For My Family

Child's Song by Murray McLaughlan




Goodbye momma goodbye to you too pa
Little sister you'll have to wait a while to come along
Goodybye to this house and all it's memories
We just got too old to say we're wrong
Got to make one last trip to my bedroom
Guess I'll have to leave some stuff behind
It's funny how the same old crooked pictures
Just don't seem the same to me tonight
There ain't no use in sheding lonely tears mamma
There ain't no use in shouting at me pa
I can't live no longer with your fears mamma
I love you but that hasn't helped at all
Each of us must do the things that matter
All of us must see what we can see
It was long ago you must remember
You were once as young and scared as me
I don't know how hard it is yet mamma
When you relaize you're growning old
I know how hard is not to be younger
I know you've tried to keep me from the cold
Thanks for all you done it may sound hollow
Thank you for the good times that we've known
But I must find my own road now to follow
You will all be welcome in my home
Got my suitacse I must go now
I don't mind about the things you said
I'm sorry Mom I don't know where I'm going
Remember little sister look ahead
Tomorrow I'll be in some other sunrise
Maybe I'll have someone at my side
Mamma give your love back to your husband
Father you've have taught we well goodbye
Goodbye Mamma goodbye to you too pa

Romance

A song by Tom Waits that I think is so incredibly romantic. Enjoy.



They bought a round for the sailor
And they heard his tale
Of a world that was so far away
And a song that we'd never heard
A song of a little bird
That fell in love with a whale

He said, 'You cannot live in the ocean'
And she said to him
'You never can live in the sky'
But the ocean is filled with tears
And the sea turns into a mirror
There's a whale in the moon when it's clear
And a bird on the tide

Please don't cry
Let me dry your eyes

So tell me that you will wait for me
Hold me in your arms
I promise we never will part
I'll never sail back to the time
But I'll always pretend you're mine
Though I know that we both must part
You can live in my heart

Little Metal Objects

I went to my left-hand pants pocket today for keys. I didn’t have any and I always have keys there, always.
Keys are tied to strings that are tied to items that are tied to life. Keys to the Car, the house, work. Funny, the blip of panic I felt, realizing that I had no keys. No keys! Nothing tying me to anything, anywhere. Then, followed autonomy from sticky things: bills, leases, and contracts. From panic to tranquility in one half-second. Wonderful.

Bobby pins. I love them. I pick them up, like dimes on the floor. Irresistible. Thinking that they have been embedded in the hair of some woman, somewhere, thrills me. I picked one up yesterday in the hospital elevator, stuck it in my left-hand pants pocket. Fantastical, then soothing - this bobby pin in my pocket. I’ll put it with all the others in my collection. Each one connected with someone else, unknown, but somewhere. Fastened to imagination. Fastened to life.

I'm reposting this because I think it's funny,...still.

Instructions For the Operation Of a Clothespin
(A) Spring Type Clothespins

1. Grasp clothespin by the open end(the end that’s shaped like a V) between your thumb(if you do not have a thumb one can be purchased at your local Home Depot) and your forefinger.

2. Squeeze the clothespin ends together causing the opposite end of the clothespin to open(At this point we recommend using extreme caution. Clothespins are not toys, the open, spring-loaded end could come in contact with unattended body parts and cause severe discomfort. Keep all children, pets, and baby unicorns away from open clothespins). Aim away from face.

3. Place open clothespin over clothing article and pinning apparatus(We strongly encourage using certified clothes line cable in any clothes hanging situation. Poorly anchored or weak clothes line cable could result in clothing falling from dangerous heights; creating a hazard by landing on and/or covering up important items such as car keys or the entrance to a really cool cave.). Wait 5-7 minutes after eating before pinning clothing to a clothes line. Do not hang clothing while you are on fire.

4. Remove fingers from the clothespin releasing the spring tension onto the clothing and cable(release speed is critical during this step; releasing to fast could result in a loud SNAP sound startling nearby wildlife and/or napping grandparents. Releasing the clothespin too slowly could result in finger fatigue and cramping - the leading cause of accidents during the picking of noses, ears, and kickball teammates.). Practice responsible clothes pinning; avoid using clothespins while under the influence of alcohol or hallucinogens.

(B)Friction Type Clothespins

1. Place clothespin over clothing and clothesline. Enjoy!

Exerpt.

During the following summer, while he was picking up his mail in the lobby, Ron met Marie, a new tenant moving into the apartment directly above his, into apartment 4. He was instantly frozen with delight and ferocity when she came gliding through the lobby door. Marie was a vibrant and shining woman, to Ron she was the apex of emotion and desire, never had he been so struck by another’s presence. She was a slim woman with fair skin, light freckles on her nose, and auburn hair that was drawn back in a pony tail. She had refined features which made her appear ‘expensive’ to Ron, but her mild demeanor told otherwise.

As he stood there with mail in hand, she walked in with a basket full of folded clothes, smiled, and said hello. He was speechless and fully aware that his mouth was propped open with astonishment, though he could do nothing about it. He managed a cordial greeting, then she introduced herself. Sweat felt as though it was about to drip from his hand as he extended it for a handshake. He hadn’t thought it through well, and placed the hand back at his side when he realized that both of hers were occupied with the laundry basket.

