Poor planning, George.

"No.  Try not.  Do... or do not.  There is no try."

- Yoda, Star Wars, Ep. V: The Empire Strikes Back

"Only a Sith Lord deals in absolutes."

- Obi Wan Kenobi, Star Wars, Ep. III: Revenge of the Sith

Is it high? Is it heavy? Is it on a pallet? No problem.

Now you can tell all your friends that you know someone that can officially operate an electric stand-up forklift and a pallet jack. It's pretty fuckin' sweet. Steering the damn forklift is a bitch, but I'll get comfortable and start putting a hurting on our bottom line. Soon enough. Oh, and just so you know, a pallet of flour at work weighs 2,500 pounds ("#" for those in the know). Our forklift is rated to lift 2,500 pounds. Does this seem like a safety issue. Chase says we need a new machine, so hopefully that's in the works. Something with a warning light that works would be cool too. In the dark. By far, the pallet jack is the coolest. I could fuck around with that thing all day. Just moving heavy stuff. Pallets of the cookie dough? Yeah. I'd like to teach those boxes a lesson for all the aches they've caused me.
And yes, you did just spend four minutes reading my total geek out on getting forklift/pallet jack certification. Sucka!

Should have been there

also...

I love this whole battle of social life versus work. No matter how depressed I was when I wasn't working, people don't seem to remember that. They'd rather I worked an 8 - 4 job every day, remain unhappy, and be able to go out. I just can't do right by some people. Let me be happy working. Let me try at success, because I can't get there with you.

The leaves are changing

The dreams have come back with the threat of proximity. It's so tiring to put so much energy and emotion into something that just can't happen. No matter what gets tried and said, nothing changes. But the dreams are there, waking me up, feeling good, and then drop once that true sunlight hits my eyes. Hold onto it, because no matter how far people go, and no matter how much they change, if I stay away and hold their memory in my head, they'll always be the same once I tuck in at night.

A night on the town

My new plan is to get Norm Abram drunk and teach him to talk like a gangsta.
"Hey Ian, look at all these hoes. I'd like to get in them dra's."
"Oh yeah, Norm. How much would you pay to get in those drawers?"
"A quahta'!"

missing

Stuffed crust pizza, Dr. Slice and playing Killer Instinct until the sun is nearly up.

Upon watching 28 Weeks Later

So, are the movies 28 Days Later and 28 Weeks Later trying to send the message that Great Britain should be burned to the ground and restarted? 'Cause I've got some matches, yo.

Ask This Old House? Okay.

Dear This Old House,

I noticed the other day that your general contractor for a number of years, Tom Silva, was possibly having a bad day. He seemed to be completely disinterested in the roofing project he was taking on. I think maybe the work schedule and the basis of the show are no longer to his liking. There is a reason people tend to hang out with their peers. They find some kind of emotional, physical and mental challenge. In this case, you are challenging Tom with people that are well below his age, and have purchased homes without any knowledge of how to take care of them. I have always believed in knowing how to fix anything I buy. The value of doing a job yourself cannot be appraised. But when faced with the questions Tom receives, I can understand and sympathize with his ultimate breakdown. "What are these shiny things?" "Nails." "Those are giant staples! Can you imagine if we had to use those at the office?" "(Feigning laughter) That would be pretty silly." "Is that carbon paper?" "No. It's felt underlayment."
I write because I care. I don't want to see one of the smarter and more caring individuals in home building and maintenance go the way of Bob Villa. Would it be possible to send Tom to my house and give him a few days off? No building. I have nothing to repair. We would just go out for some good meals, and see a couple movies. Nothing too major. Have a drink at some local places. I hope to hear from you soon.

Just another DIYer,

Song for the day:

Summer has passed

So long to the muggy summer nights of "Someone Saved My Life Tonight." Best summer in a while.

Missing

That day in the book room of the Press with Tanya.

Blogger Play

Not to be an advertising bitch, but Blogger Play is one of my favorite things to have running in the background of my computer. Just watch, relax and see the world through someone else's posted pictures. Set it to half speed, and find a comfy chair.
Calm.

Norm Abram's Eyes

Look deep within those beautiful eyes and just try to lie.

That's okay. I'll swing by and get you.

(Picture this with fog lamps down below the headlights.)

An anagram of Fleetwood Mac is wet camel food

Sorry, Stevie. Thunder doesn't just occur when it's raining. You'd think with how influential your stupid super group is you could sit and do some research. Your metaphor sucks!

