't care for it. I do like the drunk guy's parts (he makes his first appearance saying "I'm gonna be your fan" right after the first guitar note and then in the second verse).

Mr. Simon is tossing and turning in agony, without knowing why, each time one of you plays the file below.

"Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes" (Paul Simon) - Mia's Lounge, Flagstaff AZ

Overall, my 30 minutes of poorly representing other peoples' music, and a few of my own numbers, was fun and a good experience. There were these 3 full-sized dogs that sat, played, and walked around on the stage with me as I was playing. Plus the drunk guy on a few songs.

At the Denver Public Library and appreciating it greatly. I am in my happy place right now.

Denver (1)

Apologies for the missing post of yesterday. Please allow me to fill you in briefly:

Amtrak through my warmly home state of New Mexico. Caught up on some dreams I have been needing to dream, re-mastered a recording of a recent Joanna Newsom concert, and generated images of the New Mexico landscape in my mind by absorbing photons with my eyes as they bounced off of New Mexican rock/plains/sky. That was definitely a glorified way of saying I sat on my own butt, in my own skin oils, on a train seat. It was great.

From LA, LV, AZ and NM

I currently reside for the next few days with my new family in Denver, Colorado. The cast includes Sarah, Stephen, Mark and Rachel (in order of appearance).
I am lazy tonight, here is a video:

From Denvemolorado

Flagstaff, AZ (dos)

Played at Charly's Open Mic Night last night. You know, my only beef was that nooobody was paying attention to the performers, and the shittier part is that almost everyone in there was a performer themselves. I can understand to some degree, you may have these guys who play the same songs there EVERY week and it gets a bit tiring, or you are trying to impress your date at the bar or something. Other than that, this attitude is what separates a conducive, artistic gathering and just another place to play. I can play in the bathroom of this hostel. Anyways, I liked all of the acts, thought they were quite dope, and it was nice because mostly everyone played original stuff (or just didn't admit to covering someone else's stuff). I played OK, a guy came up to me afterward and said he liked it and told me about another open mic that is going on tonight, well actually this very moment.

I am signed up to play in 45 minutes. It is a 30 minute set, which is longer than I usually play. I am definitely going to have to pull out some tricks from the past. I have to conjure the ghosts of my college nights by the fire pit in my backyard. This should be interesting. This open mic is cool because they gave me coups for 2 free drinks. I gave them away though, not feeling like drinking tonight (gasp!).

Sorry for the very "open mic night" intensive post. It does not reveal the entire reflection of my current stance in the galaxy. For example, I did burpees in the grass outside of some apartment complex today and this afternoon I listened to an older gal attempt to persuade me (somewhat subtly) into buying an R.V. with her and traveling across the country. She believes I am desirable because I studied mechanical engineering. Perhaps she desires the beard. I also found out that a relative of mine is running for government office here in Flagstaff. Check it out:

Flagstaff, AZ

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the laws of Physics, for giving me a way to describe my rapid acceleration away from Las Vegas, and always being there for me whenever I need someone to talk to. I debated whether to share this next part with my Blog readers, mainly because my parents are frequent worried visitors, but 'tis the truth, and the truth shall set you free.

First of all though, here is a warning for those of you who do not have experience using Greyhound. Regular price tickets (not Priority tickets) are on a FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE basis. Not just for buying tickets, this is also for getting on the bus AFTER you have already purchased. This means that, in the event that a bus is oversold, you may not get on the bus you bought a ticket for. And what does Greyhound do in this event? They tell you that you can have a refund of your ticket, or you can wait for the next bus. So what happened to me? Well, I had no where else to be yesterday, so I walked to the bus station at about 2 pm. The next bus out to Arizona was at 8 pm. So I just hung out with families, vagrants, liars, and cheats at the bus station for 6 hours, reading and thinking. As the line to get on the 8 o' clock piled onto the bus, and about 10 of us were left to get on, the driver says "Sorry folks, I am all full. You will have to go talk with the ticket counter to see why they oversold this one." The ticket counter only has to explain their first come first serve policy, which none of us were made aware of until this moment.

I had some options as far as how to kill time until the next bus, which was 10 hours away at 6 am the next morning:

1. Get a hotel or hostel room
2. Find ways to entertain myself out around Las Vegas all night
3. Stay/sleep at the bus station

I got a bite to eat, but otherwise set up shop at the bus station and waited it out. The Las Vegas Greyhound station is not exactly a place you want to be for any period of time, but it is definitely good experience in that you see how many of these other people are practically living (whether by choice or not) and depending on Greyhound. Since I was there for about 16 hours, I saw many of the same faces and realized that some of them have no intention on getting on a bus. They live there, at the station. There are employees who monitor the place to some degree, but don't do anything about these guys. One guy was sketching and/or writing stories on a notepad the entire time I was there. I tried to be "artistic", but found it difficult, which is something I am concerned about.

Where am I?

Many of you are probably saying "What did you expect?" or "Sorry that Greyhound was not your pumpkin carriage.". I would argue with you that technology today is so cheap and so efficient in terms of scheduling and organizing, and I am amazed at how disjointed Greyhound is. Greyhound could easily be my pumpkin carriage, full of people bragging about how they robbed a guy while in Vegas.

Flagstaff AZ is a nice place, and I need to get out and get some mountain air. There are a constant flow of tourists here to see the Grand Canyon, or to ski the nearby mountain slopes. This consistency gives this place a nice mix of German and English girls. Bye.