Several seconds passed before Ronald became aware of his gawky posture and in an effort to rectify the awkwardness of their meeting he magnanimously offered to help her carry a few things inside. Marie agreed, stating that she would need help with her desk and box spring. Ron knew that keeping his hands busy with this task would help to allay his nervous and trepid thoughts about her, allowing him to carry on a decent conversation, much in the same way that occupying his mind with math helped him curb a bouncing knee or tapping pencil.

Moving the desk was effortless, while they moved it across the lobby floor Ron imagined that rather than moving a desk together, the two of them were sitting across from one another at a small table, at a small coffee shop, in Italy. He managed to carry the box spring into her apartment on his own and proceeded to pick items out of the trailer and move them in until there were no items left to pick. This was his chivalrous way of letting her know that he was smitten by her, this was Ron’s way of buying Marie flowers.

Return to the Infrared Life

Along with my return to the hum-drums of Infrared Thermography comes the dreaded return of the 'airy whistle'. This morning I was entertained with the likes of "We Built This City" by Starship. True to form, i was only privy to two phrases from the chorus for much of the morning.
We built this city
We built this city
We built this city
We built this city
We built this city on rock and roooooooooooll
...
We built this city
We built this city
We built this city
and so on.

To relive my agitation from last year with me, please read on...

13.8.08
Rattle and Whistle
It may be true that you will learn to despise any person after you’ve spent enough time with them. Reason is thrown to the wayside in that moment of hate when you have finally reached a breaking point with your unavoidable companion. You even contemplate murder, or at least imagine an unfortunate workplace accident, alien abduction, or spontaneous combustion. We’ve all had this happen, no matter how nice you are.
My morning routine is beginning to try me. I’m working on the road, spending most of my waking moments with one man, my boss, essentially. He is charismatic at the outset, funny, jolly, even fascinating at times. Now, however, after weeks with him and only him, my toleration is begging for rest. He’ll show up at my hotel door, 7.30am, bright and bubbly. I on the other hand, am grim, groggy; bracing myself for his cheery morning comment and shit eating grin. His words annoy me for no good reason.
We eat breakfast.
I ignore as many conversation starting comments as I can muster without distinct insolence.
We drive to the AFB.
I ignore as many conversation starting comments as I can muster without distinct insolence.
I begin to wake up. I begin to be more cordial.
We arrive at the AFB hospital
The song that was last playing on the radio of our rental car as we park at the hospital becomes the absolute bane of my workday.

He whistles it.

It’s not even a whistle, it’s that feeble, airy, seemingly unobtrusive, half whistle. It’s weak and in my ear for the duration of the morning. I’ll try to defer him by singing a catchy tune of my own, or by whistling like any decent person whistles.
No dice.
“WHISTLE LIKE A MAN, YOU TURD!” I utter in my head.
The worst part?
The worst part is that it’s never the entire song. In fact, it’s not even close to the entire chorus! It’s one part of it, over and over again. Nonsensical parts of the chorus spliced together, made into a death march chant. “whooh whowhooooooo, whooah, whoooooooooooo”
A small list is building inside of my mind now of songs that are ruined forever as a direct result of this phenomenon.

Today, at lunch in the cafeteria, we watched coverage of the Olympic Games.
….
Do you have any idea at what speed the Olympic theme music can become annoying?
Imagine hearing it continuously on a loop for nearly an hour and a half after your lunch break.
Now, instead of hearing noble trumpets blasting it in perfect tune, replace it with a dry, pathetic, reaching for life ‘whrrrrroooooaaah’.

Add the tooth-gnashing intensity of 1,000 mosquitoes hovering around your head.

I wanted to jam #2 pencils into my ears.

“Whooo WHOO wh whoo wha wha wha, wh wh wh wh WH wh whwhWHWHwh wh whooooooaaaahh”
Again.

And again.

And Again.

I now harbor the same hate for the Olympic theme music that the Menards employees harbor for the cheery, banjo driven “SAVE BIG MONEY AT MENAAAAARDS!” theme music that plays every 45 seconds in their stores.

Laundr-O-Mat

Everyone has been to one. You know what it’s like. It’s like waiting in waiting in line at Wal-Mart. No one dares to make eye contact, you just mind your own business. Or better yet, it’s like waiting outside of the principals’ office, because when you’re at the Laundromat you feel like you are not nearly as good as the world you came from. You don’t even have your own washer and dryer. Hell, you don’t even have a friend with a washer and dryer. So, instead, you drive somewhere and pay a big, silver machine to hold your hand, or make fun of you; of whatever it is you happen to be feeling on laundry day. The few hours you spend there, staring at the wood-paneled walls, obliquely connects with your mind so that you can remember being to the Laundromat, but you can’t remember a thing about it. It’s like trying to remember something distinguishing about Grand Forks, ND, or Winnipeg. You remember being there, but if someone asked you what it was like, you’d just shrug your shoulders and say I guess it was like a regular town….

Cover of Independence Day by Ani DiFranco

Although this song is hardly specific to July 4th, I thought that it would be appropriate seeing as Independence day is nearby. I can't relate especially to the tune, though I really love the sounds of it. I hope you like it! It's from the album, Little Plastic Castle by Ani DiFranco

we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp
on the 4th of july
we sat out on the hood with a couple of warm beers and watched the fireworks
explode in the sky
and there was an exodus of birds from the trees
but they didnt know, we were only pretending
and the people all looked up, and were pleased
and the birds flew around like the whole world was ending
and i don't think war is noble
and i don't like to think that love is like war
and i gotta big hot cherry bomb, and i want to slip it through the mail slot
of your front door

don't leave me here
i've got your back now
you'd better have mine
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time

so many sheep i quit counting
sleepless and embarrassed about the way that i feel
trying to make mole hills out of mountains
building base camp at the bottom of a really big deal
and did i tell you how i stopped eating?
when you stopped calling me
and i was cramped up shitting rivers for weeks
and pretending that i was finally free

don't leave me here
now that your back
you'd better stay this time
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time

we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp,
on the 4th of july
and i planted my dusty boots on the bumper and sat out on the hood,
and looked up at the sky

Helicopter!

