Nothingness.

Moers stood underneath the dirty lamp, snowflakes passing underneath it's grimy rays and landing with a delicate touch on the ground around him. It had just started to snow as he stood on the concrete platform waiting for the South Shore interurban. Lackawana station lacked life and certainly a roof. He was returning home after a night out with the guys in town celebrating his friend Dawson's engagement to his childhood sweetheart Linda. Moers chuckled underneath his scarf, the heat of his breath freezing before his face. He waited for another ten minutes when the earth began to shake beneath him. The yellow interurban car appeared in the distance, the headlamp casting a harsh glow about the platform. It slid past Moers and the doors creaked open. He stepped on board and deposited his ticket. The doors closed and the car slid into the night.

He awoke to the sound of bells. Not like church bells, but like a harsh apartment doorbell sort of bell. It was the motorman's station signal waking passengers who needed to get off here. As it pulled into the station, Moers read the sign of the city and uttered out of nowhere, "Who the fuck lives here in Godawful, Minstone, Illinois?" A thin, young man wearing thick glasses stopped right by him, and stared at him. He sat down rather than continuing onto the exits. Moers could feel a sense of hatred radiating from this man as he stared at Moers intentely. He stood once again and started for the door. The light brown of his over coat was dirty around the hem, probably from walking through the streets of Chicago. But the doors shut too soon and he was stopped short of the door and the train lurched forwards again. Moers suddenly felt uncomfortable as the man walked back towards him. He sat right behind Moers and placed his leather case on the chair to his side. Moers peered in between the chairs and tried to glance at the man. His features were youthful and light, but seeming out of place with the thick plastic glasses and frumpled hair.

Moers sat up and turned around. "I take back what I said about Minstone." he said. The man looked back up at him and only uttered two words. "Fuck You." Moers turned back uncomfortably towards his seat. The lights hissed out for a second before flickering back on. Moers peered back again, but this time, the man was gone. The conductor walked past and Moers grabbed his arm. "Where did the guy go that was behind me?" "What man? There is only you and the lady on the train. No one else. No one's gotten on since you." Moers sat forward again and buried his head into his hands.

One Year ago:

It's been a long time since i've last posted here, and there's alot of things I have suddenly become busy with. The last weeks of school of rolled past and right now, i'm putting off this damn paper I should in fact, be writing. But I wanted to look back on an entry from exactly one year ago. This post will mark 371. 71 posts in exactly one year. I should know. On July 4th of last year, I was sitting in a vacation home north of Yountville, writing my pining soul for an ex.

So much has changed since then. I was finishing up my first year of college, working full time at a swimming pool teaching children and lifeguarding, telecasting to Sweden every morning. Funny how life has changed since then. I'm no longer telecasting, I certainly am not swimming anymore, but most of all, my life has changed for myself. I'm no longer letting people rule my life.

I let it happen and I became miserable. I'm not letting the same mistake run me twice.

if there's some way I could just go back in time, I wouldn't. It's over, I have to learn that. But the memory is still there.

Nostalgia

"Time machines do exist,
in the form of music.
So easily a song can take you to a time in your past, and make you feel like you're there again."

http://theerikho.blogspot.com/2009/06/unwanted-trip.html
I tried to come up with what made me nostalgic. What triggered feelings both unwanted, and warranted. I tried to live things, the way my body intended to remember them forever.


Whenever I look at a fixed gear bicycle-I suddenly remember the past five months. Struggling with parts, learning and crashing. Falling and then picking myself up again. Nowadays, I ride and could have no other care than going from place to place.

When I drink out of my Sigg bottle-I can't help but remember my birthday, but also where this bottle's been. If it could tell a story, I'd write it here.

Whenever I listen to Abba-I cry a little inside

When the smell of pink grapefruit hovers over a certain stuffed moose-I can only think of warm summer nights, and chlorine packed days

When I browse my CD collection-I can suddenly remember my awkwardness in high school

When I watch hockey-I suddenly feel lonely, but I still force myself to watch the game until the end.

Wherever there's a squelchd magazine-I think of welcome week of freshman year

Whenever I paint-the world's weight lifts itself from my bare shoulders

When a friend hugs me-I think of everything we've been through

When I play my clarinet-I can only start to remember the tales and journeys it has been on

Try it yourself. Find what things remind you of more things. Stimulate your senses and take a trip, both good and bad, and just write, remember and keep your chin up.

