Beer for Breakfast

Crash

2012-01-26T15:48:00.002-05:00

Trying, trying, trying trying trying...it's all so trying...

98% of my moments now are so drastically better than 98% of my moments six months ago, and I have no desire to go back. But the load of reclaiming and recreating myself has been unbelievably heavy at times. All of this on top of a regular world of steady employment, commuting, general daily maintenance and being a husband/son/brother/friend (and trying like crazy to be a good all of the above) when I barely know how to take care of myself anyway...(I'm extremely independent and self-reliant, yet I can get so lost in myopic focus that I forget to eat, sleep, etc.) That world never stopped. And I've had some catching up to do.

I. Am. So. Mentally exhausted.

Melodramatic treacle, I know, and I will get it together and get to. But Jesus, this has been so hard, and at the end, in spite of all the support I do have, I'm ultimately going it alone...

Getting Better

2012-01-11T07:54:00.000-05:00

Again, write-it-and-it-shall-be-so: so far so great, 2012. I'm feeling strong, on a brilliant, brilliant writing roll, at least in terms of awesomely amazing peeps seeing and digging my work, and oh-by-the-way, clean for five months. I have the greatest friends and family, and they are totally there. New optimism, new feeling good about self (finally!), new world.

Getting better all the time...

The Agony and the Slightly Less Sucky Agony

2011-12-31T21:45:00.000-05:00

What. A. Year.

Ultimately there was a lot of good, mainly on the writing front. And especially on the personal growth and development and self-awareness front.

But to get there? Hell and More Hell. Mortifying, Painful as Hell Hell.

I was told that I'm jinxing it to say that it can't possibly get worse in 2012, but I say it because I believe it, and because I believe in the write-it-and-it-shall-be-so school of turning it around.

It can't possibly get worse.

Fifteen and Life

2011-12-09T20:30:00.000-05:00

Fifteen weeks clean tonight. I've had some major bruises of late, and next week looms large on the horizon. I am an absolute basket case until we get past that.

But I'm optimistic. I survived the bruises without spiraling. I righted myself and kept going. And I feel all together after going through it.

This is all new to me, all this life-altering change and re-writing of my past, present and future. But I'm doing my best, and so far, not bad...

Solitary

2011-12-04T20:42:00.000-05:00

Sunday night, delaying the alarm and reflecting. 14 weeks clean, which means that 15 weeks ago now I was probably well into my evening "cope" and utterly lost.

I remember an old Al-anon commercial with an overwrought, ham-handed mom saying, "drinking made me lonely. Lonely, lonely, lonely!" I used to laugh at the pitiful off-off-off-Broadway performance (and I still do, of course) but I don't laugh at the message anymore. It is so true. And at the same time, your judgement and perspective are shot. Great combination there...

I feel like I'm emerging. But there's a hell of a lot to emerge from.

Not Relaxin' with BfB

2011-11-23T14:29:00.000-05:00

Boozeopause Sucks.

You're cruising along, everything is fine, everything is great and then kaBOOM, BITCH! Right now I am a quivering hypersensitive wreck, and I have absolutely no idea why. And if I did I'd probably think that that's all my fault as well.

What?!?

Has anyone else gone through this? Is it normal? Will I be "normal" again?

Relaxin' with BfB

2011-11-19T22:04:00.001-05:00

12 weeks/3 months clean. And, more than ever I'm feeling good: confident, unburdened and relaxed. Yes, relaxed. Me, the very epitome of nervous neurosis. Because I'm not worried about it anymore. I don't have to keep up with the maintenance: wondering if we have enough (never enough), planning how to get more, sneaking more, wondering who knows what, retracing my steps in horror and wondering what I said and how...I can now just relax (well, as much as I can relax) and just be. And it's great.

I'm to the point now where all the cliches are ringing absolutely true, albeit cheesy. Truly I was sick and tired... And a million times over, yes: my worst day today is better than my worst day then. I still can't totally relax. I still don't know the extent of the damage I did, the alienation I may have caused, etc. And I'll live with that shame and try my damdest to make it better. But it's out of my hands, and all I can do is sit back and wait and see.

I'll do my best to relax while I'm waiting. It feels kinda good to do so...

The Best Part of Schadenfreude

2011-11-14T20:17:00.001-05:00

I’ve always been all about schadenfreude. Or so I thought. The problem is that while I’m always happy to see someone get what they truly deserve – think of a swell in an Escalade passing on a double line, swerving back over and getting stuck behind a sewer truck – I can’t really wish true ill on anyone, even that swell in the Escalade.

But I’m still an asshole, and taking part in a suffering collective has always defined me. Gallows humor, and all. My rogue gallery of degenerates and I have always found that the cure for pain is embracing it, talking about it and laughing it out. You’re on Zoloft? Well I’m on Zoloft AND Lexapro! We’re all FUCKED! This camaraderie has been incredibly healing over the years, in a Ramones-ian “One of Us” kind of way.

BUT I’m really all about trying to be good, doing good deeds and taking care of people. I’m never happier than I am cooking for company, having a house full of laughs, giving a good present…definitely no schadenfreude there.

So yeah…schadenfreude light?

No, Benevolent Schadenfreude. Yes, a seeming contradiction. But as the phrase popped into my head while meeting with my substance abuse counselor tonight, it became official articulation of the guiding principle of my life. Doing good, but enjoying it greatly when someone not doing good trips up and falls. Snark and bitchery, but with affection in the spirit of solidarity and commiseration.

It’s not much in the grand scheme, but it’s great to finally have a phrase to describe my ethos and life mission. It all makes sense now…

Are You There, God? It's Me, BfB...

2011-11-08T16:45:00.001-05:00

Listen, I know you and I haven't been all that tight, and honestly, I don't see that changing. I'm all about Sunday sloth and football, and I'm cool with just trying to be a good person, do good deeds and not be too much of an asshole. All in moderation, right? So maybe I'm misdirecting this.

But seriously, Dude: can you cut the shit?

I mean, how much more can "you" throw down? Do you know all that's been going on at once these last few months? I make a royal ass out of myself as I spiral out-of-control drunk into an agonizing hell pit, get myself together and recover, and all while you're moving half of my departments out of my building to Carolina, tripling my workload and now topping your shit pie with a big scoop of fart ice cream in the form of the health issues you've bestowed upon Mrs. BfB?

I am seriously thisclose to fucking snapping. You think I'm made of tempered steel here? I mean, I am, and you know my gallows humor, sense of optimism and perspective have gotten me through all of this. And if I'm tearing you a holy new one for being such a dildo, I suppose I have to say thanks for those gifts and for the REAL gifts of my family and friends: the rock of my life.

But still...can I have a little normal? A little flatline? Get Mrs. BfB through the procedure, then lay off for a bit? Can ya?

Maybe I'll be a little more in touch if you could...
BfB

Counting on Two Hands

2011-11-04T22:08:00.000-04:00

Ten weeks ago right now I was wearing a gown, "sleeping" on a rubber mattress and having my vitals checked every four hours. What a ride it's been since. The most agonizing, mortifying, liberating, encouraging time of my life...

Shell-shocked

2011-10-26T15:44:00.000-04:00

Damn.

People are struggling, people are lonely, people are sick and dying... I just want to make everybody laugh, love and be loved, offer my shoulders and in general save the world. That's realistic, right? Totally do-able?

I Wanna Live

2011-10-20T12:54:00.002-04:00

Eight weeks clean: feeling good, getting stronger, letting go, putting a period on a bad chapter. I'm getting back to "normal" and fully embracing my new life. It's still hard coming to terms with where I've been, and the impact that has had on myself and others. But the past is a cancelled check, and I'm trying like hell to make right now.

I'm all in for my recovery.

Because I have no choice...

Steady As She Goes

2011-10-10T18:47:00.000-04:00

So.

Thursday, 42 days or six weeks since my last drink, we brought our dear Nellie into the vet. Since adopting two six-month-old kittens two weeks earlier, Nellie, who we had for nearly eight years - our first pet together - had become withdrawn, hiding, not eating. She had lost three pounds. We took her in for x-rays, and the vet wanted to do an ultrasound the next morning.

And I fell apart, but still no temptation to drink it away.

Friday, 42 days or six weeks since entering detox, the ultrasound came back: lymphoma. And we left work and went back to the vet, and we held our baby girl while she was put down.

And I completely lost it, but still no temptation to drink it away.

Saturday, 42 days or six weeks since checking out of detox, we attended the wedding of a dear friend from high school. An overnight stay at a beautiful ski lodge, old and new friends and an open bar. All night.

And 24 hours after the trauma of the sudden end of our pet, with an open bar all night, I had nothing but Coke, and was only slightly kicking myself that the wedding wasn't three months earlier.

This does not mean that I'm cured, nor does it mean that I can quit. Not in the least. But I'm encouraged. Mental and physical deprogramming is a huge part of recovery, and I do feel like that part of my life is in the past.

Feels kind of good to have some tangible evidence that I may just be as hardcore as I've been convincing myself that I am...