I’ve never flown a helicopter and really, really doubt that I ever will. I’ve always been under the impression, through snippets of sporadic conversation, that helicopters are difficult to fly. It seems that there are so many things to control at once. Earlier this semester, during speech class, I wrote in my notebook; ‘Flying a helicopter is like being in your kitchen and operating the stove, refrigerator, toaster and microwave all at once’. Then, I found this:

“The first time I ever flew a helicopter I thought to God I was trying to stir a cake.

The second time I flew a helicopter I was convinced I was stirring a cake. The helicopter seemed to have a mind of its own because no matter what you did on the controls it took a helicopter about a second and a quarter to make up its mind that your command on the controls is what you really wanted. This is called a time the lag common to all helicopters. You don't know how long a second and quarter is until you've flown a helicopter.”

-John Angus Carter

So now I think that flying a helicopter is like being in your kitchen and operating the stove, refrigerator, toaster, microwave, and baking a cake at the same time.

A Speech About a Guy(100th post!)

“We’d never know how high we are,
Until we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Out structures touch the sky-”

-Emily Dickinson

I was on the balcony level and a small display, tucked into one small corner, caught my attention. There was a white capsule big enough for one person there, a gondola once connected to a helium balloon that reached the heavens. I was at the Wright-Patterson AFB near Dayton, OH in the base museum and I was looking at the exhibit that celebrated the efforts of Col. Joseph Kittinger and the crew of Project Excelsior. It was a little known AF mission that extended human limitations and pushed the very boundaries of our sky. In an effort to record the effects of high altitude on the human body, project excelsior’s helium balloons lifted Joe Kittinger to enormous heights, whereupon he jumped from his craft, freefalling and then parachuting back to the earth. These acts of skydiving shattered all skydiving records and remain today, nearly 50 years later, as truly remarkable efforts that are unsurpassed. Kittinger is even considered, by some, to be the first man in space.

Joe Kittinger was a Colonel in the U.S. Air Force. Though his military career began in 1950, he wasn’t involved in high altitude testing until 1957 when, as a part of operation Man High, he set an interim balloon record of 96,760ft, for which he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross medal.

Shortly after the completion of operation Man High, Kittinger was assigned to Project Excelsior, a series of 3 high altitude parachute jumps that challenged his body’s ability to withstand physical forces never experienced by any other man. The purpose of these jumps was to develop systems that could ensure the survival of a pilot in the event of a high altitude ejection from an aircraft. On each of the high altitude jumps Kittinger was outfitted with a pressure suit that weighed twice as much as he did to protect him the ultra thin atmosphere and staggeringly low temperatures. The merciless high altitude environment was fierce enough kill an unprotected man instantly.

Kittinger’s first jump, in 1959, was from 76,400ft above the earth, about 8 miles into the stratosphere.

This first jump wasn’t a successful one. Because of an entanglement with his parachute rigging, Kittinger’s body went into a flat spin, spiraling uncontrollably at 120rpm causing him to lose consciousness. The spin created g-forces 22 times that of gravity at his extremities, thereby unintentionally setting records. If not for an automatic opening of his backup parachute at 10,000ft, he would have certainly fallen to his death.

Despite near tragedy with the first, Kittinger went ahead with another high altitude jump less than a month later at the same height. This time setting a freefall record of 55,000ft before pulling the ripcord for his parachute.
Eight months later, in 1960, Kittinger and the crew of Project Excelsior performed their third and most remarkable test. Excelsior III was to be the final word on high altitude survival. However, while ascending in the gondola, Kittinger discovered a problem with the glove on his right hand. It wasn’t pressurizing due to a small leak. With no pressure on his right hand, it pooled with blood and swelled to twice it’s normal size. Though extremely painful and causing him to temporarily lose use of said hand, he continued on with the mission without notifying his ground crew for fear of the mission being called off. Then, after 1 hour and 31 minutes, Excelsior III reached it’s maximum altitude, far above the reach of clouds, and Kittinger vaulted himself into the darkness of space.

He said he had ‘no sensation of falling’. This was because he was in a place where scarcely any air existed to create a whistling of wind or a rustling of fabric. When he jumped from the gondola, Kittinger thought he was suspended in space. It was only when he turned, freefalling with his back towards earth and watching the gondola rapidly disappear from view, that he realized he was surely falling. He fell at a top speed of 614mph, breaking the sound barrier and he experienced temperatures as low as -94 degrees F.

At nearly 20 miles above the earth, 102,800ft, Col. Joseph Kittinger broke all previous manned balloon records and set skydiving records that remain unbroken today. He kissed the very edge of our atmosphere, he touched space.

The most remarkable thing about it: Kittinger and the crew of Project Excelsior never set out to break any records. After deploying his parachute at 18,000ft and safely returning to earth, Kittinger and the ground crew simply packed up their gear and returned to their offices with the information they had gathered. What they had accomplished was for the sake of research, it was for the sake of bettering aeronautics technology. The members of Project Excelsior had performed astounding tasks without the presence of a limelight, receiving little more than a pat on the back. The members of Project Excelsior had merely done their jobs; they had achieved greatness whilst doing their jobs.