15:23:42: There'll be Some Changes Made

They say don't change the old for the new
But I've found out that this will never do
When you grow old don't last long
You're here today and then tomorrow you're gone
I loved a man for many years gone by
I thought his love for me would never die
He made some changes that would never do
From now on I'm going to make some changes too
For there's a change in the weather
There's a change in the sea
So from now on there'll be in change in me
My walk will be different, my talk and my name
Nothin' about me is going to be the same
I'm goin' to change my wayof livin'
If that ain't enough
Then I'll change the way that I strut my stuff
[ Find more Lyrics on www.mp3lyrics.org/cPc ]
'Cause nobody wants you when you're old and gray
There'll be some changes made today
There'll be some changes made

The say the old time things are the best
That may be very good for all the rest
But I'm goin'g let the old things be
'Cause they are certainly not suited for me
There was a time when I thought that way
That's why I'm all alone here today
Since every one these days seeks something new
From now on I'm goin' to seek some new things too
For there's a change in the fashion
Ask the femine folks
Even Jack Benny has changed jokes
I must make some changes from old to new
I must do things just the same as others do
I'm goin' to change my long, tall
daddy for a little short fat
Goin' to change the number where I live at
I must have some lovin' or I'll fade away
There'll be some changes made today
There'll be some changes made today

On the Origin of Love

I've never considered the issues, the relations, and the sorts of things that constitute love. To me, I'm still ignorant to many of the whines and calls that come from the other side of the room, but not to say I ignore them completely. These past three days, we've discussed the issue of gender and the role of society in the definition. As our class explored the world of Tintomara or Lazuli or a bevy of other names, we as a class, began to understand the problems with the definitions and guidelines that society has laid out.

Since the beginning, the world has always been a bureaucracy and shall remain so until the day it explodes into a million tiny pieces. Human kind has always checked the box indicating M or F, or writing that bold, brazen capital letter F or letter M. But what then, does it mean to those who are neither? Of both sexes? Or even of a sex not listed, being completely neutral in a sense. Do you check both boxes? Or do you check none and scrawl some strange symbol, portmaneaued from some other sex symbols? Can the problem be any clearer nowadays?

In the beginning, when the world was created, humans were whole, animals were different and in time, they began to grow ignorant to the gods and in turn, the legs were cut from the whale, and the dinosaurs cut into lizards. But most of all, Humans had two faces, to bodies, four legs and were joined as one. Half to a half. But we were split into individuals for our sins, for our insolence. These "whole" bodies were not created as male/females, but male/male, and female/female, and whatever/whatever else. As we split apart, we became jumbled, mixed and no longer held definition.

The lyrics from this youtube clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YO9FpWX57E
I encourage you to watch.

When the earth was still flat,
And the clouds made of fire,
And mountains stretched up to the sky,
Sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs.
They had two sets of arms.
They had two sets of legs.
They had two faces peering
Out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them
As they talked; while they read.
And they never knew nothing of love.
It was before the origin of love.

The origin of love

And there were three sexes then,
One that looked like two men
Glued up back to back,
Called the children of the sun.
And similar in shape and girth
Were the children of the earth.
They looked like two girls
Rolled up in one.
And the children of the moon
Were like a fork shoved on a spoon.
They were part sun, part earth
Part daughter, part son.

The origin of love

Now the gods grew quite scared
Of our strength and defiance
And Thor said,
"I'm gonna kill them all
With my hammer,
Like I killed the giants."
And Zeus said, "No,
You better let me
Use my lightening, like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales
And dinosaurs into lizards."
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh,
Said, "I'll split them right down the middle.
Gonna cut them right up in half."
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire

And then fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades
Of a knife.
And it ripped
Right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon
And the earth.
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole,
Pulled it round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay.
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane,
To scatter us away,
In a flood of wind and rain,
And a sea of tidal waves,
To wash us all away,
And if we don't behave
They'll cut us down again
And we'll be hopping round on one foot
And looking through one eye.

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me.
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That's the pain,
Cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love.
So we wrapped our arms around each other,
Trying to shove ourselves back together.
We were making love,
Making love.
It was a cold dark evening,
Such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove,
It was the sad story
How we became
Lonely two-legged creatures,
It's the story of
The origin of love.
That's the origin of love.

From this, we come to the Swedish text by Carl Jonas Love Almqvist, concerning the multiple triangles of desire between Adolfine, Amanda, Ferdinand, Clas Henrik and Tintomara, the androgyne. All four of these characters seek out the last person, Tomara, who to all of these advances, remains ignorant. She remains so ignorant, that when confronted with the notion of taking the queen's tiara, she does, only too willingly, for her own mother and cannot grasp the concept of stealing, crime or even love. The character itself is criticized for being incapable of love, except for one instance to her mother. But rather, produce a self love, in that she has taken all that she fancies without considering the due consequences or the reprecussions of her actions.

Why do people get married? From the lyrics of the Origin of Love, do we seek to create that whole again? Do we really hope to make ourselves capable of being one and part of another? If you saw the clip towards the end, it showed three of these "bodies" m/m f/m f/f. Witholding the ideas presented by what people think is right, can it be said, that people, persons, were seperated from a great basin, and set upon the earth to find the other half of their body? But not drawing completely from the same bin, society has forced us to pick persons alone based on sex and gender rather than who they truly love.