Motor Memory

2011-10-05T13:29:00.002-04:00

I am humbled thinking about the persistence of memory: the thoughts that poisoned, the actions that enabled, the symbiosis of the two...it's all
there, no matter how much work I put in to get over it. My battles to reclaim myself from myself have been incredibly difficult. The pain runs deeper than I ever could have realized, informing my thoughts still.

But it's getting better, and I'm working on it. In spite of the sway that motor memory can hold...

Feeling Good is Good Enough

2011-10-02T16:10:00.000-04:00

37 days clean. And I'm finally getting a bit of clarity with distance, and finally putting a period on one chapter of a life.

First of all, I am so incredibly fortunate on so many levels. Fortunate to have such a great support system in place. Fortunate to have insurance and a spectacular counselor. Fortunate to have this great self-awareness that I've always had that allowed me to as usual check myself out, be honest with myself and then get to work on fixing myself. Fortunate that I was able to take all these steps and that the worst my rock-bottom got was a crash of confidence and a shit-ton of embarrassment, rather than tickets, arrests or deaths.

Fortunate to be here typing this and looking on.

I'm starting to look better: not nearly as bloated as I was. And I'm starting to feel better: confidence coming back, no issues with my recovery, no desire to go back. I was around no shortage of my favorite cheap plonk in a social setting last night: normally a recipe for extreme coping for me. Not a drop, and I did fine. There are two Shipyard Pumpkinheads in the fridge: one of my favorite autumn tastes ever. I bought 'em for the wife and have no desire to crack one. Head is reprogramming, body is reprogramming. Spirit is a work in progress. But still...

It feels really good to feel kinda good after feeling so bad for so long.

C Sucks

2011-09-26T19:44:00.000-04:00

Too many Cs floating around lately. To wit:

Cough and Cold, which are currently wracking my body into pieces
Cats: two new five-month old sisters, both of whom have the energy and persistence of a meth addict, and the incumbent, whom we’ve had for almost eight years and is less than thrilled to have the new interlopers invading her turf
Compassion: which I have an endless supply of, and an endless capacity to try to use it to save the world, make it all better and take away the pain of everyone I care about. And I have no idea how to even think of how to take care of me, as a result.
Crazy: my new work situation, with at least half of the processes I rely on daily moved out of the building to Carolina. As a result I am feeling quite crazy of late.
Clean: staying so in the midst of all these other swirling Cs and their evil voices to get me to “Cope” like I used to
Cs involving certain reproductive organs that I can’t really get into and can’t really face. See Crazy and multiply many times to see what this is doing to me.

I really don’t like C. Really. Can I move on to D?

Also

2011-09-22T20:48:00.001-04:00

Most of you who check in here know me well enough to realize that my gallows humor and shit-flipping bitchery are getting me through this, and I would expect nothing less from you all. Nothing is off the table: no joke about Moi the Lush is out of bounds, no bragging about how great your margarita(s) was is too much...just treat me like the hackneyed drunken writer cliche that I am. All good.

59 Times The Pain

2011-09-22T12:01:00.002-04:00

Sad, Depressed, Physically, Mentally and Emotionally Exhausted...that's me.

Hi.

I'm not allowing myself to spiral into the depths that I've lately "enjoyed", and I still have zero desire to drink. But the weight of maintaining myself is seriously getting to me. Hypersensitivity, fear of my words and my control over them, fear of hurting, fear of being misunderstood. Nothing new, really, I've been fighting these demons my whole life. But it's way more pronounced now as body and brain go through the detox and reprogramming process. Some days, like today, it's all I can do to drag myself out of bed, go through the motions and not give in to the paralyzing fear that I'm not going to make it. I would never hurt myself or anyone else, but I'm so afraid of interacting with anyone, lest I say
something that might possibly be misconstrued as hurtful. And yet I need to be surrounded by my kind, loving, caring friends more than ever now. And I
need to vent, but I don't want to come off like a whining, panty-wearing oh-so-sensitive darling. Where the hell is the balance in life? Where am i?

Am I doing okay? Am I okay? Will I be?

Patience is a Virtue I Sometime Have

2011-09-11T19:26:00.000-04:00

Hypersensitive emotional weekend. All I can think is that it must be a result of bod and brain going through such cataclysmic changes. Which is good, but not really when I'm going through it. I know I'm putting in the effort and I know that this too shall pass. Still, right now I can't help feeling that I'm damaged goods and that I've pushed everybody I care about away for good. Really, this is the beginning of a long road of reclaiming and rebuilding myself, and my true friends will be there and have been there. But I just want normal now...

Friends and Countrymen

2011-09-08T17:14:00.000-04:00

I need friends. I need MY friends.

I have such a great support system, and I rely on the friends within. But it's mostly virtual.

I need friends to get through this massive life upheaval.

I need my friends in NYC, and Austin and Dallas, and St. Louis and Chicago, and LA and Seattle all in the same place. I need a house full of good food and big laughs, comfort and comraderie and hugs and support.

But it's hard enough to nail down time for dinner with friends I live ten miles away from...

Tired

2011-09-06T18:06:00.000-04:00

Eastern Prom, Portland, car windows open to the Atlantic in spite of a few drops. Got an hour plus until meeting my addiction counselor. Figured I'd come here and try to clear my head, since going to a bar would kinda not be such a hot idea.

I. Am. So. Tired. Tired of trying to stay looking forward. Tired of sneaking looks backwards at all my shame. Tired of trying so desperately hard to be better. Tired of hoping that people may realize that I'm not a total flake. Tired of trying. I have no patience right now, and I just want to be at zero. Back to "normal." Not struggling and feeling miserable.

But I have a long way to go before this agony gets better...

Crashing, Not Burning

2011-09-05T12:23:00.000-04:00

I'm an emotional wreck today: sad, sad, sad, touchy, hyper-sensitive, overwhelmed.

But no desire to drink. And a strong determination to not continue spiraling further or engage in my usual self-sabotage. Progress? Maybe?

Baffling for Breakfast

2011-09-04T10:58:00.000-04:00

Okay, so maybe this forum will become the recovery journal to an extent. My audience is minimal, and it's certainly better to pour it all out - which I feel the need to do - here rather than a bunch of meepy passive-aggressive Facebook statuses.

This is hard. So hard. I am walking emotional wreckage.

Seeing all my demons, coming to terms with how they affected me and others, the mortification of it all...a life of self-sabotage and kicking my own stall door open.

As my counselor has said, this is not a death sentence, and it doesn't have to get worse. And that's so true, and I am taking the necessary steps to change, get better, BE better.

Because I don't ever want to be like I was and have been again...

Ruminations

2011-09-03T21:11:00.000-04:00

Holy Shit! THIS IS MY LIFE!!!

I Am a Rock

2011-09-02T20:25:00.000-04:00

I am alone.

I have the most loving, caring, supporting wife, family and friends I could ever hope for, and I am reaching out as much as I know how.

But ultimate, I am alone. I am the only one that knows my pain and struggles. I am the only carrier of my demons. I am the only one that can purge the toxins and get back to some semblance of normal.

I have done it before, and will rise again. But I can only rely on myself, and I'm struggling with how to do so when I am my own worst council.

I am never alone.

But I

Am

Alone...

Spirals II

2011-09-02T15:36:00.002-04:00

Major tailspin day today, but I am staying ahead of it, NOT allowing myself to spiral out of control and NOT drinking it away.

Endings are really Beginnings...Endings are really Beginnings...Endings are really Beginnings...

Spirals

2011-08-31T10:53:00.000-04:00

So I’m five days out of detox.

ME.

That is such an utter mindfuck to say. But damn, it feels good. I am at peace in heart and soul. And now I will find peace in my head.

I’ve learned so much. About myself and my demons, about how strong my support system is and about how strong I am to be able to pull myself back
from the edge and change. And I am so thankful for it.

I’ve learned about the power of my anxiety: the debilitating anxiety resulting from being mercilessly bullied and never being able to feel like
I could fit in or trust that I could be liked and accepted. And how the drink silenced the anxiety and made me okay.

And then it didn’t.

And then the drink heightened the anxiety, sending me into spirals of fear: fear of being misunderstood, fear of saying the wrong thing the wrong way,
fear of hurting people, fear of pushing people away and being alone, never mind that I KNOW now that I am loved and accepted and I am the happiest and
most secure I’ve ever been in my life.

Fear of living a self-fulfilled prophecy.

It’s all over now. I fear the work ahead to stay clean and purge the demons. But I’m not afraid of me anymore. And with that I am fucking untouchable.

Chwennah-Chwennah-Chwennah'fo Hours to Go-oh-oh

2011-08-25T22:33:00.000-04:00

Jesus.

24 hours from right now I will be at the beginning of a three-day inpatient detox.

I don't know that I've ever been more shit-scared, mortified or flat-out sad about anything ever in my life.

Nor have I ever been more relieved, excited and optimistic.

But I have to get through the first half first...