So there you have it. Joseph Kittinger; an all American hero, if you will, who was given an opportunity to do something absurd and made it absolutely conceivable. An AF Colnel who, one day, went to the edge of the known world and came back with a big stupid grin on his face. A man who, upon finding himself in the most lonely of places; jumped.

I will leave you with this, from Jalaluddin Rumi, who says:

“This is love:
To fly toward a secret sky,
To cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First, to let go of life.
Finally, to take a step without feet.”

I Love Your Hair, Guy.

This is painted on a bridge that I traverse on frequent bike excursions.(click for bigger)

Missing hands and feet. Check
Invisible bicycle. Check
Whitewall tires. Check
Kickass hairdo. Check

This guy is a hipster extraordinaire.
All he is missing is some neon sunglasses and a PBR tallboy.
Upon closer inspection I realize this is more than some average Minneapolis hipster.
There is only one man I know that can pull off a hairdo like that.
It’s our founding father! Georgie Washington

I’ve created this mock-up to demonstrate my point and reveal the true George Washington to the world!

Thank God for my fine abilities in MSPaint.

Just a Song to Share

This is called "The Ballad of Love and Hate" and it's originally by the Avett Brothers. I like it and hope you like it too.

Love writes a letter and sends it to hate.
My vacations ending. I'm coming home late.
The weather was fine and the ocean was great
and I can't wait to see you again.

Hate reads the letter and throws it away.
"No one here cares if you go or you stay.
I barely even noticed that you were away.
I'll see you or I won't, whatever."

Love sings a song as she sails through the sky.
The water looks bluer through her pretty eyes.
And everyone knows it whenever she flies,
and also when she comes down.

Hate keeps his head up and walks through the street.
Every stranger and drifter he greets.
And shakes hands with every loner he meets
with a serious look on his face.

Love arrives safely with suitcase in tow.
Carrying with her the good things we know.
A reason to live and a reason to grow.
To trust. To hope. To care.

Hate sits alone on the hood of his car.
Without much regard to the moon or the stars.
Lazily killing the last of a jar
of the strongest stuff you can drink.

Love takes a taxi, a young man drives.
As soon as he sees her, hope fills his eyes.
But tears follow after, at the end of the ride,
cause he might never see her again.

Hate gets home lucky to still be alive.
He screams o'er the sidewalk and into the drive.
The clock in the kitchen says 2:55,
And the clock in the kitchen is slow.

Love has been waiting, patient and kind.
Just wanting a phone call or some kind of sign,
That the one that she cares for, who's out of his mind,
Will make it back safe to her arms.

Hate stumbles forward and leans in the door.
Weary head hung, eyes to the floor.
He says "Love, I'm sorry", and she says, "What for?
I'm your and that's it, Whatever.
I should not have been gone for so long.
I'm your's and that's it, forever."

You're mine and that's it, forever.

Your mouth is open Dude. Dude, your mouth is open.

Seriously. Your mouth is still open.
Are you about to say something? No.
Does having your mouth open make you a better driver? No.
Are you taking a bite out of a big sandwich? No.
Why, oh why is your mouth always open!? Is your nose plugged?
Maybe your jaw is too heavy for your face.
What if I just give it a boost with my hand?
Oh, I’m sorry, is shutting your mouth for you with my hand inappropriate?
Yes, I guess it is.
But, the open mouth makes you look stupid.
No, not at all. I’m sure you’re a very intelligent individual.
Still though, it looks dumb.
I mean, it’s gotta dry out in there, right? Are you over-hydrated?
Attempting to shed excess body temperature like a dog?
Seriously dude, your mouth is still open.
You probably don’t even know.
I want to walk up to you and say “Hey man, your mouth is open”.
Because, um. It’s open.
And it doesn’t need to be open.
A bug could fly in there.
Did you ever read “There Was an Old Lady That Swallowed a Fly”?
Yes, I know it’s a children’s book, but still, it could happen.
The book says they “don’t know why she swallowed the fly”.
But I know that she swallowed it because her mouth was always open.
And now she’s dead because she swallowed the horse.
So….go ahead and close it.
Go ahead, it’s okay. You’ll still be able to breathe, and drive.
Seriously man, your mouth is still open.

Dusty Lavender

I’d say it was purple, but violet garners greater reverence and deeper imagery. So violet is the color she wore, or rather it wore her. It lived on her, swam in the carefree rivers of her silken skin and slumbered on the covers of her eyes. Her body gave violet body, her character gave violet character, her breath made it breathe, her speech made it speak and it spoke directly to me in words that I could only understand on the very inside of myself. She called it dusty lavender tonight, so that now dusty lavender is folded up on a make believe handkerchief and in my front shirt pocket close to my beating heart.

Dirty Elegance

The dirt on an elegant woman’s arms. Look at it. Do you know what that looks like? It looks like a real flea circus with real fleas in it. Not one with motors operating the trapeze. REAL fleas, friends - doing real tricks. It’s also like the trick where your uncle grabs your nose. Placing his thumb between his index and middle fingers showing you the underside of his thumb and claiming that he has your thumb in his hand. Except this time he has it. This time he actually pulled your nose from your face and is holding it in his hands. No more charade, just the real deal that you always ached to believe in. Come here you lovely queen, without washing up. Let me touch the dark spots, let me feel the sand in your hair. Walk on these flower petals that are disingenuously thrown on the ground before you on your way to the cigarette shop. It only makes your aura more holy, more saturated. I liked the way your hands felt last night. In the same manner that you yourself like them. The scars on your cheek; all for glory. The scars on your cheek; all for glory.