The four characters Adolfine, Amanda, Ferdinand, and Clas Henrik all fall in love with this one person, but why? The whole story revolves around the double jealousy, with deceit and traits overflowing one another. Are they possibly jealous of the fact that Tintomara is a whole, complete person. The fact that through her ignorance, she need not find her other half, her other lover. But these others, seperated from their other half, not knowing whether or not their other half could have been male or female, all just leads stems to branches and branches to roots. Are we as humans, capable of erasing society's bounds, bounds created by religion, laws, social encoungers, and education? Can we really be whole again? Trying to search for our other half, in a world that imposes a barrier in the way. Can we really remain innocent? Innocence leads to ignorance and ignorance is bliss. Hear my way and my way only. Your way is wrong and everything needs to be done by A, B, and C.

Two things in this world are white, innocence and arsenic. You have the innocence and I have the arsenic.

To be a Man

Webster's dictionary defines "Man" as: one possessing in high degree the qualities considered distinctive of manhood. Or: the quality or state of being manly. But what does that mean? Being a man has become diluted within the past twenty years and the two sexes have blended with each other to the extent that one can almost hardly tell the difference between the two. At Baker beach today, I was walking along with my father when we passed by a couple, typically in the emo style. But for a quick brief second, I could not tell who was the man in the relationship. Then it struck me, the one wearing pants and no top.

Unless I dare look at a flat chested female with an extraordinary liberty.

But staring at this grotesque person, his hair braided against the side of his head, and the rest tinted with blue and grown and tended to appear like a potted fern plant. I scoffed silently, not to show any desire at this male carbon unit that I was throwing up in my head.

But that brought up the ideas and the issue of what it means to be manly. Does it mean, when you wake up in the morning, you swallow three raw eggs and do a hundred push-ups with one arm behind your back? Does it mean wearing a perfectly tailored suit and appearing at work every morning promptly at 9am? Or how about being an all round good chum? We really love exaggeration, and that unfortunately has strapped binoculars permanently to our faces and we can't change that without allowing time and the natural process. The media, the art, the way we judge has afflicted us to imagine every "man" to be 12 feet tall, and chopping down trees for a living, wearing flannel and growing a beard. But nothing more than just an image.

I'm going to discuss some qualities every Man should possess and ones that men strive to possess but should not. We love to go for things that are unnecessary and for those of you reading who love the feminine aspects of being a man, stop reading here and do something else, or open your mind and see my side of the argument for now. You can fight and contest me later.

Things you ought to have

1. Character
Can you imagine, what sort of bull i'm talking about when it comes to character? I dont mean playing a role that you want to play like being an Egyptian tobacconist or a French peasant. Playing a part is different from doing the part that creates these qualities that we want. When I speak character, I think of good judgement, good personality, and above all a sense of duty and the difference between right and wrong. But surely, every man must make a mistake somewhere and they do, and no one holds it against them but considers it a lesson to be learned from. The ability to pick oneself up and dust themselves off and look at them and go, ok, I'm not doing that again in that fashion. He doesn't quit, but he doesn't forget lessons of the past. There are some things that my friends do that I cant say are the best things to do, but I cant hold them to do it or not to do it, but I encourage them to consider the results and to show good judgement and duty myself, to try to snub a dirty habit. But the effort shown, goes quite a long way.

2. Grooming
What is that look that is so popular with young men these days? It's more common to see a guy not visit a barber for months at a stretch and like wise to visit a razor. In all honesty, the look where you've rolled straight out of bed in pajamas and into class in the exact same things is something I take begrudgingly and really can't tolerate too much. I haven't the heart to tell these large strapping athletes that roam around campus in sweatpants and flip flops or ugg boots (once) to change the way they dress or take care of their face. They can say that clothes make a man, but you always remember the face. The way it grows, the way it creases as you get old. Anthony Quinn, Spencer Tracy, they all had such distinguished faces and in very few of their photos, they're hairy. Beards suddenly have become such a popular thing, I dont understand how it could have happened, but I actually am quite envious of those who can grow facial hair quickly. Maybe it's a blessing. I save a ton of cash on safety blades.

3. Intellect and Recptiveness
A man can spend hours, sometimes more time than some girls do working on their hair and on the outside can appear as something some girl would love to wrap her legs around, but when it comes time to talk and meet people at those cocktail parties and if the only thing that comes out is fart sounds and dirty jokes, there's nothing but shame in store. It's usually the job of the man to defend the honor, but that's rather difficult when he is dumb as a doorknob. I dont mean to say, you have to know about string theory or euclidian theory, but you should be able to carry on a conversation about sailing or politics or current events. Another quality that seems to be lost is the ability to listen and retain that sort of information. Many times, I have gone listing to a conversation and forgetting what was going on all of a sudden. But that only happens every so often, and I can listen and pick up from there.