The present is a gift

Don't be so sure that the future is going to be awesome. It's going to be really shitty when, in place of cannons, they use laser sounds for performances of the 1812 Overture and For Those About to Rock. Yes friends, treasure the present and hug a cannon.

The fish and chips were delicious. You must give me your recipe.

Reverse chronological. Easier. Able.
I've been working at the Wellspring Bakehouse in Morrisville for a week and a half now. It's Sunday, and it's a day of rest for the team and I. Days of rest we value more than paychecks, almost. When I get home every day my elbows feel like they're being torn off. I can barely manage to bend over from the pain in my lower back. A shower and bed feel better than they ever have. It's hard work, and my hands and wrists show it. I look like a depressed teenager with all the cardboard cuts running up and down my arms and fingers. There's one little nasty one on my pinky finger that feels more like a puncture wound than a cut. What do I get for all those cuts? I can probably put together a cardboard box, line it, and tape it up faster than any of you. I can fill it with 160 fucking heavy rounds of cookie dough, 15 rolls of pizza dough, 8 rustic bread loafs, 36 rolls of varying types, 25 mini baguettes, 3 pastry flats, 1 5 pound challa loaf, or 8 sandwich loafs. I hate the mini baguettes and jumbles, but I'll still buy them once they reach the store because they taste wonderful. At any given time I can tell you what 11 oz. feels like, and how many mini cookies it takes to make 11 oz. I can tell you the difference between farm bread and paisano. I can spot seedless rye versus Jewish rye from two rooms away. My fingers are chapped and burned from moving frozen metal speed racks, and it hurts to run them under water.
I finally have the job I've wanted.
My team rocks. Travis and Joe are two very awesome guys that have those personalities like you've known them somewhere before. I feel like I went to school with someone like Travis, but I can't figure out who. Chris and Mandy are great. Sisters. They play off each other, and help the day go by with as many laughs as possible for the mood of the day. Craig is a great guy who is going to run the show someday. At least he works like he is. He knows anything you have a question about. Chad is a brilliant leader that knows his troops and works with us while working for us. Steph is a trip. I like working with her for her sudden outbursts of song and noise. Everyone is great and so's the job. It's what I wanted most for my birthday, and I got it.
Unfortunately, I didn't get a digital camera for my birthday, so there are no pictures of the incredible weekend that preceded my first days at work. Gather around you pictures of Molli Rocket, Andrea Eaton, Martha Mabry, Katie Ackerman, Seth Wells, Matt Bowers, Ian Gitata, Jeremy Weiss, and Megan Davis. They all helped to make the weekend as wonderful as it's been in a while. Things started on Thursday, as Martha and I trucked down to Apex to meet up with Molli, Andrea and Katie, newly arrived from Philly sans Katie. Martha was shitting kittens because she thought we were going to be late for the dinner put on for Molli at St. Andrews in honour of her first major book publication. From what she read at the Fortner Writers Forum I can tell it's going to be a hit with those in the know. The trend these days seems to be to write some violent foray into an action sequence from any blockbuster action movie for a blurb. So let me say that if In Real Life and Other Stories is Molli's bandalerro belt of heavy artillery, then she is well equipped to chase your emotions through a dark alley, and from an elevated position corner them, helplessly, causing them to cry out that they can't run anymore. And, without thinking she leaps off the fire escape and hits the ground, rattling with scorched metal and clips and zippers. She has no consideration for your gasps as her boot plants itself in your diaphragm, and by the end of the encounter she has kicked open the steel back door to some warehouse and disappeared into the inky shadows, and your recollection of the chase is tinged with a guilty amount of Stockholm Syndrome, clouding your eyes for some of the protagonists of this witty and poignant collection of short stories. And that's just what I heard at the reading. I have yet to purchase my own copy (and I make no bones about being surprised at not getting one for my birthday). As long as I have Joe Cocker I'll be okay.