Firsts, Lasts and Nexts

2011-08-24T19:28:00.000-04:00

So basically it's come to this: one is good, ten is better, none is best.

First session with my new addiction counselor today. She has recommended a three-day inpatient detox, and I'm going to set it up tomorrow, hopefully for after work on Friday, since I can't take any time off the next two days. I'm not entirely surprised, as I've been spiraling out of control for a while, and I'm alternately relieved and excited to get control back.

But fucking HELL, I'm going to rehab!

Me! I've become a cliche! The drunken writer. I would never write such a hackneyed script. But there it is.

I'm thinking a lot of the firsts and lasts now. I'm having my last bottle of Malbec now, tomorrow night will be my last night of drinking ANYthing good ever again. And I'm terrified of the firsts: what will the first Thanksgiving without a perfectly paired wine course (and then another); first time visiting the in-laws and having to decline; first football Sunday without my tailgating fare... I'm basically looking at reprograming my entire fucking life.

GAAHHH!!!

But I can do it. I'm hardcore. I've done it before. And I'll do it again.

Because I have no choice.

Because I love life.

Because I love MY life.

Because I love me.

Here we go.......

The Week That Was

2011-08-12T20:51:00.001-04:00

What I learned this week:

1. How utterly unaware of my past I am, how weak, vulnerable and human I can be and how hardcore and resilliant I am to be able to accept all of the above, make right with myself and others and put in the work to do better.

2. My wife is one hardcore tough broad, kidney stones and the ER suck and recovering from said is hard on all parties.

3. Nearly setting your house on fire is not a recommended course of events.

4. I have the greatest friends and family, in person and online, and I am fucking blessed for it.

I can't remember the last time I had such an educational week! Hope it's a long time before my next.

Words I Hate

2011-08-09T16:59:00.000-04:00

ER
Kidney Stone
Pain
Nausea

It's obviously all worse for her, the actual sufferer of all of the above. But my anxiety is already in irrational hyper-sensitive mode. Not. Helping.

It's too late to turn back, here we go...

2011-08-01T17:21:00.000-04:00

Today made one of the most terrifying and dreaded and, potentially life-changing, phone calls. Something to do with my health and well-being, or lack thereof. Don't know what will come of this, but I'm optimistic. In a shit-scared paralyzed kind of way. More to come...

Revolution Starts at Home

2011-07-23T06:24:00.000-04:00

6:21 AM, Saturday: I am up and at it, editing my life in longhand, and the red pen is flying. I have, on far too many fronts, let myself go completely, and this is no longer acceptable. It's time to take control of my life back. Lots of difficult changes ahead, but I can do it. I'm hardcore.

Optimism, Strength and Discipline. And with this, Revolution.

Home

2011-06-24T09:27:00.000-04:00

Live from a small, creaky ground floor one-bedroom on 20th near 1st. Our hosts are off to and heading off to work, leaving the day ours. And it is definitely mine. I am home. New York, the Fatherland.

Solitude

2011-06-18T22:01:00.000-04:00

Night: I am in bed alone, windows open, listening to street sounds and reading Bukowski. And were it not for the wife downstairs, the mortgage, the paid-for car, the steady paycheck and the absence of two packs of smokes and clouds of depression I could easily be 24 in my Boston brownstone again. Consistancy is non-linear sometimes, but it inevitably follows a direct path.

I've been thinking about solitude and all its connotations lately. I'm at an interesting point of symmetry: I basically spent the first half of my adult life alone, and I have spent the last half happily attached. But where is the middle ground between? And how far on either side do I want to go? I know the answer is not very. And I'm definitely finding healthy ways of stepping out into my own, and it's been very beneficial to do so. Still, it's hard to find a balance.

It's nice to be suspended between, though...

Lifting

2011-06-13T21:07:00.000-04:00

It's getting a little better. Time provides distance from the epicenter, perspective returns, the negative feedback loop softens, I realize what I can and can't take on alone.

Doesn't stop me from taking on as much as I can alone, of course, but I'll take newfound perspective...

Torpor

2011-06-12T15:20:00.001-04:00

Hi, I'm Beer for Breakfast and I'm Depressed!

I have lived with diagnosed clinical depression for eleven years now. Over this time, medication and therapy have allowed me to live a 90% normal life, free of the unchecked neurosis that rendered me basically incapacitated for most of my twenties. And I have come to be greatly at peace with this quirk of my DNA: I'm okay, it's an errant synapse and nothing I did or didn't do, and I'm certainly not alone. Impossible to explain to those that are blessedly depression free, this illness sneaks in and robs the victim of reality, creates feedback loops of negativity and steals away all energy and general well-being. It is a bitch, and it is, after what I went through before getting help, incalculably destructive.

And it can still strike, even when one is 90% cured as I am, as I discovered this past week...

With Surgical Focus...

2011-05-08T19:44:00.000-04:00

You know that amazing feeling when you spend a few days working on an idea, feeling it whispering but not fully screaming at you, and you put it away for a few days, then it yells at you over two days and you stay with it until it's done and you can walk away and let it go out to the world? It's a beautiful thing.

Watch this space...

In a New York Minute

2011-05-01T18:11:00.000-04:00

The windows are open and the smell of grilling wafts in on the fresh, sweet air. The spring sun slants into my eyes on the way down for the evening and Wayne Shorter and McCoy Tyner are blowing hot jazz on the juke. The Times is spread out on the floor, read and absorbed.

And for whatever inexplicable reason it’s all making me desperately nostalgic for New York, and specifically, although none of my current sensory stimulations apply to it, the Brooklyn of my grandmother’s apartment and my Saturday Night Fever youth.

Damn, nostalgia – and faux-nostalgia – is a bitch.

Emerging

2011-04-22T08:36:00.000-04:00

Things are happening.

Incredible, amazing things are happening. I have – and am – a medium. People are talking to me, scenes are unfolding. Situations are presenting themselves and answers are following questions.

I am writing.

Finally, writing like I always suspected I could. Finally writing like a writer with a megaphone in the town square and a literary future ahead. Finally writing with passion and obsession and fire, completely immersed in each piece like my life depends on it, then moving on and becoming completely immersed in the next piece like my life depends on it.

Writing like I’m coming into my own and discovering my muses.

Writing like a writer…

Here, There and Everywhere

2011-04-09T20:42:00.000-04:00

Man, what a ride of late.

My dear friend Jess and I have launched this site, and it has been such an incredible, liberating, soul-searching-and-discovering experience. Through this work, I’m finding a voice, and forcing myself to flesh it out. And it is good, friends and countrymen. It is very good.

This winter has officially kicked my ass into a quivering pool of mush. But it now, FINally, appears to be over, as I sat out on my porch in shirt-sleeves today and had my first cigar of the year. I wait for this moment yearly: normally I try to wait for the Kentucky Derby, but I find myself so shell-shocked from this winter that I had to take the plunge today. And yes, I chose wisely.

My A-Dub is kicking some ass in her first semester of grad school, over two decades removed from the pedagogical life. I am unspeakable proud of her and her accomplishments, and somewhat envious. Maybe after she finishes, I’ll actually get A degree of some kind. Maybe…

Of course I went to music school, dropped out with solid Cs and still managed to sell out the House of Blues on a Tuesday night and record with punk-rock luminaries and share stages with the gods, so I guess I did alright in my previously chosen field…

And do we stay in our house, which we love, and re-fi? Or move back to Portland,
which we love, and out of our neighborhood and commute, which we hate?

So there’s a metric shit-ton of contemplation fodder of late. We will figure it out, and we will be okay. But it’s going to be quite the journey to get there…

Centennial

2011-03-25T20:08:00.000-04:00

I’ve been to the site. On a day similar to what it must have been like that day. It’s an incongruous spot: blink and you’ll miss it. Even if you know what you’re looking for, it’s easy to miss. Nothing out of the ordinary, no plaque or memorial, nothing stopping the ebb-and-flow of NYU students and passers-by in and out of Washington Square.

Nothing that says 146 people died here.

Nothing at the site says “this was 9/11.” But it was.

R.I.P.

The Ides

2011-02-19T20:54:00.002-05:00

The Ides, they are upon me. Happens every year, from late February through the greening of late April. I have kicked the hell out of depression in my life, but I haven't been able to kick seasonal depression. March is the epicenter: the warming sun and the icy wind, the blinding bright sky and the painful contrasting shadows, the filthy exhaust-laden snow...and then the brown, the all-pervasive technicolor of bare lawns (what can be seen beyond those stubborn snow piles, of course), the brown and bare tree limbs... I am more happy, stable, balanced and optimistic then I have ever been. But the Ides still kick my ass. I shall do my best to remain the font of cupcakes and roses that I am, but it's gonna be a tough slog...

To Do, or Not To Do

2011-01-22T07:47:00.001-05:00

7:25 of a Saturday morning in January. Incredible sunrise, muted blues and reds over the hills, gold hitting the church. Temperature is 10, wind chill -2, and I’m disappointed that it’s not much colder. This is real deal winter; deeply a part of my essence. I’m embracing it and loving it.