4. Grace under Pressure
I am no exception. I have cracked under the pressure and as a cost consequence, my dignity has lain shattered before my feet several times. When an even turns dour, a Man responds calmly, cooly and with an intellect. To be able to decision make quickly and still retain your respect while doing so. So many of these young people you see, wearing gigantic tshirts with muscles rippling and hair gelled back. You offend these people with just one tiny thing, and they completely respond with an offense remark or even physical stupidity and violence. Example. I sat with my friend Ehren on the bus once. Some young black kids got into a fight with an old man just because he stepped on their shoes. I applauded the old man when he had to be restrained from knocking this kid in the head with a cane. The kid's only response is fuck you old man. Kids are too easily influenced and when their influence is this degenerate population, some future. There goes 40 years of hard work down the drain NAACP.

5. Respect and Culture for Things
Like with my previous criteria, kids dont know or learn to have this mutual and deep understanding for somethings. Art, music, dance, film, history, and so many more things. I try to converse with every I can, and learn from them. You woudln't believe the things I have learned and the things I wish I could have unlearned. You can take a group of inner city youths to the metropolatian museuem of art, and half of them will be texting, a third of them will be bored out of their minds, and a sixth will be genuinly interested. These people will grow up to be cultured, tolerant and curious and receptive to our changing world.

Qualities a Man should not Possess
1. Rude
You'll get farther along with honey than with vinegar. Especially when it comes to glazing a ham. The way you come out to other people generally give you the initial judgement. A group of black persons in their twenties was visiting at Bay Street in Emeryville. A young white couple with their child bumps into them. The following ensued:
"Yo fuck you man!"
"Watch your language plase!"
"Fuck yo child. Don't need to talk clean for no cracker kid"
*Walking away and to his wife* "Damn nigger kids"
I dont feel right using that last line, but that's the god to honest awful truth. Sometimes, the way one person for a stereotype responds and comes off as rude, there is only one way that comes out. They still wonder why the white man is opressing. It's because of a lack of tact.

2. Baggy Clothing
Clothing should fit closely and appear tailored yet be comfortable and reasonably priced. I've seen the football team come of the Cal bus on their way for saturday games and some of these guys that come off are quite well dressed, but the rest of them wear suit jackets that drape to the knees and pants that could fit two people and a god awful color coordination. Shop on a budget, yet shop well at the same time. H&M offers a really nice european cut in terms of clothing, but also at reasonably cheap prices. I tried mixing and matching a jacket and vest from there with a pair of dress pants from my dad. Did not work. The jacket was the slim european cut while the pants were too thick.

3. Lying
No one can tolerate that. Honest.

There are many more things I could possibly cover, but leave a comment and i'll add these in a further post.

29:7:35: The Joy of Self

Until this past year, when I turned the venerable age of twenty, I never took the pleasure and joy in working by yourself and for yourself.These past two weeks, I have been spending my mornings moving out and away from my old home in Berkeley and back into my childhood home in Alameda. While at the same time, I worked on an old bicycle frame turning it into a fixed gear bicycle with a road bicycle geometry. It was a nice project to build, but now that i'm done with it, what now?

In Alameda, you see more and more, amongst the younger generation, a staggering amount of those fixed gear bikes and I would bet every reader, that not one of those kids built their bikes with their own hands. Stores can offer these bikes real cheap such as the Bianchi Pista for a thousand dollars, or many department store brands are offering them as well. But I bet you, not one of those single kids with their baseball caps, tight jeans and flannel shirts, not one of them hand picked the 200 dollar rear wheel set from Peter Rich's store. The man who turned cycling into what it is today. None of them snuck off into the night, to find abandoned bicycle skeletons, to see what could be saved to build on a budget and what it turned out was quite decent. I bet not one of them knows how to adjust the handlebars, pick out a comfortable leather seat let alone know the benefits of Brooks.

I built my beauty on my own, and with the help of others for much more difficult components such as the bottom bracket and setting up the rear wheelset. I sanded the old nasty blue paint off, I primed and coated the frame myself and painted it colors I like. These kids, they'll just ride whatever mom and dad buys them. I hand chose my frame from a backyard of bicycles in Berkeley. One that had long dropouts. Unfortunately, it was taiwanese made, but the marquee was the same of my treasured English Raleigh touring bicycle.

I helped Martin move out, but one thing I saw scrawled and scratched into the cover of an old leather journal, and I still can recall is:

A man who works with his hands is a laborer
A man who works with his hands and brain is a craftsman
A man who works with his hands and brain and heart is an artist.

None of these kids work with their hands, brains or heart. Not anymore these days.

34:1:00: Sleep

I sat, I read, I slept.

36:2:28: track bicycle racing

It's been creeping through my brains lately, it has controlled, regrown my ideas and thoughts on biking. Dont get me wrong, I love my 14 speed Raleigh to death. But the fascination, the idea of riding the simple, single speed bicycle. Its the way to race apparently. Plus, I think it'd be a great and good summer project. Since last year's project was getting the Raleigh running again. Turns out, the parts on my Raleigh may be worth more than the track bike i'm putting together!