The days kept coming, and after waking up too too early on Friday, Molli, Andrea, Martha and I embarked on a trip north to Raleigh. We listened to the freshest beats provided by Robbie, Steve and Molli. Upon arriving in Raleigh, Martha took on a large rabbit that, when wearing a lettuce beard, bore a striking resemblance to Orson Wells. He was about as big as Orson was near the end too. This rabbit was huge, and loved to shit on the left, so we made sure that nothing valuable was to the left of anything, which is harder than it might seem. Martha went to work like a big loser with rent and a car payment does. The girls and I went to lunch with my mom and dad, who was visiting for Parent's Weekend at NC State. We ate at Cameron's restaurant on Hillsborough, and parked in her complex. Never have I wanted Dr. Wells' anti-towing feature more. Fucking parallel parking. Someday I'll be really good at it with my short car.
We all napped after lunch and chatted about the past and mistakes and made each other feel better about who we have become. You can only do some much of that, so we went to the grocery store, and purchased nothing but ingredients. The ingredients would later become some of the best fish and chips I would ever put in my mouth. If only Ryan had come to the party I would have had him import some jalapeño tartar sauce for the fish and fries. God damn they were good. I need to eat something soon. The fish and chips sat in the center of the room while a kicking party raged on around it. All of those people I told you to gather pictures of earlier, get those pictures out and arrange them in a circle in a blue room. When everyone was arrived and party hardied, we broke out the Cranium because Martha has some affinity for board games. The hard part about playing Cranium is keeping up with the rules, and when people that have played it before have drunk away the rules from their minds, it gets a little more challenging. Martha couldn't understand how to work the timer, and Megan kept roaring with laughter about the littlest things. It was a great time. Around midnight, Martha went to the bathroom, and then collapsed on her bed and passed out. We continued to eat dessert, as numb as we are.
Eventually, we all got tired. Seth, Ian and Megan went back to their place to play cards, and gave me a ride home. Molli and Andrea and Jeremy all stayed up way late talking, and I wish I had stayed over. But the big game was the next day.
Mom, Dad, Cameron and I went to the family weekend football game, and tailgated with the McClains. It was a good time. Bubba Burgers are really good for frozen burgers. I'm still not too sure about the whole meat bubbling thing. Cheese. Hot dogs. Plenty of Apple Teas for me. I was a pig in a waller. Sadly, State lost, as they have been all season. No one was too surprised. I wish we had had seats instead of the bleachers. That would have been nice.
The next day we all went out and celebrated my actual birthday by driving around and checking out the Parade of Homes. There were some truly beautiful houses this year. Ones that make you mad that you don't have the money to live in one. Martha went along for that. I actually ate at KFC because everyone was hungry and that was the only decent option. I had one of those little snacker sandwiches. It was alright. Their barbecue sauce is tasty. I would get the crispy one if I were ever to eat there again. Dad got the bowl, and Martha and I kept poking each other and trying not to laugh because we both kept thinking of Patton Oswalt's KFC Bowl bit. As Dad was chewing I just kept thinking of a "sadness bowl" and "Jesus please move my jaw for me." It was a good day. Topped off by celebrating the day with my favorite of Cameron's boyfriends' family. It was Mr. Averett's birthday and Master Averett's birthday earlier in the week. We ate at Kanki, and had a rip roaring good time catching up and joking around with the chef. The night was topped off with peach cobbler, blackberry pie and ice cream at our house. We talked a lot about Mr. Averett's job because apparently he has to try out the adult diapers that his company makes. We were all laughing pretty hard.
It was a good weekend. I'd say I got everything I wanted. You can arrange the pictures in your mind however you want, but it was the best birthday week I've had in a long time. Stay sharp, and imagine me in a hairnet and slip resistant shoes.