This Must Be What Being an Adult is Like…

Something about the idea of cooking. I took it for granted, I guess we all did. Why would she choose to make this dish one night and something different, tacos perhaps, another night? I imagine her startled with the thought of some food she hadn’t made for some time during her midday routine. That, or thinking of a dish that one of us liked, probably Dad, and preparing for it a day ahead of time. I wonder if she had a small schedule in her head, mapping out the elements and procedures until the night of the meal. This could be the way she stayed so creative. Maybe cooking dinner was her exciting outing for the day. Maybe making a meal was a trip to another country; a vacation. Or maybe it was just cooking dinner.

Nectarine

While she finished filling the pillbox, snapping shut the little doors from Sunday to Saturday, the fruit, in a bowl on the counter, caught her attention. Birg was transfixed by the single nectarine nestled in the bottom of the bowl, domineered by the apple resting on top. The nectarine, she considered the nectarine was named by a man who was in love with it.. As this thought scrolled through her head she knew that it must be true, even though it was a vague and wishing thought. She associated the word nectar with ‘nectar of the gods’ and so hailed it as the utmost in juices. In her head she illustrated an old man at a small wooden table methodically eating the new fruit that he had raised and announcing to himself “I’ll call it the nectarine, for it’s flesh is fit for the gods.”

The Wonder of Engines

I’ve always loved internal combustion engines. I cannot explain exactly why, though the thought of thousands of little machines working together to make one incredible powerhouse baffles me. Think about it, your car works because hundreds of explosions are occurring each second under the hood.


My first experience with an automobile engine was with the Volkswagen air-cooled 1200cc, found in the VW beetle that my Dad bought for me in high school. You would be hard pressed to find an engine more versatile, rugged, abundant, and charming. It’s a rear-engine, flat-four design; meaning a 4 cylinder motor that is horizontally opposed in the rear of the vehicle. The engine in my beetle was rated at only 40hp and had so many unique and innovative parts like; aluminum heads, aluminum/magnesium block, low compression ratios, slip-in cast cylinders, and heat-exchangers in the exhaust for cab heat. Anyway, I just wanted to talk about it since it started my love affair with engines.

What I didn't say

I really like you


I know that can't mean much


Because you have someone


But, I wanted you to know


Since I might not see you again


Sorry I didn't say it out loud

For the Hopeless Romantics...

“The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.”

-Rumi

Why would you ride a tall bike?

Today I saw a man riding a tall bike. He was weaving down the sidewalk around people on their way to class. Then I though to myself, why would you bother with such a tall bike? I can’t think of any advantages other than being able to see above some things. It’s harder to get on, less stable, goofy looking, hard to carry around, and impossible to put on your car. So, from this reasoning I figure the guy riding is doing it solely for the attention and this bothers me. But then I think Well, why not just let the guy be different? That can be okay. It’s true, it’s okay to different for the sake of being different, right? Isn’t that art then? Yes, I can be okay with that idea. Let the guy ride his stupidly tall bike and maybe even enjoy watching him ride by instead of my regular snide observations. That’s what I’ll do, I’ll be okay with difference, even if it is for the sake of showboating.
The next day I saw the guy on the tall bike again.
Show-off, prick thought I.
Sorry world, I’ll work on it.

Oh! Sleep!

The weight of sleep shows up in all places, at anytime. It is not polite or respectful. It won’t be considerate of company and it doesn’t care how much shit you have to get done. Sleep, Sleep, Sleep. It is so angry when you leave. It puts hooks attached to strings in your body. It throws gunk in your eyes. It picks up fatigue from your care, but leaves lethargy with you for a brief time. Sleep, if you didn’t have such big arms, I would hate you.

The Comedy of Butter

Butter. Put it on you toast, your sandwich, your muffin, your waffle, your peas, your potato, your lefse, your corn-on-the-cob; Hell, just grab a stick of butter, dip it in sugar, and take a big bite! Mmmm…delicious. I suppose I don’t think about it since butter has been around almost forever, but what a silly thing to eat! Yes, it tastes wonderful to taste but….

In the U.S. products sold as butter are required to have at least 80% fat.

80% fat. What a majority. Let’s consider then that butter = fat.

Do you think it’s funny that we spread fat on food to make it taste better? Seriously, we keep fat in a glass case on the table during dinner. It’s funny.

Rising Tire

I figured love was like a rising tire. When it is low or flat you fill it, watch it filling, feel it filling. A dramatic time that lends itself to saturated delight. You relish the filling of the tire and after its full you maintain it; When its low you fill it again - you’re favorite part. This continues until you die. But love, you see, isn’t anything like this, at least I don’t think so these days. Maybe love is a problem that you always work towards solving. You’ll get close, even thinking you have the resolution for awhile. It’s like one of those huge math problems that grad students work on, except the warm feeling of love can’t contain absolute figures. Its mad of elusive, varying shapes, confounded feelings and wild animals. Love is a problem, no resolve. That doesn’t mean I’m asking you to stop trying. It requires that you always hope to solve and therefore always work to solve.