I set out for some cool ideas and places to further the usage of track/fixed gear bicycles for that fixed gear purpose, rather than tricks. The polo grounds in Golden Gate Park is one of my absolutely, most favorite places in the entire park. Just the thought of people actually playing polo in America, let alone San Francisco still amuses me. But until 1963, I assume, the San Francisco Wheelmen (now the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition) used to host races. Track races, not touring and distance races. So apparently, that track, probably not the original track, but hopefully graded the same, was used for bike races from the 1880s until 1963 when the competition was last held. I really would like to see that come back.

Consider Hellyer Park Velodrome in San Jose. Strange place for a bike velodrome, but hey, apparently the city used to be pretty big on bicycles. The velodrome track there runs three hundred and thirty-three meters. That's about 1000 feet. The smalles velodrome in the world is in Canada at close to 158 meters. That's a distance of 465 feet. But wait, take into account the banking and the curvature of the track, that's a pretty steep bank there to make sure you dont fly into a wall. I cant imagine the curves at the polo ground being too big or too small. The entire track is approximately 1100 meters or 3300 feet. That's just about two thirds of a mile. Pretty intense. I'm pretty sure the ground there has been regraded several times, with ill regard to the curvature, but the turns are so big, and the long stretches are at least 1050 feet. So that's 2100 feet of straight, flat track and two turns that add up to 1200 feet in circumference. That will mean a 200 foot radius turn. You really dont need too much of a bank, but there is a chain link fence that surrounds the grass. That might be a bit of a cheese grater if you rub against it. Yuck.

Another perfect place to put a Velodrome. There is a cinder track and field on top of the Clark Kerr campus in Berkeley. The entire field is little used, and I know the track is just used by afternoon joggers and morning walkers. But I'd say it would be a pretty smart investment for UC Berkeley to build an outdoor velodrome there. People love using their track/fixie bikes in Berkeely and in the surrounding area, I dont see why the university cant capitalize on it. Make it similar to Hellyer Park. Charge five dollars per day per person, hold competitions, speed trials, regulate everything to make it legitimate. If they even felt like it, put a roof over it to prevent vandals from sneaking in at night to take advantage free rides. It could make up for failure to purchase the Berkeley Iceland. The cinder track surrounds the field, its about 400 meters.

Or even putting it in Iceland itself. That would produce a 200 meter track, not regulation, but hey, who's keeping track. I've however had hopes of seeing Iceland used for its original purpose. Ice Skating. Even an aircraft hangar at the Alameda Base, that'd be cool. I'm studying to be an architect, but I really love bicycles. I have this dream, a personal goal to be realized. I've often noted, the lack and difficulty to find a place to work on bicycles to have all the necessary tools on hand, and the expertise to help out. I want to design a place that would create a communal bike repair shop, rather than putting it completely in the hands of the experienced, getting the user involved rather than being a user. Going from User to utilizer.

One thing I think I ought to learn is the really cool way to get off a fixed gear:

"As the bicycle slows to near walking speed, disengage your left foot, then wait for the right pedal to get to the bottom of its circle. As the right pedal starts to rise, straighten your right leg and let the motion of the pedal lift you up. Let go of the handlebars, let the saddle move forward between your legs, and put your left foot on the ground. As the bike goes ahead, grab it by the saddle. It takes a bit of courage to try this, but it is actually very easy to do. It is also extremely impressive to watch. When executed properly, it is very smooth, and you can go from riding to walking in a single fluid motion, without ever coming to a stop"

I've gotten derision for my decision. I want to build to race, not to be foppish or hipstery. It's an experience I believe that should be taken to its fullest. Plus, I have friends and people who are always willing to help. Lucky me.

The Beer's Prayer

Our lager,
Which art in barrels,
Hallowed be thy drink.

Thy will be drunk,
(I will be drunk)
At home as in the tavern.

Give us this day, our foamy head,
and forgive us of our spillages,
as we forgive those who spill against us.

And lead us not into incarceration,
but deliver us from hangovers.

For thine is the beer,
the bitter and the lager,
for ever, and ever.
Barman.

36:17:18: Paper Moon

Say, its only a paper moon
Sailing over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me

Yes, it's only a canvas sky
Hanging over a muslin tree
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me

Without your love
It's a honky-tonk parade
Without your love
It's a melody played in a penny arcade

It's a Barnum and Bailey world
Just as phony as it can be
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me

38 days, 10 hours, 20 minutes: Polka Dots and Moonbeams

A country dance was being held in a garden
I felt a bump and heard an "Oh, beg your pardon"
Suddenly I saw polka dots and moonbeams
All around a pug-nosed dream

The music started and was I the perplexed one
I held my breath and said "May I have the next one?"
In my frightened arms, polka dots and moonbeams
Sparkled on a pug-nosed dream

There were questions in the eyes of other dancers
As we floated over the floor
There were questions but my heart knew all the answers
And perhaps a few things more