{R.I.P.}

This can't be PC

Goals

Pretty much, right now, all I want to do is sit with a bunch of good ol' boys on some lawn chairs in a field at night within a circle of pick up trucks, drinking Busch Lights and laughing. Don't know why. Just have that urge.

Throwdown

This might put me on the no fly list, but Bobby Flay is an asshole.

Women that make me married

Instead of my usual blog post of famous women I would want to date or know biblically, here's a list of quality women that have proven themselves in manner and mind over and over again. Future wives, please take notes.

Ani Difranco


Zooey Deschanel


Mary Jane Watson

I'm pleased to present...

I was just telling Martha, "Screw all these idiots dancing around to local music. Most of it blows ass, and the rest is done by people who suck and do it for no other reason than to make money. Those people blow ass by nature. I am really excited about one band from Holly Springs though. They're called New Artica. What a cool sound, and very good lyrics. Death Cab at seventeen lyrically, mixed with a remixed Postal Service/T-Pain vocal sound."

Hey, and they have banners too!

missing

That point during a Farrago party when they would play "Pour Some Sugar On Me."

Danny

This kid made me happy.

Giant's Message

Just thought I should share one of the best messages I've ever received. This is from a true brother.

"Peter Frampton is on the cd player and all I can think of is all the chicks that want to harvest your nuts and its hearty fluids."

Thanks Giant.

Graduation

Apparently Kanye, Dane, Talib and Ted are hanging out.

"I don't see why I need a stylist
When I shop so much I can speak Italian"
- Champion, Kanye West

Never mind

Job Prospect

So, there's a new job prospect. I'm not going to share what it is so I don't jinx it. I would kill to have this job, and I really hope they can see the good in me. Keep your fingers crossed, and hope that someday I tell you about what I'm doing for work these days.

9.6.07

Missing the ups and downs
of missing
are missing the missing
ups
and downs
are missing ups,
downs,
missing
The ups and missing downs
____

How long before it's just your
face, pleasant as always
Even yellow-toothed and
drug through shit
How long before it's your face
trapped behind these lashes?

On the street where I live...

Just a taste of the place I call home.

9.2.07

Let us
unattractively ride bikes
Our knees splayed to the winds of
the East & West
northwest southeast
As if rot had set in & the cure was
swift wind
As if sweat & determination ever cured
anything in the crotch
As if shrugging over the handlebars any more
could offer up the world
But just obsessing nulls the pain
ever so slightly
Clusters of chest hair billowing
from deeply cut wicking fabric
And we've given up nice asses on these
banana seat saddles

Waka Ron

Pluck these petals
Something for you

what happened today?

I thought this was all over at this point. I've settled into a routine of working out in the morning, reading most of the day, sitting back in the afternoon and watching a movie or some Attack of the Show, and then going off to bed after a little more reading. Wake up, repeat. I was doing this because I thought, in all honesty, that I had a job prospect that was going to work out. I figured with all the awful shit happening lately this would be that one good thing that is supposed to make it all okay. But it wasn't. The lab job I looked so forward to learning was swept up by some internal applicant. Easy for them because no training is required, and I'm back to the drawing board after giving up several things thinking the job was a done deal. So far, I've missed two substitute teaching training meetings and a civil service exam. Guess I'll have to wait on those and settle for some entry level high school level employment until I get the fuck back into school where I obviously belong. I'm tired of the real world and everyone looking at me like the golden child who wasted his chances and didn't try hard enough. So, I'm back to square one of making money. All those dreams of getting a car and starting a social life have started to drift off, especially with the loss of Martha. Lately, I just want to sit in a room and cry to sad songs. Pretend that those away messages are meant for me. Hope that something good happens for all the good I try to do. Almost makes a person want to start drinking or smoking or something that the other people do to cope.

Duck Soup

The Marx Brothers' movies are based around the idea that people have no peripheral vision.

Fight Club

So, I just finished Fight Club last night. This was my first time reading it. I know. I'm behind in the whole pop culture thing. Right. But, I've been thinking about doing my masters work and doctoral work with an emphasis on these Transgressional writers. Why not catch up. All summer, the real books I've read have been Chuck's books and Bret Ellis'.
This one got me though. I saw the movie a couple times, and was kind of used to the way things were running there. I liked the whole idea of getting rid of Tyler. It held to the whole self-help theme of the book. It made sense that Marla would be there as the whole world fell, and now, in my head, I'm putting things together between the movie and the book to make the perfect ending. Already I'm having trouble remembering what was so bad when it seems so perfect in my head. It wasn't so much the suicide scene. It was the narrator being dead afterwards. What the fuck? Nevermind that he could never have lived a normal life after all that, but couldn't he have tried? I guess Mr. Palahniuk did what he had to do.
I'm going to read some essays on the book and see if I can't come to grips with this. That always helped me appreciate something I didn't like in college. Just reading some paper that someone had worked so hard on, analyzing something I hated, it was inspiring and made me want to keep reading.
Onward and upward on the Chuck books! They're still better than fantasy literature. Can't decide which one is next though. They all sound so good! Still, Stranger Than Fiction was the best so far.

Waka Ron

In the morning
drinks are far
more wet.
____

I can't believe you called.
It was sweet.
____

She'll squeel
as it hops,
and go hopping.
____

Mirrors had to be broken
for her to see.
____

Lifting the box
Realized I missed us now.
____

This scar
This is just another bad day.
____

These slipped and deep kisses
go away.
____

Be brave from afar
never to drunk dial

?

Pretty sure I figured one thing out today.

No!