Once again, time to sort the piles of mental detritus that have been building over the week. Cleaning the house: not too bad, mostly sweeping, dusting and straightening. Lots of laundry, but there always is. Plenty of food in the house, so no worries there. I’ll need to spend some more time figuring out the discrepancy between my Year to Date wages and my W2, but I’ll probably need to track down someone in payroll on Monday (oh, and payroll has been relocated out of my building in Maine to Salisbury – very convenient business, that).

And then there’s the hoarder room…

I suppose every homeowner has one, to some level. That room where you just kind of throw the pile of bills on the counter when company comes over and swear that you’ll get to the bills right after company leaves. Well, ours has become a slightly larger deal than one pile of bills. And it needs to be cleaned out, as we now need an actual study room for the newly minted MBA girl. The question is figuring out how much I can tackle today vs. tomorrow.

Because as part of cleaning out the hoarder room, I also have three bookshelves to assemble, and books to pack up from the hoarder room and arrange in the newly assembled bookshelves. From there, it’s cleaning out and weeding out the basement. Then starting the packing process. Then getting a storage space and moving six years worth of life over to the storage space piecemeal. Then while all this is happening, dedicating time to my writing business, my new creative writing venture(s), getting to that pile of bills that (re)started the hoarder room..

7:45 of a Saturday morning in January. Better get to. Maybe after another French press…

Moonlight Feels Dynamite

2011-01-15T15:50:00.002-05:00

Okay, I love this song. Being a child of the AM ‘70s, Moonlight Feels Right is practically DNA for me. Of course now we live in a much more enlightened, progressive age, in terms of record production, instrumentation and, yes, wardrobe. Thus, the Starbuck experience feels just a wee bit dated.

By which I mean what a bewildering nightmare the ‘70s were! Let’s analyze, shall we? (Okay, we shall!)

Band Name

Huh? Starbucks world infestation…er, domination was at least fifteen years away in 1975. Where did the name Starbuck come from? Perhaps somebody in the band was slurring “Sears and Roebuck” after one too many Seven and Sevens?

“We can get the band pichsures done at Starbuck!”
“Hey, that would be a dynamite band name!”

Singer

That ridiculous golf-caddy cap is too easy. Start with the delivery. Have you ever seen a more disinterested front-man? Like ever? Sure, you can’t get up and throw your keyboard around, but there is no sign of life save for the frantic leg scissors underneath and the occasional head nod, eyebrow uplift and bewildering chuckle before each chorus. I suspect Quaaludes. With the occasional twitch when the bumps kick in.

Okay, and if Sears and Roebuck had a Scarface ensemble, that would be it.

Marimba

Well, the 70s were rough all over, but it must have been an especially dire time for marimba players. Tito Puente’s career was dead, and it would be twenty years before his revival thanks to The Simpson’s. Judging by that full-on beard, I’m guessing Mr. Marimba was turned down by Molly Hatchet.

And sorry, Sir: you will no doubt be hearing from Gene Simmons demanding that cat suit back. Good luck with that.

Bass
The Dutch Boy jumps off the paint can and goes to the prom.

Drummer
Settle down, white boy.

And so the rise of Starbuck: the age of the Moog synth, the dead drum sound, the heinous inhumanly colored bell-bottoms, the chest hair… We’ve come a long way. Feels Right.

Characters

2011-01-12T19:06:00.000-05:00

Thoughts jagging, hurtling, running down myriad dead ends. Non-linear ADD once again. I think half the problem - and it's a huge problem for a supposedly aspiring writer - is that I've unwittingly conditioned myself to think in minute bursts of trivial ephemera. 140 characters for a Tweet, 420 for a Facebook status. I'm always all for condensing my writing, but too much thought condensing isn't good. Must get into mental longhand mode if I'm ever going to scribe my way into literary self-sufficiency.

The above is 422 characters without spaces, 505 characters with spaces. It's a start....

Starbucks is Creeping my Ass Out

2011-01-06T18:31:00.000-05:00

Actual blog posts on Starbucks.com in honor of their newly tweaked logo:

"Let’s go all the way back to 1971, to when Starbucks was first coming to be. In a search for a way to capture the seafaring history of coffee and Seattle’s strong seaport roots, there was a lot of poring over old marine books going on.

yaarrr, maytey!

"Suddenly, there she was: a 16th century Norse woodcut of a twin-tailed mermaid, or Siren. There was something about her – a seductive mystery mixed with a nautical theme that was exactly what the founders were looking for.

Really?

"But the Siren has always been there. She is at the heart of Starbucks.

Oh, I thought it was upcharging...

"As a writer, though, I can tell you that there is a lot more to her than just the design and how she looks. This is what she means to me, and to us.

"She is a storyteller, carrying the lore of Starbucks ahead, and remembering our past. In a lot of ways, she’s a muse –always there, inspiring us and pushing us ahead.

"And she’s a promise too, inviting all of us to find what we’re looking for, even if it’s something we haven’t even imagined yet.

WHO'S WRITING THIS CRAP, JOAN COLLINS?!?!?

"She means something different to every one who sees her, who knows her. For me she’s kind of the final say on the spirit of everything I write and everything we do. Even as I’m writing this, I wonder what she thinks. (She likes it, by the way.)

NOW we've crossed over into a whole new dimension of disturbing...

"Here we are today. Our new evolution liberates the Siren from the outer ring, making her the true, welcoming face of Starbucks.

Steve M., senior writer

I need a shower...

Evolution to Revolution...or something like that

2011-01-02T16:26:00.000-05:00

New Year, clean slate, turn the page. Blahbity blahbity. I’m not one for making grand proclamations about how I’m going to revolutionize my life on a dime and completely transform from the wayward wretch I was at 11:59:59 on 12/31/10. I’ve spent enough of my life setting myself up for failure, thank you. But I do want to evolve for the better. That much I can say, and there are areas I will be addressing. Revolution (Evolution?) starts at home.

Hope you’re all heading for positive evolution as well. Keep me posted…

Boxing Day Ruminations

2010-12-27T19:42:00.002-05:00

Yeah, so it snowed a little bit. You may have heard.

The day started without power at the office, but I was already resigned to staying in (it was, after all, a state of emergency). Tried to get my head together about all the life changes swirling about of late, but of course my head is still apart and I'm now sore from mad shoveling. Best laid plans, and all...

Oh, LIFE! So much to figure out! To wit:

1. A-Dub becoming a Grad Student
2. Finding a second car to accommodate the Grad Student and her Grad Student schedule
3. Fixing the house up
4. Putting the house on the market
5. Getting the house sold
6. Finding an apartment in Portland
7. Moving
8. Figuring out what the hell I'm doing with my life
9. Finding time and inspiration to put fingers to keys and submissions in mail
10. Looking after health and well-being
11. Breathing, etc.

I'm really excited, though. We're so over our commute, neighborhood, everything, and greatly looking forward to returning to city life: walking everywhere, easy access to stuff, etc. Love the house like crazy, though, and I'm sick about leaving it behind. And daunted about the work to come.

Everything evens out eventually, and all I can do is take care of what's in my control and try not to sweat what's not in my control. That's a tall order, but I'll figure it out and deal. Eventually. Somehow, someway...right?

I could use another day off....

Landmarks

2010-12-22T20:27:00.001-05:00

12/22/2010

1. The repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell
2. The passing of the 9/11 First Responders Health Bill
3. The passing of the START Nuculear Treaty

All in one day at the end of a Lame-Duck congress, one that has possibly been the most productive since the Great Society LBJ era.

I am very proud to be an American on a day of such landmark achievement.

Glow

2010-12-18T20:14:00.002-05:00

You all know I'm a softie. So yes, I'm very fortunate for days like this. The Homestead, flipping shit and laughing like maniacs with my parents, wife, bro and life-long family friends, lots of wine and great grub, the woodstove cranking heat, woodsmoke hazing over the fields, the ghostly silence of the chill country night, a gorgeous tree...I have a wonderful life.

Cranky piss-pants Cube boy will be back on Monday, probably...

My New England Essence

2010-12-12T20:54:00.000-05:00

Once again, from a distance of half a century, E.B. White sums up my thoughts completely. Hello Winter.

A Report in January

Allen Cove, January 30, 1958

Margaret Mitchell once made a remark I have treasured. Someone asked her what she was "doing," and she replied, "Doing? It's a full-time job to be the author of Gone With the Wind." I remembered this cheerful statement this morning as I lay in bed, before daylight, marshaling in my head the problems and projects and arrangements of the day and wondering when I would again get a chance to "do" something - like sit at a typewriter. I felt a kinship with Ms. Mitchell and comforted myself with the pleasing thought that just to live in New England in winter is a full-time job; you don't have to "do" anything. The idle pursuit of making-a-living is pushed to one side, where it belongs, in favor of living itself, a task of such immediacy, variety, beauty, and excitement that one is powerless to resist its wild embrace.

Leaving

2010-11-28T22:27:00.000-05:00

Sad.