Now in a cottage built of lilacs and laughter
I know the meaning of the words "Ever after"
And I'll always see polka dots and moonbeams
When I kiss the pug-nosed dream

Thirty Nine Days, One hour, fifty minutes: Ain't Misbehavin'

No one to talk with
All by myself
No one to walk with
But I'm happy on the shelf
Ain't misbehavin'
I'm savin' my love for you
I know for certain
The one I love
I'm through with flirtin'
It's just you I'm thinkin' of
Ain't misbehavin'
I'm savin' my love for you

Like Jack Horner
In the corner
Don't go nowhere
What do I care?
Your kisses are worth waitin' for
Believe me

I don't stay out late
Don't care to go
I'm home about eight
Just me and my radio
Ain't misbehavin'
Savin' my love for you

Like Jack Horner
In the corner
Don't go nowhere
What do I care?
Your kisses are worth waitin' for
Believe me

I don't stay out late
Don't care to go
I'm home about eight
Just me and my radio
Ain't misbehavin'
Savin' my love for you
Ain't misbehavin'
Savin' my love for you

Moped Diaries: Day Six

Seattle at last.

It seemed like a luxury all of a sudden, to have slept in beds two nights in a row, rather than in my amazingly small sleeping bag and tent. I woke up at noon, while Ashton still slept. I sat up and nudged him a little and he only let out a fart. I laughed at his response and proceeded to the bathroom to take a look at myself. I looked at my beard. It didn't hang out like Ashton's did. It just sort of clung to my face, the way Hipsters used to grow their beards back in the late 2000's. It didn't seem epic, but this was the most facial hair I had ever had. I brushed my teeth and returned to the room to see Ashton spooning a pillow. Jokingly, I spoke in falsetto "Oh Ashiepoo, you know how to make a girl happy." With that, I saw a smile stretch over his face. In our iteneraries, we had decided to take the day we got to Seattle to visit everything we could before we would cross the border the next day. So far, a third of the day was over and we still were inside the hotel.

I pulled the pillow out from his claw like grip and his arms snapped around him like a bear trap. He shuddered awake instantly. He stared at me and went to the bathroom and shut the door. By the time he came out, it was two. But I laughed when I saw him. He shaved his epic beard to resemble the clingy hipster like beard I was sporting now.

"What?"
"Nothing. I thought your beard was epic."
"It still is."
"Nope."
"Fuck."
"C'mon, we got stuff to see in Seattle."
"Like what?"
I clawed the back of my head for things to do in Seattle. I could only muster a few, "We could see the world's first Starbucks, and go to the Pike's Market, and see the needle, and of course R.E.M. Koolhaus' library." I hoped that was sufficient.
"Sure."

This time, the cycles were lighter, not loaded with panniers, leathery oilskins and plastic cases. This time, just two riders and their cameras. We saw the sites, we ate the food, we did this and we did that, but we wanted a drink. The last beer we had was on our third day, a bottle of Moosehead lager I bought at the convience store. We found a pub, walked down into the basement and it almost felt like walking into Cheers.

We stumbled home, walking our Mopeds, and singing a song. We locked the bikes to the chain post and to the rain gutter, and to a vending machine for some reason unknown. We retired to our room, took off our heavy outer wear, and plopped down and fell asleep.

Moped Diaries: Day Five

sorry it's been such a long time since the last post, but here goes!

A low rumble of thunder shook me awake. I sat, surprisingly upright, stiff in an old soccer jersey, groggy and trying to get a feel for my settings. The room was dark with the exception of a mottled, dirty brown rectangle of light to the side of me. This was a welcome change from the damp green tent we usually slept in. I rustled my naked legs under the sheets, feeling my leg hairs catch the threads. I rubbed my thin beard, still blinking unconciously, trying to fit the room and the things in it into focus and eventually it did. It smelled sterile, like a cleaned smoking room. The whole room seemed to blend into the sixties fairly nicely with the fabric wall paper, ceiling lamp suspended on a brass chain and decorative metal artwork. Shuffling to the bathroom, I faced the large mirror. My face was growing again since the first time I shaved outside of the Oregon coast. I brushed, washed and scrubbed, and performed two out of the three s's. I didn't shave.

I re-entered the room to find that the curtains now were drawn and Ashton was sitting in the pleather armchair by the radiator under the big window. He had the grimy looking coffee maker switched on to make some hot water. Another low rumble. This time, the window rattled a little. Curiously, I peered over to the clock by the bed and it said 7am. Ashton grabbed the remote and pointed it at the television set. It hummed to life and a faded out image of an Anchorperson showed up. The sound hadn't quite caught up just yet. Then, the sound crackled to life.

"Today's news forecast calls for thunder storms until one, and high winds starting at seven pm tonight. If you're going south, avoid the coast as we will be getting southerly winds mixing up with a cold front from Canada."
"That settles it," Ashton cried, "we'll have to stay here until two.
"We gotta check out though."
"Yeah, forgot about that. OK, new plan. We'll hang out at the market until two."