This should be for handicapped people and old people that cannot open a can, jar, bottle, etc.... Yet, they're selling it to, ummmm, middle aged people and kids. No. No more. Enhance your fucking forearms and open a god damn bottle, or I'll fly over and hit you. In the temple. Doesn't matter where you are. I'll hear the whimpering and wheezing and find you.

Friday, August 17th

Scream. Scream until the acid churns again and rises up and out. Drain yourself. Drain yourself of whatever this is growing and chewing its way into your head. Your head that's lost silence and hope and any semblance of satisfaction. Your head that only clears around 4:45 in the morning, when you don't need it, and won't remember it. Silence means so much to someone such as myself, and now it's all noise and churning. It's showers that run cold after hours of stinging water that could block out the noise if you could clear your head enough to think about clearing it, but all you want is her face in your mind. You want that smile back, and the glimpse of privacy. Here's that old pain again, and it's welcome.

NASA

Off the cuff science since 1958.

Soon

Not to be totally deceitful, but I don't officially work for American Airlines yet. By saying officially, I mean they do not have my tax information, and if I were to never show up at their office again they would not be able to track me down. That's a comforting feeling the more I look into this job that seemed to answer all my problems - namely joblessness.
So, why have I not learned my city codes (foreign and domestic) yet? You know how you just get feelings about things sometimes? It's a full time job. Starting pay is upwards of nine something an hour. Insurance? Sure, it's there. Kind of the way Jesus is always supposed to be with us: you may pray and pray, but in the end you're going to have to do a lot of the work. Paid time off? Nope. Why? I would only be a lowly call center worker. What do I need time off for. The longer I work the more time I accrue to use as vacation, but no pay. In the end, it's a shifty job for people that can't do any better.
What am I doing at home still? Trying to do better. A friend of my mom hooked me up with this lady that works in the lab at Rex Hospital, and I've met with her about a position growing cultures in the Microbiology lab, which would be totally schweet. (That's the nerd voice for those of you without imaginative reading skills.) I get to mess with people's blood and pee and stools and that is totally awesome to me for some odd reason. And I can sense what you're thinking. "Ian likes to touch poop?" Yes. Always have. Your poop. I've just kept it on the LD.
Plus, I'd get to wear scrubs to work every day and a lab coat with my name in it. Not on it, because doctors get that. But, it would be emblazoned on the tag of the coat. And I'd get all kinds of latex gloves to wear all day. It's a very tempting job and I hope I can land it. The woman I spoke with said that unless someone applies that has "14 years of experience and wants to go back to plating samples" I would probably get the job. That was inspiring. It's across the street. It pays two to three dollars more an hour, and it has excellent benefits. I'd have to work some weekends, but some is better than working all holidays and weekends.
What happens when I get a job? I'm finally buying a car! So I can come to your house. So I can drive around town in the late hours and ease my mind listening to Gotan Project remixes or similar. Right now, I'm pretty set on a Yaris. Cheap, easy to maintain, and great gas mileage.
Soon I'll have a life outside the house.

Almost like the old days

It's hard to top driving around with the windows down on the first cool night of the summer with two very old friends and Deftones' "White Pony" on the stereo. What a comfortable life.

projects

Here are some samples of some writing I've been doing. The first bit is something Molli drafted me to do. It's a sea shanty, and this is the chorus I've come up with.

Under a cross all done up with rope
I'll be workin' here towin' the line
For to pay for the day
When my ship finds the way
Though I still drag these coat tails behind.

And the other thing is silly really. I was just riding in the car with Martha and there was the Saturday night bluegrass show on WUNC, and I started to sing words to go with it. It came out:

I get my candy from the candy sto'
Got my hand stuck in the bow'
Lady said, "You're not doin' that right."
And we made love and danced all night.

Martha thought it was good so I figured I better write it down.

Mi Casita

Veggie quesadillas with beans and a side of rice.