It’s the way you hated your brother or sister while growing up, buy you would have killed someone for hurting them. You had a thick love for them on your insides. That’s relationship. That’s interaction. Problems, mess, hate, stink, and saying stupid things.

The Elements of Touch

I am not interested, I am not interested, I am not. Then intrigue, because it is creeping outside my window, appears and entertains me through the medium of touch. When I am trying my best to put to rest the women that casually lounge on the font porch of my mind; you know, when I politely ask them to leave, they gracefully linger and then loiter on my front lawn for, sometimes, years. Now, when they are finally escaping my thoughts, even as they cross the threshold of the gate, there is one thing that can bring them back: TOUCH. She touches me meditatively and before I can do much about it she’s back on the porch, sipping lemonade, talking weather and politics with the other girls.

Punching

She’s looking for cause in her life. I don’t know how to help her. I suppose all of us are looking for that to some degree. I thought about punching someone today and thought about how I would never do it because I hardly have a cause great enough in my life to punch someone for. It made me want one, I wanted a reason to punch someone in the face, feeling no remorse afterward.

In the Spirit of Easter...

Halloween. There were big buckets of candy. Sometimes, candy from my sisters…Well, it wasn’t really from them. I took it from them when they weren’t looking. Eating stolen candy that once belonged to my sisters. Take that sisters.

Underwear’s Abandon

Gentlemen, Ladies; Take a look at your underwear. As you examine the materials and schemes of them, ask yourself: If I had a shirt made out of this material, would I wear it? Then, ask yourself: If I had a pair of pants made out of this material, would I wear them? Then: If I had a hat made out of this fabric, would I wear it? The likely answer to all of these little questions is No, no I wouldn’t. Why? Well it’s obvious isn’t it. Underwear is all about the secret person underneath. Seriously, you could wear stuff that matched your style, but instead, most of us, wear underwear that has tacky patterns on them. It’s the very fabric we wouldn’t dare wear on the outside,..but oh! on this inside…..Well, drape me in the stuff. Lacy boy shorts with pink and purple hearts on it?….SpongeBob SquarePants print?…Camouflage Rambo shorts?….And that’s just what’s in my drawer. Think about all those other closet freaks out there, with there unspeakables speaking unspeakable things!
Funny then that we choose to wear, what we would never wear on the outside, underneath

I Remember When I Fit In a Tonka Truck

When I was young I had a Tonka dump truck, that, when I carefully kneeled, I could fit into the box of. It’s width and length were perfect for my small, bent legs to fit in to. The cool metal feel of it while it first touched my skin; the scratched and flaking yellow paint; the clumsy plastic wheels loping along the brown carpet of the hallway as I pulled myself along. It all added up to an insignificantly wonderful experience. It didn’t seem like a big deal when I couldn’t fit in it anymore, though I would still try to wedge myself in. Now it seems like a big deal that I ever DID fit in the Tonka truck. I’ve seen them at other people’s homes and in kids’ rooms during my adult life and have been wowed by their size compared to my own.

The Tonka truck probably arrived as a birthday present when I was 3; 4 maybe. Today I've turned 27 years old; I have no regrets though
I’d love to wedge back into that truck box;
to crawl into my mother’s lap;
to climb short trees and feel as though I were suspended in space;
to be happiest when I have candy;
to be fascinated by bugs and rocks and…;
to be unaware of the limits of my own yard or the woods behind the house;
to sit, three-wide, with my sisters in a chair;
to be soooo excited about tomorrow;
to love visiting grandma’s house;
to stay up late, watching MASH with my parents, then fake sleep so I can be carried up to bed;
to be tucked in, kissed, and easily loved

Let’s go back to that time. Someone, with me - Let’s go back to that time please.

My Favorite Apple

Today a frigid wind faced me, I walked methodically from the library back to the store. My lunch break was drawing to a close, I kept my head down, I was eating a braeburn apple. I thought of apples, good ones anyway, and what it is exactly that makes them good. There’s something about biting into one and pulling a perfect scale of apple skin and fruit into your mouth, those pieces that don’t fit the contour of your teeth, that are wider than you think. It’s as if it was sliced off with a gold-brown pocket knife as you’re sitting in a stubble field leaning up against the truck or a round bale. A good apple isn’t carved, it’s broken and split into mouth sized pieces, a good apple is taken apart and, as it is, it makes music.
Yesterday she asked what kind of apple I was eating, “It’s a braeburn” admitted like an old habit.
“Honeycrisps are better”
“yes, I know, honeycrisps are my favorite”
…
She brought me a honeycrisp today, she defied my belief that they were out of season, she defied my make-believe misgivings. So that now I’ve changed my mind,…Turns out Honeycrisps aren’t my favorite apple. No, you; you are my favorite apple.

20 Questions About Bathrooms: Question #16

16. Did you know that my mom has a Jacuzzi?

Toilet. It’s a Jacuzzi brand toilet! Can you believe that!? Now the thought of washing your feet in the commode doesn’t seem like such a dumb idea, does it? It has excellent whirling action, by the way.

February Is Haunting Me

Do you remember what February did
I do
February hurt me

I talked to February
Last year
I said
“I want closeness
I want somebody close
Not just anyone
I want one person to trust
And hold
I want skin on skin contact
I want to hold someone
I want a reason
Reason in the shit”

Because it hurt me
February hurt me

It came back this year
It put hooks in me and now hangs
From my skin
February says nothing to me
February cares not
February spells c-a-r-e with a K
And ends it with ills

Can you replace February, Love?
I hate to even ask
But I need care
From you
No one else
Not February
You

I Want To Enjoy It; But I Can’t.