Packing up the mopeds, we loaded them up in silence, breaking it only once when I leand over to pass a fart. The clouds still mussled themselves overhead, playing like waves, breaking on an ocean, but above our heads. He rode out to the Portland market, sat and ate fried fish, picked out fresh fruit, a tomato here, an onion there. Closer to two, we would sit by the coffee trolley and sit and play backgammon. When two passed, we apparently decided it would be safe to go out. The bridge over the river seperating Portland and Vancouver in Washington state would be our final farewell to Oregon. We pedaled north, following the roads into the interior, and the clouds kept coming. We found a small little trap along side a lonely side road that we decided to stop and take a break at. Turns out the man sold beaver and otter pelts. Ashton was disgusted and walked out while I remaind inside touching the soft furs.

Washington is quite strange you could say with a grin. I read back in college that a large portion of the state was used to manufacture the materials necessary for nuclear research during the second world war. My how the values have changed within the past sixty years. We continued to ride, this time, rejoining the coast and following the road north. By nine in the evening, we reached the city of Seattle. Tired, cold and hungry, we parked at another motel, this time, one not from the sixties, and ate at the dive at the corner, plunked onto the beds, still in our jackets, helmets, goggles and boots.

At one, I shifted over, realizing I was still in full ride up gear, undressed, urinated in the bathroom and went to bed.

Like the boy who cried wolf...

I slept that night, feeling sad, crying on the inside. I didn't think she was too, so when I woke up, I sent an asshat text and went back to sleep. It hurt her. I knew it did, and I was afraid for when she would call. When she did, I pushed it too far. I didn't intend to, she's a delicately balanced person and i'm a stump on the ground, I thought, unfallable and unmovable. Turns out, I let my emotions all over the street. I cried in front of 40 people walking and 400 people driving down University when she called.

I'm going through lent again. This time, I'm not going to let her get in the way like last time.

Starting at Midnight, in One Hour, and forty minutes, my lent begins.

Forty Days and 0 hours, 0 minutes

Say it so, A Man Needs a Woman

Do you ever remember what life was like before you met her? I tried to remember, but it's starting to grow dim. These days, all I ever think about is her, and moving out, and my new fraternity, etc. etc. But just a couple days ago, I started to think about what was my life like before I met her? Before I became a sensual romantic. I certainly wasn't walking around in a flannel shirt chopping trees down and sticking my face on paper towels, but I was doing things that guys probably would do. I mean, yeah, I loved being there for someone, I loved the idea of waking up next to a great gal, and of course there are certain things a girl does for you that you yourself cannot do. Like cuddle.

No, but I thrust as far back as I could muster and tried to relive that past for the past week. Working around finals of course. Monday night, I had a final the next evening so I decided to fool around. I was pretty confident in the class and when the final did come around, there was one question I couldn't answer, but not without some form of logical explanation. I went out for a bike ride, going up hills, down streets, stopping every so often to browse shops and gaze into windows. I stopped into an antique shop, browsed around and had a chat with the owner. Small world, the boss is a friend of the grandmother of a friend of my own.

I finished that ride with a close. What I call a Leighna Lap. One of my first friends at University is for her namesake, Leighna. This past semester, she showed me how to use the Ohlone trail and the bay trail. Much easier than city riding for sure, but I still like the streets every so often. A Leighna Lap consists of using the Ohlone trail and doubling back from point Richmond, following the exact same way you came down. Mixing it with my own laps and jargon, the path I followed earlier is a transbay lap, then splicing it with a Leighna Lap. I frequently just go into places I probably shouldn't at night on my bicycle. I'm sick sometimes of the eggshell white-yellow walls of the apartment, I just want to get the hell out sometimes.

So far, my Laps include the Leighna, the Transbay, the Temascal, the Solano, the Bay Lap, and the Bay Farm lap. That last one is a particular favorite, I've been riding it since I was oh well, about 12. That's when my dad first thought I would be able to manage it. When I go home in the evenings with my bicycle, I usually like to take my bike out for a ride. That's what i've been doing too. I've been trying my hand at bike repair and it's turning out beneficial. My Raleigh touring bicycle is set up so that I could just sit for hours. Then again, if you gotta go, I wouldn't suggest using the long nose, or the short nose brooks saddle.

I've been getting into bicycles lately. I'm getting another bike soon, provided that Rico calls me to help me get the darn thing setup. I traded in an old banjo for a bike. I feel music falling away from my life. Recently, I haven't looked at my music collection, played an instrument in months and I gave away, well traded, the last tie I have left here. Apart from my clarinets. I mean, before, I could tweak and setup a guitar so well, you'd have thought you were playing amongst the cloud. I wont even let myself touch one anymore unless someone's looked over it first. But i'm just as clumsy with bicycles as I am with instruments. The other day, I pulled out the locking pin to hold the stem to the fork, but I couldn't fit it back in. I panicked. Obviously. I fixed it a couple hours later.