Dark Knight

The new Batman movie will probably be the coolest so far. First, it won't have any of that origin stuff that some people had a problem with in Batman Begins. Despite the origin stuff being cool in my eyes, and somewhat accurate to the comics, a lot of people complain about it. Ra's al Ghul was an okay character, and it would be cool to see him come back in every other movie. The way he usually showed up behind all the major plots in the 90's cartoon. And if they start showing the Lazarus pit that would be even cooler. Okay, secondly, fuckin' Joker's in it. No more needs to be said. And it's rumored that this is going to be the crazy, psychopathic, throw an acid soaked pie in your face and then make fun of the result Joker. A darker Joker for a darker time. He's by far my favorite villain. Begins ruined Scarecrow when they had a real opportunity to make him awesome. I mean, they were close with the straitjacket at the end, but then he got tasered in the face and disappeared. So, you know he's probably locked up in Arkham in this new movie, but will he get darker than all the other villains (with the exception of Joker)? Who knows. All I can hope is that this Gotham will be the dark place that was always so scary for the citizens that they never really left the 50's. Batman's toys kept upgrading and then the citizens would be driving Studebakers. Still, I do know that I'm excited about the trailers I've seen.

This is the official trailer:




And these are two pretty good fan made trailers with some good footage of the new movie:

After that, I guess all that's left is to check out the IMDB page for the movie. A little more information:

(Plus, if anyone knows the brand of knife he's using in this picture, I'm interested in knowing.)

A letter from Sharon Olds to Laura Bush.

Dear Mrs. Bush,

I am writing to let you know why I am not able to accept your kind invitation to give a presentation at the National Book Festival on September 24, or to attend your dinner at the Library of Congress or the breakfast at the White House.
In one way, it's a very appealing invitation. The idea of speaking at a festival attended by 85,000 people is inspiring! The possibility of finding new readers is exciting for a poet in personal terms, and in terms of the desire that poetry serve its constituents--all of us who
need the pleasure, and the inner and outer news, it delivers. And the concept of a community of readers and writers has long been dear to my heart.
As a professor of creative writing in the graduate school of a major university, I have had the chance to be a part of some magnificent outreach writing workshops in which our students have become teachers.
Over the years, they have taught in a variety of settings: a women's prison, several New York City public high schools, an oncology ward for children. Our initial program, at a 900-bed state hospital for the severely physically challenged, has been running now for twenty years, creating along the way lasting friendships between young MFA candidates and their students--long-term residents at the hospital who, in their humor, courage and wisdom, become our teachers.
When you have witnessed someone non-speaking and almost non-moving spell out, with a toe, on a big plastic alphabet chart, letter by letter, his new poem, you have experienced, close up, the passion and essentialness of writing.
When you have held up a small cardboard alphabet card for a writer who is completely non-speaking and non-moving (except for the eyes), and pointed first to the A, then the B, then C, then D, until you get to the first letter of the first word of the first line of the poem she has
been composing in her head all week, and she lifts her eyes when that letter is touched to say yes, you feel with a fresh immediacy the human drive for creation, self-expression, accuracy, honesty and wit--and the importance of writing, which celebrates the value of each person's
unique story and song.
So the prospect of a festival of books seemed wonderful to me. I thought of the opportunity to talk about how to start up an outreach program. I thought of the chance to sell some books, sign some books and meet some of the citizens of Washington, DC. I thought that I could try to find
a way, even as your guest, with respect, to speak about my deep feeling that we should not have invaded Iraq, and to declare my belief that the wish to invade another culture and another country--with the resultant loss of life and limb for our brave soldiers, and for the noncombatants in their home terrain--did not come out of our democracy but was instead a decision made "at the top" and forced on the people by distorted language, and by untruths. I hoped to express the fear that we have begun to live in the shadows of tyranny and religious chauvinism--the opposites of the liberty, tolerance and diversity our nation aspires to.
I tried to see my way clear to attend the festival in order to bear witness--as an American who loves her country and its principles and its writing--against this undeclared and devastating war.
But I could not face the idea of breaking bread with you. I knew that if I sat down to eat with you, it would feel to me as if I were condoning what I see to be the wild, highhanded actions of the Bush Administration.
What kept coming to the fore of my mind was that I would be taking food from the hand of the First Lady who represents the Administration that unleashed this war and that wills its continuation, even to the extent of permitting "extraordinary rendition": flying people to other
countries where they will be tortured for us.
So many Americans who had felt pride in our country now feel anguish and shame, for the current regime of blood, wounds and fire. I thought of the clean linens at your table, the shining knives and the flames of the candles, and I could not stomach it.

Sincerely,
Sharon Olds

Pripyat

So, I really can't explain this. I was thinking about this last night as I looked through these pictures. Why would anyone want to go to this tragic locale of Pripyat? Maybe it's the allure of something being untouched for so long. Everyone wants to go to the Galapagos. This is just a little more radioactive. Anyway, from what I've heard of people I've discussed this with, I'll be going on this trip alone.