Prayer. Meditation. The new bother of my day. I’ve always wanted to thoroughly enjoy praying like some people seem to when they talk about it. Truth is, I can hardly remember praying and enjoying it. During hokey prayer circles I’m doing my best to curb my fidgeting and I’m usually daydreaming about something far away from prayer. Then, I just feel guilty about it. Jesus taught his disciples to pray by giving them the Lord’s prayer and I have a hard time using that as a model because it’s so broad. So here I am, committed to praying every morning for a long 15min. This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to enjoy prayer times; it’s something that I feel has eluded me for most of my life.

My Last Day As A Freak,...Uh, I Mean Vegetarian.

During the month of January I went on a vegetarian diet to expand my horizons and possibly discover a lifestyle change that I would like a enough to stick with. This didn’t happen. I miss meat. It wasn’t terrible, there were some things that I really enjoyed about being on a vegetarian diet, but getting invited over to friends’ houses for hamburgers was a huge let-down(I swear this happened, like a thousand times during the month).

Here are a few zany facts that I came up with:
- Being on a vegetarian diet doesn’t gain you any ‘macho’ points
- Beef is delicious
- Non-meat meals are fun to make
- You feel healthier and maybe even more energetic on a vegetarian diet
- bunnies are cute
- no amount of mini-donuts can fill the hole that meat will create in your soul
- Your canine teeth get really bored when on a vegetarian diet and they go on and on about it, saying things like “This is sooo laaaammme. These vegetables are super mushy. Seriously, the tongue could chew these.”

It looks like I’ll be praying and meditating for 15min every morning in February as my new lifestyle change. Maybe this one will stick. Goodbye Vegetables; Good Morning Lord! Thanks so much for voting, I was pleased with the response.

My Walk To School

Since the beginning of this semester I’ve been walking to my school almost every school day. The walk is about 2.5 miles and after about two days of braving the cold through downtown, I wised up.

I decided to try my luck with the downtown skyways, which added very little time and very much warmth to my walk. I would say that about half of my walk is now indoors. I go through about 12 different skyways, all while feeling very out of place with the busy professionals walking around. I enjoy it thoroughly.

The walk takes about 45min, but the video is time lapsed down to 5min. It’s a little bumpy…enjoy the ride!

Restaurant Review From Awhile Back...

Nearby restaurant review~
I wonder if anyone gets tired of eating at the school, or of choking down their home made lunch; and if they do, where would they go for a bite? I set to find out.

My first brilliant plan was to head down Harmon place rd to Joe’s Garage, or the Nick and Eddie Restaurant, but I soon realized these places weren’t quite what I wanted. A two-figure lunch on a four-figure income was out of the question, cheap food + Students = Soulmates, and these places didn’t have cheap food. So I hoofed it down Hennepin Ave, past the Subway(because we’ve all been there) and on to Davanni’s, situated on the corner of 12th st. I was hoping for a one of a kind restaurant, not a chain like Davanni’s; but it’s a local chain and I had never been to one before.

After looking at the menu pasted to the front window I decided upon the “hoagie of the month combo” which promised special pricing. Van Halen was pulsing through the speakers as I entered and walked up to the order counter. I was immediately and cordially asked for my order even though I had that stupefied “I can’t find my ‘hoagie of the month combo’ on the big order menu” look on my face. When I asked the cashier which hoagie the hoagie of the month was I was disappointed at his response.

“Well, any of them” he said.
“Oh” said I.

I frantically searched the board for a hoagie of my liking and fixed my eyes on the roast beef hoagie. The sandwich itself was $5.99, so I excitedly hoped that my hoagie of the month combo meal would pleasantly surprise me with it’s special pricing. It unfortunately didn’t at $8.88.

Davanni’s offers Coke fountain products including PowerAde, they also have 4 kinds of iced tea. After a short wait my sandwich arrived, and my what a sandwich! A monstrous looking hoagie wrapped in dark brown wheat bread, with plenty of lettuce, tomato, and mayo on it’s insides. My chips were nearly forgotten, until I sheepishly asked for them at the counter. The garlic parmesan flavor of the chips complimented my sandwich, which seemed to have the perfect combination of elements, except meat. I was half tempted to stand up and ask “where’s the beef?”. My sandwich was good, yes, but I wanted more than one deli thin layer of roast beef on my hoagie. It’s a six dollar sandwich! Could I at least have two layers of roast beef on my hoagie? Hello? Is this thing on?

The coffee brown décor of Davanni’s is quaint and inviting, making for an ideal spot to meet with an old friend for a long lunch and some catching up. And if conversation runs out you can always get up and rock out to the mildly intrusive 80’s music playing over the speakers. They offer some great pizza combos like a medium pizza with two drinks and some garlic bread for 15-something, or a Large pizza with 4 drinks and more garlic bread for $22.51. It doesn’t beat Domino’s for price, but I’m willing to bet it beats domino’s for taste tenfold.

So, is it worth the trip? Well, I don’t know people! If you’re moping around by yourself looking for a place to fill the hole in your gut, then no, 9 bucks can get you more elsewhere. But if you’re looking for a place to take that ‘sweet little biscuit’ you met in the science building without looking like the complete tightwad that you are, then yes. Like I said, Davanni’s ambiance is a great place to sit and talk, all while having some pretty decent under 20 bucks for two(under $15 if you play your cards right).