I'm thinking of going Fixie. I've been a strong proponent against them for the longest time, but I felt change was necessary. Sheldon Brown's website turned me over. Dont blame me.

Allnächtlich im Traume

Nightly I see you in dreams - you speak,

With kindliness sincerest,

I throw myself, weeping aloud and weak

At your sweet feet, my dearest.

You look at me with wistful woe,

And shake your golden curls;

And stealing from your eyes there flow

The teardrops like to pearls.

You breathe in my ear a secret word,

A garland of cypress for token.

I wake; it is gone; the dream is blurred,

And forgotten the word that was spoken.

-Heinrich Heine 1827

Wild Yonder Calls Me Canada

I never imagined the day when I finished my last final, got my papers turned in, etc, etc, etc. But what is coming up became so readily, and frightfully apparent, I almost flinched. If I can get this trip in with my high school buddies, it'll definitely get my mind off her. Nothing spells reprieve than Canada. Legally, I'm not one, but by heart, I feel like one. Not one of those standard issue stereotypes that everyone associates with the country, but like the Californian Canadian. British Columbian to be exact.

I really should see what the rest of Canada is like. But then again, I dont know what the rest of America is like at times. Sure, I have been to places like Minnesota, New York, Chicago, Orlando. But I never saw the nitty gritty of it. Like how things work in the Nation's capital, or the refugees pulling onto the sand in Miami for the first time. But in a sense, I'm kinda trying to escape that nitty gritty. What ground me, and wore me down the most in this past relationship was the crying, the obsessing, the lonelyness and the downward spiral into my own personal dementia. But that's going to change now. I just gotta get on my feet.

I miss Vancouver, and I miss Victoria. I really would like to see my Grand-Aunt one last time before she Passes. Same with Grand Uncle Leo in Los Angeles, but I dont know him too well. I remember pouring tea into his Son's pocket at my cousin's wedding once. We were fooling that he'd steal a teapot. I didn't realize it was still full of cold tea. But why Victoria? Why Vancouver you ask? A question I still ask myself. Its still close to the Pacific ocean, so the temperatures dont get to crazy. Last time I was there, I was walking around in a tshirt and shorts. I didn't expect it to be so nice. I'd just would like to get out of the Bay for a week, then i'd be golden.

Just once, before I graduate, I'd love to get that college road trip in. I had talked about it with Jeff Stallman once, but that kinda faded off when he went to the my second choice of school. But I was talking with some of my younger friends, and they seemed really into the idea of going to Canada for the heck of it. Maybe what i'm looking for sits around what you'd expect from movies like Harold and Kumar go to white castle, Road trip, Animal House. All that good stuff. But I guess to say in the least, we just want to have fun in another country, not ours.

Here's to goals, and here's to dreams.

Music of Your Life

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to a gazillion people and include me. Try not to repeat a song title. It's harder than you think...

Pick Your Artist: The Decemberists

Are you male or female:
California one Youth and Beauty

Describe yourself:
Billy Liar

How do you feel about yourself:
A Cautionary Song

Describe where you currently live:
On the Bus Mall

If you could go anywhere, where would you go:
Oceanside

Your best friend is:
Eli, The Barrow Boy

Your favorite color is:
Red Right Ankle

What's the weather like:
July, July!

If your life was a tv show, what would it be called?:
The Perfect Crime

What is life to you:
Of Angels and Angles

What is the best advice you have to give:
Los Angeles, I'm Yours

If you could change your name, what would it be:
The Infanta

Your favorite food is:
Clementine

Your Profession:
Here I dreamt I was an Architect

counting down the days

Hello all, Hejhej, and Welcome back

CP110 paper - 1 day, 13 hours

Architecture 170B - 2 days, 19 hours

Moving out - 8 days

Going back to school, 10 days

Canada - unknown.

s'matter?

I sat quietly, listening to the voices outside the window. They were a modge-podge of boys and girls voices, all clambering over each other, trying to gain a dominance of some sort. Some were yelling, others were just drunken slur, and others were giggles, floating over the fields of dead grass, strewn with empty natty cans. But somehow, they always seem to find their way right into my window. I sat, still, listening intently, like I was spying on someone's life, listening to every single intent and personal remark.

I closed the windows, leaving the world to itself, and sat back at the desk, facing the wall. I stared at the tan colored typewriter, scowling at me with its alfalfa-like paper back sticking out and mocking me. I grabbed a sheet of paper, stuck it in, and began to write. It didn't matter what, I just wrote. I now created my own world, away from the world.

(Customer walks up and beings speaking in Spanish.)

Me: “Umm, I don’t speak Spanish.”

Customer: “Oh, ah…” *continues speaking Spanish*

Me: “I don’t understand.”

Customer: *speaks Spanish*

Me, in Swedish: “Jag pratar inte Spanska sa jag!”

*customer runs away*