Sad to be leaving Seattle. Sad to be leaving my dear inlaws. Sad to be leaving all MY Seattle spots. Sad at all we didn't get to do this visit. Sad not knowing when we'll be back.

It was a spectacular visit, and I'm so blessed for it.

Which makes leaving so goddamn hard...

Thanks

2010-11-25T21:50:00.000-05:00

My Wife
My SIL and her man
My MIL and Step-FIL
A 23 Lb. Bird
Conventional Gravy
Giblet Gravy
Stuffing in bird
Stuffing outside of bird
Stuffin' Muffins
Cranberry Sauce
Mashed
Candied Yams
Pumpkin Pies
Gewurztraminer
Chardonnay
Riesling
Belgian Ales
Other Ales
Laughs and Love

Said it before, Say it again: I am one lucky motherfuck.

Snowbound

2010-11-23T00:16:00.000-05:00

in Seattle?!? Seriously?!? 2" at least today, and the town has shut down completely. And understandably so, considering the ice, wind and Seattle hills. Incredible. Very cozy day, watching the snow and COPS reruns. And the high tomorrow will be 28? Is this Maine? Jeeeesus.

I need another beer...

Jet City Dispatch

2010-11-20T15:08:00.001-05:00

Live from the Westlake Mall, 4th and Pine, Seattle. It's a Saturday morning and I'm killing a few minutes trying to figure out my next move while the wifey is off with old friends. Got a window food court seat right next to the monorail station: front row view of all the monorailists. Buncha tools. Then again I'm sitting here with a fucking McIced, which is a new precident of low and vulgar in itself. So never mind. What do I want to do? I think a little book hunting. What do I want for grub? Trickier question. Teriyaki yesterday, so that's out. Pho? Indian? Oysters? Other? Better get out there and figure it out. Tips (like never ever get another McIced again) welcome...

Take to the Sky

2010-11-18T20:42:00.001-05:00

I am currently 34,014 feet above Lake Michigan, hurtling toward Seattle at 387 MPH. 4:45 to go on the flight. Temp outside is -66 •F. I am listening to Royksopp, and will later listen to Stan Getz.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?

I'm trying to imagine E.B. White or my current seat companion Jerry Salinger and what they would think of this business. In order to pull a comperable feat, they would have to drag an Underhill onto a DC-9, probably TWA, add a phonograph, and then mail their musings upon landing. Their flight from Maine to Seattle would likely take twice as long, and they would be smoking the entire haul. They would definitely not have HBO like I currently do. In. Credible. All I have to do is punch the buttons and hit Post.

They definitely didn't have a Post icon, either.

What an age we live in...

Tawny

2010-10-23T21:18:00.002-04:00

Steinbeck's Tawny Light of Autumn was prevalent today. Gorgeous drive to the Homestead, half the scenery resplendent gold, half already gone. Stick season come early. We had beef stew and lots of Burgundy, and lots of laughs around table and woodstove. Great to be in such a great place with family and friends, finally. I'm a lucky lad.

Two Days in October

2010-10-11T14:47:00.000-04:00

Autumn in Vermont

2010-10-09T14:59:00.001-04:00

Live from Burlington! I'm at the Vermont Pub & Brewery, with a Handsome Mick's Smoked Stout before me, along with the rest of the afternoon. Just had a spectacular Turkey & Bacon with Vermont Cheddar and Granny Smith slices on a grilled ciabatta, and gravy fries await. Very happy now - one of my favorite places in the world during my favorite season with my favorite and only sweet patootie.

Dudley Moore has been dug up and planted on the patio with a Witte! Can't wait to see what else I'll see the rest of the day. More to come...

Look Ma, No Wires!

2010-10-07T19:18:00.000-04:00

This is a first. I am tapping out this dispatch on my CrackBerry while hurtling north on the Maine Turnpike at 70. As Maynard G. Krebs (the G stood for Walter) would say, what an age we live in!

Fabulous dinner with fabulous company, self-styled three day weekend ahead, Freyburg Fair tomorrow night, Vermont on Saturday. Life is peachy keen. And I am now a phone blogger. Jesus!

I feel stabby! Oh so stabby!

2010-09-07T18:04:00.002-04:00

On hold with Chase being numbed by the most pitiful jive-ass smooth jazz fuzak bullshit imaginable. I'm getting jerked off, and I'm not even paying for it.

I'd grab a cheese grater to shave off my nut hairs - much more pleasant and distracting experience that would be - but they do value the opportunity to service me....apparently......

Transitory

2010-09-03T21:11:00.000-04:00

Three-day weekend, four-day week, five-day weekend. I can't even express how needed this is.

I.

Am.

Spent.

Mentally, physically, scorched earth. So much so that I'm giving in to it and not taking care of myself: I'm all too often in fuck-it mode lately; food on the run if at all, one more beer, no gym, three more beers... Not good.

But spiritually I am wide awake and so alive. Dear friends and family, new opportunities and adventures, new chances to get my shit together. New season ahead - a slight bite in the breeze, the sense of transition in the air, the tinge of woodsmoke growing more prevalent.

I hope to be buoyed by this spirit. Revolution starts at home, and I lead the charge.

Right? Right.

Ummm

2010-08-22T18:27:00.000-04:00

Yeah, I was saying about keeping the fingers moving?

Well, they have been, but not here. I still do love this blog, though. And in that spirit, here's a re-run! Nine years ago today - extremely memorable day in my life. It wen't a lil' sumtin' like this...

Title: Sometimes we're nuts.

Day Two of the Buttfucked by Ryder Tour 01: Have you ever pushed 80-85 in a 10' Ryder through the deserted night of Montana? It's an experience that should be jumped on.

Fifteen hours in a Ryder, at least twelve in Montana (sic). Yeah, it happened, and it went down something like this...we left Moses Lake, WA at 7:50 a.m. PST, wired on gas station 'ccino and '60s bubblegum/'80s cheeze wiz radio. The miles rolled on and Eastern Washington State got kinda booring. Little did we know what was ahead. Idaho: Beautiful at first. The downside of Lookout Pass, very steep and winding. Nothing but Jeezo Radio, a "wholesome alternative to secular radio." Fucking booring, looks like the scenery at Big Thunder Mountain at Disney. Western Montana: LoLo National Forest. Very green and hilly, trains passing under mountains monogramedwith the town name (Alberton had a 200-odd foot "A" landscaped into the side of a mountain). Missoula: Americana outpost on the flats. Target, Best Buy, Hardees, a sushi joint (sic). Lunch at Perkins: crewcut/moustache service with a flat, laconic twang ("Ho's it gon' for y'todey?"). Hot but dry, a soft haze looming above the vast plains and monogramed mountain. Butte to Bozeman: The Rockies. Lewis & Clark territory. Winding downhill through jagged peaks and scrub-brush. Sun descending over the hills and far away smoke from Wyoming forest fire. As darkness fell on the way to Billings, the quest to make Miles City, MT was agreed upon. I picked up the wheel at a truck stop somewhere before Billings. Two things hit me at that outpost on the darkened plain. A: I was totally out of place for not wearing a cowboy hat. B: Just how far from home I was, geographically, mentally, and otherwise. But it's good to have that kind of opportunity for shift in perspective, and I'm certainly better for it. So I loaded up on 'ccino and prepped for the drive...made industrial refinery Billings and crossed over onto 94E, pushing 75-80-85 in a 10' Ryder (Mortimer) across the deserted night of Montana. Exhilerating, liberating. Felt like Neil Cassidy. Construction delays, grooved roads, not a soul competing for highway space. Pulling over to see the stars, the Milky Way hovering brighter than I've ever known in the Big Sky night. Pulled into Miles City on an empty tank at 11:30-ish MST. Fucking unreal: 15 hrs, 3 states, nearly all of Montana in one day. Total insanity on the plains.

Motel 6 has been good to us thus far...

A bit of nothing in order to force myself to keep the fingers moving on the keys...

2010-03-28T15:29:00.000-04:00

Blank page, blank mind. Blank Sunday. I'm moving the fingers, at least, and with that, something is developing. I have no idea what, but there is a little more black on the page now. Effort = results = pride in progress. Or so I've been telling myself for lo these 13 years.

Great long A-Dub birthday weekend. We cruised to Portland on Friday for lunch at Bull Feeney's, tripped a bit through the Old Port, back home for reading and crashing and margs at Margs. Splitting wood in a brilliant, brisk spring day that owed much more to late October than late March yesterday, laughs and love with the 'rents, a muted smoky sky on the way home. And now here and now and nothing of worth to report.

But I'll keep trying...

Keep on moving, don't stop...

2010-03-20T14:54:00.000-04:00

So long Winter, literally and figuratively. It's WARM today: 70s for the first day of Spring. Makes the sepia landscape and bare trees a little easier to take. I'm full of BBQ and ice cream, and starting to be full of a decent Cuvee Blanc. A bit windy for the porch, but I shall try it again in a few. So far, so good.