Keep Voting!!

There are still a few days left to vote and the 3 of the suggestions are neck and neck. Cast a vote! Be a Star!

Freewrite From English Class

On the top shelf in the back of the closet is a small orderly stack of magazines. Magazines containing pictures of naked women. When the boy found them he was stunned with a flurry of new feelings: desire, astonishment, fear, desire, wonder. They were his Father's. The boy knew things such as this existed, but never believed things such as this existed in his own home. They were now a forbidden treasure always in the back of the closet, always in the back of his mind.

On the top shelf in the back of the closet is a shoebox filled with photographs, most of them poorly-taken from disposable cameras. Most of them pictures of her, in Jr. High, at the lake with her friends, most of them were forgotten by now, now that she was older. Moving back in with her parents after discovering she was inadvertently pregnant was humbling. She felt a loss of innocence during these circumstances. She found those pictures and felt the loss of innocence for sure.

On the top shelf in the back of the closet lies a pile of shirts that were his. Brightly-colored polos, their collars all rounded from years of washing. These were the shirts that she had always hated, shirts that she had always promised herself would be thrown out. They hadn’t been worn for some time, six years in fact since he had been gone. She didn’t want to remember him and his stupid, brightly-colored polo shirts. She had shuffled the pile around while cleaning and his scent wafted out of them. His damn smell was stuck in the fibers of the shirts so now she had remembered him, she had remembered him hard and the shirts evaded the garbage once again.

Vegetarianism Extraordinaire!

My month of vegetarian eating is nearly over, here are a few things I've learned:
1. Vegetarian meals are good, but it seems as though they're lacking something(maybe meat, I dunno)
2. Big, tough guys might make fun of you if you're a vegetarian.
3. Vegetables make you gassy
4. I'm never quite satisfied after a meal, I want to binge on candy afterwards...This isn't ordinary.
5. BLT"s contain meat.
So what should I do for the month of February? Maybe you should take the poll...

More Fuzzy Sticks

"They Are Who We Thought They Were!"

Even as pre-pubescent elementary students we all had a sneaking suspicion that 'pipe cleaners' weren't actually used to clean pipes. We had this sneaking suspicion that all they were, were Fuzzy Sticks. Though this lingered in most of our minds, few of us had courage enough to say "hey, could you pass me the fuzzy sticks?" to our table mates during the art hour. Well now we call allay all of our anxieties associated the the 'pipe cleaner' psuedonym and live in world where fuzzy sticks can be embraced, appreciated, and maybe even celebrated. All hail fuzzy sticks!

Pastaroccoli~

Against my true heart-felt desires, I haven’t been living on a diet of Doritos and Macaroni & Cheese during my time on the veg. diet. Rather, I’ve been doing my best to make creative meals that stupefy my vegetarian presumptions. Ok, maybe not stupefy, but I have had a few good meals. Here’s the thing: When I am on the veg. diet I think about my meal choices more, planning them out, sometimes even minutes beforehand. Eating, now, is more than just filling a hole, it’s making a choice because I’ve put myself in this vegetarian mess.
At the outset of this experiment I went grocery shopping, spending about 75 dollars on vegetarian foods. 75 DOLLARS! My hope then was that this food would last all month for me, but I’m starting to have my doubts. Tonight I had Pastaroccoli: Pasta mixed in with frozen broccoli. Part of my problem is that I didn’t put together meals when I went shopping, I just bought a bunch of frozen veggies, some tortillas, fish, and did my best to avoid the meat case.
The meals are good, yes, however the problem is cost. Not necessarily because the food costs more, but I find myself wanting after a meal. The meals don’t stick with me like I want them to. Or else the case is that I’m not satisfied like I am after eating a side of pork. I’ve found myself searching the cupboards after eating looking for something sweet or junky. I do this sometimes when I eat meat, but it’s very compelling these days.
That’s the word so far on the veggie world that I’m wallowing in. I plan on trying to stretch out the groceries with the hope of making them last until the end of the month. This means a lot of cauliflower, broccoli, and oatmeal…oh, and I still have a can of sardines lurking the back of the pantry creepily calling my name. Turns out they are a good source of Omega 3s.

20 Questions About Bathrooms: Question #15

15. Allright, who’s the guy who keeps spitting his gum in the urinals?
Seriously, stop it.

An Experiment:

For the month of January I promised myself that I would try to be a vegetarian. Not because fuzzy little animals make me feel all fuzzy inside; it is more so to raise my own awareness about vegetarianism and the food industry. I want you to know that I love meat. Meat is delicious and I’m going to miss it. Meat. Meat. Meat. Wrap my own arm in bacon, I’d probably consider eating it.
I turned down an invitation to a friend’s house tonight for burgers and I had to pick some toppings off of a pizza yesterday(though I almost forgot). Tonight I had rice for dinner, though this is partially because I have almost no food in my possession. Here is a running tally:
7 eggs
PepperJack cheese
Onion Dip
Strawberry Jam
Bread
Arborio Rice
Cornbread Mix
2 artificially sweetened peach cups
4 boxes of Allbran
3 boxes of Raisin Bran
Oatmeal

…and that’s all. Seriously. So I’m about to embark on my first vegetarian grocery shopping trip. Here goes nothing…Wait, that’s not true. Here goes all of my favorite meat products for a month!