In the end, if it's safe for a dog I'm there.

missing

After parties, going back to the dorm room and watching Food Network and eating Oreos and milk until I couldn't keep my eyes open.

somewhat independent

My friend Matt who's been my boy practically since I moved here is going out to get his mom a computer so she can hook up with family through e-mail and such. You know, cruise the interweb and all that you do. He's just going to go out and do this. Buy a computer. I'm excited to have a job. Well, a couple of jobs to be fair. This American Airlines thing, and the substitute teaching, and tutoring eventually. I'm excited to be able to pay for my girlfriend again because, as much as I'm for women's rights and all, we still live in the south and if I can't pay when we go out in a group, people look at me with these wandering eyes. Eyes that wander to my crotch and wonder how I lost my penis. Well, no more. Soon enough, I'll have all that stuff that makes me grown up. All that stuff I've been waiting for for so long! Car, job, girlfriend, friends to do stuff with, vacations, old college friends again!

lyrics

And in this dream
Tell us are you satisfied with fucking

Don't walk away
Don't walk away
Don't walk away
I'm talking to you

Love is hell
Love is hell
Love is hell
Love this

I'll tame you

Dave Matthews wrote this song after his proposal of marriage had been turned down something like three times.
I love this song.

mixing

I'm also looking for creepy songs. Shit that makes your skin crawl and want to keep looking over your shoulder. Stuff like "Hurdy Gurdy Man."

missing

Summer days playing Vice City and listening to David Byrne's "Grown Backwards," Mae's "Destination: Beautiful," and Annie Lennox's "Bare."

asphalt lines in the road we followed like the veins on Grandma's hands.

Around Bethany, Missouri, the idea of going home starts to rattle me. It's safe to say that after all these years in the south I have become a different person. Not the person that Drew Poggeman, Patrick House and I made fun of in sixth grade, but someone that is nothing of what I was. A boy raised to respect the yield of the land has become a man eager to make a quick dollar for the least amount of work. I haven't taken on the accent, and I still think a lot of southern ways are ridiculous. But now I've been raised on greens and biscuits. I cut tea with a little dip of sugar. Country isn't so offensive, and a lot of it is near and dear to some really great memories. I respect the men for their dignity and gentlemanly conduct, and the image of the typical midwestern man offends me. I date the women.
But, the midwest isn't so far off. I still love the privacy and candid nature of conversation. Company doesn't worry so much about being polite as they do making you comfortable.
If the world were perfect, Alzheimers would cause its victims to grow younger as their minds go back to that time. Right now, my grandfather is living in his high school years or his college years. It's hard to decide. He can't recognize anyone as they are, but if you show him how they looked when he was in his twenties he knows exactly who they are. I've never known too much about the Wallace side of the family. In fact, I don't think they know too much about themselves. This trip helped some of that. Grandpa doesn't say much anymore, unless it's to complain or say something abrupt. Grandma still remembers. We go through pictures and learn who our family was. It amazes me how many people die between our visits.
This fact keeps me happy I moved away. Somehow the midwest causes more heart attacks, cancers and young deaths than anywhere I've ever heard stories about. Even young soldiers come home from battlefields. But beware coming home from war to Iowa.
In 1956 walls were built to encapsulate that time and place. Those parents and their four children. No dust settles there, and I wonder how Bruce Wallace ever grew up to be a fatherly age. He still holds on to so much of that time, tinged with time spent outdoors. The music is piped in directly from the early 1960's. Even when the TV is on, it's more appropriate to watch a video cassette of old shows than to watch anything current that might corrupt this shrine to a better time. I outgrew all the beds by the time I was 15. I outgrew Iowa a few years later.
I still return, looking forward to sweet corn, tomatos and my grandparents. No matter how much I grew up in North Carolina, Iowa is my birthright. No matter how long I stay away, whenever I return it seems as though it's waited for me to return, keeping all the opportunities I can't get here open and waiting. Something in me is still surprised to see Grandma's name next to Grandpa's on that stone. The juniper bushes were helping until we spent a day tearing them out. Overgrown and sharp, they somehow kept things from sinking in. While they grew I could remember going to tend the gravesite with Grandma, making sure her one love was memorialized as only she knew how.
I miss Drake and the sledding hill they tore out, and I miss the independent theatre and West Des Moines. I miss the ideas of things. I'm happy where I am, and I'm happy to tend the fading memories every couple years.