In the meantime, I'm going to piss off with impunity. For a bit. It's been a full-court press on the business front of late, and I've got some solid leads. The seeds are starting to blossom. Work hard, get rewarded hard eventually. It's an amazing time: my goal of retiring from the cube on 09/12/12 is actually realistic. I'm going for it! This is the overtime-rich portion of my life. Knowing that it's going to pay off makes the work not work. Not a bad thing.

Blather, blah, feh. Must make more effort to keep the fingers moving creatively, though. Here is today's attempt...

A Report for 02/06/10

2010-02-06T18:15:00.000-05:00

And the winter continues on its way, and we continue on our way and the twain intersect and complement each other and kick each other in the ass and take no prisoners. Lots of work turmoil, lots of car turmoil, lots of house turmoil.

But we’re together and happy.

I love the Long Winters and all the challenges that befall our path for them. Something about a Maine winter that makes survival itself a badge of honor. We’re going through it now. Not nearly as much snow as the past few years, nor as spine-numbing cold, but still a hard winter.

And we’re making it.

I’m comfortably middle-aged now, and even if I’m not even remotely secure, I’m still more secure than I’ve ever been. And with that I can winter well.
Good to be here, finally.

The Winter of Our Contentment (Steinbeck meets Jack Bruce!)

2009-12-09T16:02:00.000-05:00

Let it SNOW, friends and countrymen! The first major nor'eastah of the year is here. Left the office at 1:00, got home at 3:00 - normally a 50 minute commute. It's coming down like a banshee now, and after shoveling the driveway and a scalding shower, I'm inside drinking a cold one and watching the winter wonderland. Christmas is coming, the car is paid off, the house is warm, my wife and best friend is three feet to my right and the world carries a lovely glow. It's great to be home, finally.

Pablum

2009-11-28T17:51:00.000-05:00

I'm probably going to the oh-life-is-so-great-and-aren't-you-just-FAScinated-by-it well a bit too much lately, but fuckit: that's where I'm at. We just finished a CD of Christmas carols performed by an unidentified British choir, with organ and everything. This was the soundtrack to me cooking and devouring steak frites with a shallot cream reduction and a perky Cab/Shiraz.

Have I mentioned that ten years ago I was fucking up dough in a can? And going to bed on the floor of my room in my crack-house full of roomates?

Oh, late '30s, how I love you.

Thanksgiving 2009

2009-11-26T08:23:00.001-05:00

Gatdaymnit, I'm thankful for everything and everyone. The End.

Nibbles and Bites

2009-11-16T19:14:00.000-05:00

A major drive on the writing empire building front: I've made the leap from prospecting freelancing graphic designers and advertising agencies to prospecting Fortune 500s. This is a huge point of transition. I'm jumping from practically nonexistent entity to competent agency with a national presence. On a dime, no net.

Shit!

I'm actually not letting the doubt get to me, though. I had never written a four letter direct mail campaign before I did it (twice) for a major environmental non-profit. I had never written web copy for a community college in Michigan or an orthodontist in LA before I did it. So it's all new, and all good and I can handle it.

Really...

No, seriously..............

right????

Friends and Family

2009-11-07T08:45:00.000-05:00

Eleven friends, old and new, circling a table loaded with 'cue and drink last night.

Warm sits around the woodstove with my parents, the 200 year old farmhouse alive with the glow of wine and laughter.

Everyday adventures with my wife and best friend.

Now as I'm ten years removed from the point where I emerged from my solitary 20s, I realize just how amazing my life is now. Not perfect by a long shot, but compared to where I was ten years ago? No comparison. It's a great place to be.

Bleak House

2009-11-02T19:44:00.000-05:00

Nano yet again, first time since '05. Last time I had a clue going in. Not this time. Should be an interesting ride.

November has arrived, with unseasonable warmth and bright skies. And it's all wrong. Give me gray, give me bleak and morose, and bare limbs stabbing the steel sky. Give me snow! Otherwise, it might as well be...well, not November.

Soon...

Heart of the Sunrise

2009-10-27T20:05:00.000-04:00

Hudson River School mornings of late. There have been more than a few mornings lately in which the sunrise over the river has been something out of a Thomas Cole. This has been a breathtaking autumn, and I'm very happy to be at such a great point in life, where I can appreciate it all.

We follow the river in the morning, the Androscoggin, the same river Stephen King and I used to walk home from school. It's been a period of great success on the writing front. I'd like to think there's some symmetry in the sunrise.

Transitions

2009-10-24T10:40:00.001-04:00

The sugar maple out front is bare now, the leaves blanketing the lawn in patchwork red, yellow and orange. Chill mornings, chill evenings, wood smoke wafting across the road every few miles. Pumpkins and Mums have replaced Corn and Rhododendrons at the farm stands, and the school bus regularly thwarts our morning commute. Autumn in New England. Almost winter in New England.

And today a Saturday of wash-out rain and contemplation. It’s the transition season now. Now that the tree is bare, now that morning frost becomes more frequent, now that Halloween is almost gone and Thanksgiving awaits. The pause before the hard facts of winter. Still repose, waiting for the next chapter of the year.

The past few weekends have taken us from the highest point on the Eastern seaboard to the western hills to Rt. 1 from Boston to Portland to home. Fairs and family, grub and grog, spectacular autumn snapshots for posterity. It will take a while for the frames to develop, but I will carry the warm feeling always.

Autumn ending, winter impending. Nothing gold can stay.

A pause for Autumn. And because I can pause.

2009-10-09T09:44:00.000-04:00

Gray, gentle rain impending, chilly. Autumnal. This is all very much welcome: the gray makes the brilliance of the foliage pop and the rain makes planning anything beyond reading and coffee an exercise in futility. I’m on vaca, and for once, I’m actually allowing myself to be on vaca. Flatline blood pressure, not worrying if the house isn’t cleaned before 8:00 AM, not going crazy trying to prospect new clients, NOT thinking about work. I’m drifting, and I’m okay with it.

Do not disturb…

A Day in the Life

2009-09-26T19:33:00.000-04:00

Lingering in bed with strong black fuel, catching up on my pile of New Yorker back-issues.

A spectacular, resplendent early autumn day.

A free oil change.

Going to Lowe’s and getting great advice for upcoming projects.

A sudden detour to find Shiloh Chapel, which was Stephen King’s inspiration for Marsten House in Salem’s Lot, which turned into a guided tour by a delightful Maine couple married 66 years.

L.L. Bean and the new home store.

Beers, sausage and pretzels and fish and chips at the Sea Dog.

A Maker’s Mark cigar and Pinot Noir on the porch.

A hot shower, clean lounging clothes and clean sheets.

Reading classic Spenser and tales of Lighthouse Lore.

Thank you, 9/26/09: you were spectacular.

(un)Clutter Me

2009-09-15T17:12:00.001-04:00

Cluttered space, cluttered mind, cluttered results. Sometimes one just has to un-clutter. I did over the last two days, turning the clutter room back into a sitting room, with an actually visible floor. And whaddya know?!? I’m doing fine without that ATM receipt from O’Hare from 2006, the box of broken stale candy canes from last Christmas and the backlog of Dining In sections from the Times dating back to 2005. I even cut out a few of the recipes I was saving those sections for.

To what result?

Sixty pitch e-mails sent out today, that’s what result. My prospecting method is working, and I’m getting hits as a result, and those hits have led to a good bit of business this year. And I am totally at peace having the clutter room reclaimed for a bit of in-between-work lounging.

Clear space, clear mind, clear results.

Signed contracts can’t be far behind…

What a Day

2009-09-12T21:50:00.000-04:00

Thank you all...all of you...so much. For your thoughts, friendship and love. I can't tell you how much it means, except to say that this may be my best birthday ever, thanks to you.

I am very fortunate.

Silence

2009-09-11T17:48:00.000-04:00

I’ll never forget the silence of that day.

9/12/01

My 29th birthday. The first with my then-girlfriend, now wife. We had arrived at my apartment in suburban Boston sixteen days earlier, fresh off a seven day drive with the contents of her Seattle apartment stuffed into a 10’ Ryder.

Fifteen days into our new life together, the world changed forever. On the 11th we woke up still unemployed and went online. Then we turned on the TV. Then we didn’t go anywhere for hours and hours.

I had already determined to quit smoking on my 29th birthday, the first of my new life. I walked down to the corner store for my last pack of Marlboros, came back and sat on my porch, on the second floor of my apartment in Somerville MA, and chain-smoked myself into oblivion on that crystalline gorgeous day. Silence. Nobody talking about the TV images in the store, nobody on the sidewalks, no traffic down our street.

Finally in the late afternoon we went to the post office, and then the Joshua Tree in Davis Square. The big-screen was on CNN and the waiter encouraged us to drink up. “It’s a national day of crisis!” We did, in a silent half-empty dining room.

On the 12th, we took a Boston Harbor Cruise. We stopped off at the dock bar first, and there were few patrons. The ones that were there stayed glued to the tube silently nursing their drinks. Then we got on the boat.

The cruise to the Harbor Island leads directly under the Logan Airport flight path. A Boston Harbor cruise is often like a Mets game at Shea, with the LaGuardia runway a mere mile away. This was different.

Not a sound.

Of course the FAA grounded all flights in the aftermath of the attacks. I had taken many cruises before, and was used to the deafening sounds of take-offs and landings directly overhead. This time, not a sound. No planes moving, taxiing, arriving or departing. Dead-calm, dead silence.

The kind of silence one hears only once in a lifetime.

We went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory in Cambridge, and the waiter encouraged us to drink up in a silent half-empty dining room. “It’s a national crisis!” he said.

On Friday the 15th, we walked from Davis Square Somerville to Copley Square Boston. At Davis, the compass in the square was completely covered in lit, melting candles. We lit one and moved on.

At Copley, outside H.H. Richardson’s magnificent Trinity Church, the reflecting pool was completely shrouded in candles. We lit one and sat in the early autumnal dark. Silence, save for muffled traffic and one college kid, who quietly played folk songs on an unplugged Gibson hollow-body.

The entombing silence is what I’ll always remember. Shrouding, all-encompassing silence. Like the death-knell that it was. I hope to never hear such absolute silence again in my life.

But it keeps coming back every year this day, and the silence becomes more and more deafening…

Dawn of Something or Other

2008-11-01T08:14:00.000-04:00

Morning found me today. I was awake at 6:something and loving it. I relish the mornings when I'm awake and free enough from obligations to see the sun rise, to note the ever brightening layers of light, to pause before the rest of the world joins the dawn. It's rare that I have these opportunities. Today was good.

An intriguing period of late, one filled with more work than I can bare and the very real loss of work - and recompense thereof - for the other half. We'll know definitively on Wednesday.

And still I'm optimistic and content.

Transitions

2008-09-27T21:49:00.000-04:00

The autumn has arrived, and we've all been caught off-guard.

Seemingly a week ago it was the begining of August and we were preparing for the arrivial of best friends and family and the visitation of family on their turf.

A week ago, in mid-September, the landscape was verdant green and warm. Today the sugar maple out front is a quarter brilliant red, and pockets of red and orange line the commute. In the middle of verdant green.

A hurricane approaches, Kyle, the first for Maine since Bob in '91. Oh, do I remember that one, as I was getting ready for college, and there was swimming in Eric Roy's flooded back yard. Locally, we're getting into the autumn cooking season, with a righteous black-bean soup tonight, and apple cider pork and Octoberfest on the horizon. Woodsmoke permeates and if the temps are still in the '70s, they're dropping overnight and will drop soon for the rest of the year.

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Save for the budding leaves of early May, the heat and recreation of high summer and the frigid snow-banked dead calm of winter, of course. Right now it's the most wonderful time of the year.

I'm glad to be here.

Upon Returning

2008-09-02T20:12:00.000-04:00

We arrived at PWM around 5:15, after ten hours spent in lines, terminals and metal tubes 39,000 feet above the 45th parallel and a decent stretch of Canadian air space. Alas, our luggage decided to linger for a bit at JFK. Word is that our bag will arrive in Maine around 11:45 tonight, and will be delivered sometime, to some address, tomorrow. I hope this is the case: I'd love to get my clothes and kicks back, to say nothing of my shaving implements, and all the wife's toiletries. This, I suppose, is the price paid for a smooth series of flights free from delays - taking away free food and encouraging the American caste system in general by cramming more and more plebes into steerage with just enough leg room to probably avoid deep vein thrombosis and denying access to first class loos just isn't enough, apparently.

Ah, the glory of flight.

Seattle

2008-08-31T01:31:00.000-04:00

I have an extra three hours of time available to me now, since it's 1:34 AM at home to my present 10:34 PM. But I don't know that the world has been set afire as a result. And since I'm waking up three hours later, it's something of a moot point. Either way, it's nice to be back in the Pac NW. East Coast reality hits me hardcore on Tuesday. Maximize the time left...

Get Me to the Airport, Put Me on a Plane

2008-08-27T13:01:00.000-04:00

Hurry Hurry Hurry, Before I Go Insane. Couldn't make it into the cube today, thanks to a sudden and brutal cold. I've been dosing the shit out of it with Airborne, Cepacol and Aleve, (not to mention Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale) hoping to get rid of as much of it as possible before flying cross-country this afternoon/evening. Now I'm just sitting around, listening to Ani DiFranco and waiting to get going.

Next Stop: Seattle.

Coffee Break. Err...Beer Break. Errr....

2008-08-24T15:37:00.000-04:00

One article posted, one more in the works. Simultaniously, paying client work continues at a frentic pace. House cleaning? Packing for Seattle? Laundry? All vague notions that need to be addressed, eventually. But when? And by whom? I shit-sure don't have time now. Yet I must.

I'm really looking forward to September...

Again, Pause

2008-08-20T18:15:00.000-04:00

The hosting duties are over, the house again silent, save for those of us who live here and love it, never mind the crushing mortgage and upkeep. After a week of hosting, the jolt of returning to life as usual is incredibly hard and welcome. It will take a while to process all the mental images, snapshots worth a lifetime that we compiled over the last seven days. A meander up seaside Rt. 1, Bar Harbor and Acadia, The Yorks, Portland Head Light again and as always, insane amounts of BBQ and fresh oysters, beer and wine and love.

In seven days, we do it all over again in Seattle.

Pause

2008-08-10T08:07:00.000-04:00

Sunday Morning, Lou Reed in my head as always, copious amounts of French roast at my side as always. Eye of the storm today. Lay low today. But not really, because there's still plenty to do around the house. And a few errands to run. I'm in repose now before taking care of all these things, because once I get started, it's non-stop. August ends with the alarm at 5:00 AM, 8/11/08.

1. Monday 8/11: 7:00-5:00-ish in the cube; errands after work.
2. Tuesday 8/12: 7:00-5:00-ish in the cube; errands and cleaning after work.
3. Wednesday 8/13: 7:00-3:00-ish in the cube; drive to South Station to pick up in-laws, drive back to Maine.
4. Thursday 8/14: off - hosting in-laws.
5. Friday 8/15: drive to Bar Harbor with in-laws.
6. Saturday 8/16: return from Bar Harbor; continue tour guide duties.
7. Sunday 8/17: tour guide duties continue.
8. Monday 8/18: 7:00-11:00-ish in the cube; day off scheduled since March half cancelled by management.
9. Tuesday 8/19: 7:00-11:00-ish in the cube; day off scheduled since March half cancelled by management.
10. Wednesday 8/20: off, drive in-laws to Manchester for departure flight, drive back to Maine.
11. Thursday 8/21: back to work.
12. Friday 8/22: back to work.
13. Wednesday 8/27: 5:30 flight to Seattle - the in-laws host.
14. Saturday 8/30: attend wedding.
16. Tuesday 9/2: 6:00 AM flight from Seattle.
17. Wednesday 9/3: back to work.

Time for writing: limited, but must be done as I have about 35 more blurbs to complete and auto-publish for client.
Time for prospecting: none.
Time for me: I'll grab some solo time in Seattle, but that's about it.
Time for pause: none until early September.

Save for right now.

Delaying the Inevitable

2008-08-06T21:55:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, neigh-on 10:00 PM. The alarm will be going off in seven hours. I need to try to sleep, but I can hardly bear the thought of dragging upstairs and disconnecting. Because I can't disconnect. Too many stops on my mental jags, my passport hardly stamped. And the fatigue I can't face brings on too many arch metaphors, but I can't get away from that either. I have

too many ideas to formulate and turn into articles and no idea how to start

too many publications to pitch with too many ideas that don't clearly exist yet

too many clients who aren't aware that they will be clients to prospect

too much wallpaper to scrape

too many bills to hack down

too many issues with the day job to address

too much on the plate in general

How do I start? More to the point, how do I stop? How do I shut it down, stop delaying the inevitable and start getting to?

Can't I just suddenly be E.B. White?

Maybe after the alarm goes off and the work day ends I can start to figure it all out...

maybe...

just

maybe....

Ex. Haus. Ted.

2008-08-02T16:21:00.000-04:00

Jesus.

Washed the house.
Scrubbed all the windows in the house.
Four (?) loads of laundry.
Brought one bookcase upstairs (one left to assemble) and filled it with Maine books and appropriate nick-nacks.
Vacuumed, dry and wet Swiffed and then polished the floors.
Dusted.
Scrubbed the cabinets and baseboards.
Cut up lemons and oranges and threw the fruit down the drain (trash compactor) and the rinds in a pot of water for a low four-hour simmer. All-natural air-freshener.
Etc., etc.

I started at 9:00, and basically just finished for good at 4:00 PM. I didn't mow the lawn, because we ran out of gas for the mower. But I got everything else.

I'm going to try to crash for a few now, before our beloved friend Amy arrives from Seattle. Which could be any minute now...

Dispatches from the waning days of a summer I didn't really have after waiting for it all winter

2008-08-01T22:09:00.002-04:00

Friday night closes out another thoroughly bust-ass week in the cube. Laptop is on lap, 2 on in the top of the 10th at Fenway, Miller Lite on the TV tray. I'll be up at 4:00 in the ayemm as the wife leaves to pick up a friend from Seattle at Logan and I get to cleaning the shit out the house. On the agenda:

1. Hose down the house
2. Mow the lawn
3. Clean and polish the floors
4. Straighten and dust
5. Assemble cheap Target bookshelves - aesthetically nice, but chincy as hell: a relative bargin at $20 a pop
6. Laundry
7. Try to crash for a bit

I. Am. Bone. Tired.

But, but, BUT

I also have client work to do, and that is the sustaining tonic right now. It's not paying much, but it's paying steadily. And it's one opportunity that will lead to other opportunities. And eventually to a life outside the cube.

Keep going....

Bienvenue

2008-06-11T19:25:00.000-04:00

Daymn. A week from right now we'll be packing for a weekend in Montreal, a fifth-anniversary weekend, no less. It's going to be an amazing twirl, replete with steak frites, profiteroles and gallons of red vin. Mont-Royal, Rue Ste-Catherine, sunrise, sunset, rooftop deck. It's a world unknown to me, and I can't wait to immerse myself in the mystery.

Much remains uncertain and terrifying on the domestic front for the near future. But I have these moments of escapism to sustain. It's all I need.

A Bit Short of Continiuity

2008-06-05T21:48:00.000-04:00

After twenty-one years, it's Game I Celts/Lakers again tonight. I'm watching, but I'm also drifting away. It all feels just a little bit...off.

Sure, part of it is the inevitable and unfair comparisons with those great old teams. Larry Bird is not walking through that door, and the old Boston Garden is long gone. The new corpro-name Garden has no discernible difference (and therefore edge) over the new corpro-name Forum in LA, or the new corpro-name Chicago Stadium, or the new... And the pre-game and half-time shows are hideous high-volume jokes, replete with all the shit - dancing girls and dancing leprechauns - that would make Red turn over in his grave. (Yes, I sound like an old man. Right now, in this context, I feel like one.)

I watched bits and pieces of quite a few games this year, and I'm quite impressed by the new Big Three, and even more impressed by the unheralded others like Rondo and Perkins. Basketball is as good as it's been since Larry and Magic retired, after a period of awfulness in the '90s, and I greatly enjoy watching this Celtics team. But it's not like when I was fourteen and I could opine not only on Bird/Parish/McHale/Ainge/Johnson, but also benchers like Greg Kite and Rick Carlisle.

I have probably a hundred more cable options now and uncountable millions of online options to draw my attention away. And thanks to ESPN and their bottomless greed (and the spinelessness of the "Commissioner" David Stern to stand up to it), this game is starting at 9:00 PM Eastern, just when I'm fading for bed. If the Office of the Commissioner thinks that TV money is more important than the fan base, I'm fine with fading off and getting some sleep.

And I think a lot of that off feeling relates to the stone-cold fact that I'm not in eighth grade anymore. I've got a day job and a mortgage, $45 fill-ups every four or five days and no summer vacation. Part of the joy of the NBA Finals circa 1987 was that they came during or just before summer vacation, when we would set up shop at my grandmother's farm. The toughest part of the day was finding a car to get to McDonald's, and the evenings brought pick-up games of hoops and wiffle-ball in the sweet country twilight. Tomorrow morning, I will return to the reality of coordinating flyer production for a 170 store grocery chain. Not as much fun as a leisurely day of free-throws, is it?

Put it together and what have you got? A disconnect that leaves me a bit sad and a bit indifferent. Continuity is always getting broken up by life, innit?

Glimmerglass

2008-06-02T20:15:00.000-04:00

It's a night of longing for Cooperstown. The June woodsmoke is lilting through the window, carrying with it the unmistakable motor-memory association with October in Cooperstown. Brilliant foliage. Window shopping on Main St. Walks to our park at the foot of Lake Otsego, along Pioneer St., over to Rt. 80, and back for a sup at the Tunnicliff Inn. World Series time. Our time.

Oh, and there's a decent museum in town, too.

High summer would theoretically be the perfect time to visit this baseball-themed snowglobe, but after the last two years, I associate Cooperstown with the Autumn. Save me a Hennepin when the leaves start to fall.

Freedom

2008-05-26T15:13:00.000-04:00

It’s Memorial Day. Not only am I grateful for a desperately needed three-day weekend, and all the magnificent moments with family and loved ones that resulted, but I’m unspeakably grateful for the sacrifice that allowed me to have this day. I’m unbelievably grateful that the new G.I. Bill passed the House and Senate overwhelmingly, hopefully with a veto-proof majority that will override the gutless scrawl of the pen that the chicken-hawk in charge will apply to the bill. I’m unbelievably grateful that I have the freedom to drink Bud Light in the afternoon of this day and eat watermelon and strawberries and go to the beach if I choose. I’m unbelievably grateful that I can sit at home and devour my volumes of the late grate Mike Royko, who railed so passionately and presciently against another pointless war forty years and many thousands of miles away that I could swear I was still reading his current columns in syndication.

I didn’t make the sacrifices that allowed me this freedom: somebody else did, somebody else’s’ son and brother and daughter and sister. I don’t take that for granted, not for one second.

And beyond all that, it’s still a great day and a great weekend. We don’t have two dimes to rub together, and the nickels we are rubbing together were transferred out of savings. But we have a fridge full of food and drink, a fifth anniversary trip in a few weeks and a hell of a lot of love on both sides of this great country. And with that, I’m untouchable.

Bah

2008-02-15T19:14:00.001-05:00

Right now I've got a very mild touch of the flu, and I feel like absolute pounded shit. So it's rather astonishing to think that ten years ago I would continue my pack-a-day-plus habit throughout a cold, and nine years ago almost exactly I kept my habit through a seven week bout with pneumonia. The thought of inhaling air right now has me on bent knees.

'the faack?

On the other hand, I'm drinking a nice (cheap, but nice - Covey Run) Riesling right now, and I can certainly remember a few nights I can't remember from back then. I've also had nothing but salmon the past two days, and back then it was nothing but subs. Progress or digress? Or neither? Who knows with these things.

Either way, the Reisling is rather lovely.

Schadenfreude

2008-02-10T21:24:00.000-05:00

I’m actually watching the Grammys in their entirety tonight for the first time in probably 19 years, since 1989, when Metallica played and was shut out of the first Best Hard Rock/Heavy Metal album by Jethro Tull. (What? The? Fuck? Actually I’m more disgusted that Jane’s Addiction “Nothing Shocking” lost out. To Jethro Tull. But I digress.) But I have to admit that I’m mostly watching out of a sense of schadenfreude.

It’s great to watch the spectacle of the Major Label Machine, knowing that the Major Labels are now almost totally irrelevant. The times follow and are reflected by technology, and the technology is finally such that the ARTISTS are taking the music business back. I’m thrilled by this inverse of the template: the majors did it to themselves by neglecting A&R, allowing themselves to be subsumed by multinational corporations that saw nothing but bottom lines and embarking on pathetic crusades against technology while completely ignoring the technology themselves. Good riddance.

It’s especially sweet for those of us that were weaned on the teat of indie rock in the ‘80s, those of us that worshiped bands like Sonic Youth, Black Flag, Husker Du and the Minutemen not just for the music, but for the fact that they pioneered the DIY ethos and never relied on The Machine. Those bands did the whole thing themselves: formed their own labels, financed their own albums, toured relentlessly on the cheap and built their own fanbase. And it’s happening again, thanks to the internets. I could not be happier to see the Major Label Industrial Complex die.

That said, the output from the majors isn’t all that bad. Alicia Keye’s “duet” with Sinatra to open the show was terrific. I normally loathe this kind of thing (see Cole, Natalie), but this was great. Alicia "gets" the greatness of Sinatra, and a lot of the kids at the top of the charts today also get the pioneers. (See Jones, Nora.) And I must say, Morris Day still knows what Time it is. Beyonce was and is great. Tina Turner? Eternally fabulous. And Rihana is positively luscious.

When they’re all dropped from their Major Label contracts after the latest cost-cutting shuffle from Corporate, I hope they all find further success. I might suggest doing it themselves.

Coming to Terms

2008-02-05T20:56:00.001-05:00

Nothing will ever be as bad as Game 6 1986. But Sunday night was close. I can't remember another instance since that Saturday night/Sunday morning of October 25th/26th when I was 14 of such instantanious and sickening loss. I kind of knew all game: Brady was obviously off...hurt...and there were too many ominous moments and a general sense of nervousness and unease. Still. This one hurts. Absolutely. Perfection is indeed unachievable.

18-1. So close. Not enough.

It's over

2008-02-03T22:05:00.000-05:00

I'm sick, numb. Incomprehensible.

XLII XXXV

2008-02-03T21:56:00.000-05:00

Plaxico. Shit. 35 seconds and three timeouts to get into field goal range.