The malicious cigarette slinger?

I saw a cowboy walk pass me, strolling behind his illustrious belt buckle proudly, and smoking two cigarettes - holding one in each hand, almost as methodically as if he was squeezing a pair of revolvers.

Steadily, the heels of his boots clanked against the concrete sidewalk in a rhythm that can only be match in the chaos that is rush hour. He looks calm, patient and almost aimless. My first thought, of course, was he must be one of very few cowboys in this city.

Where does he live and how does he fit into a place like this: Seattle? Are there cowboy bars or other saloons for him and his Wild West kin to frequent?

Where did this man come from? And maybe most importantly, why was he walking by me so tranquilly in the mix of this post-workday tangle?  Where was he going?

Even after he disappeared from sight, I stood there wondering why he chooses to be a cowboy in a city full of musicians, artists, poets, and sushi connoisseurs?  Hmm. A dubious moment indeed.

I bet he doesn't even like sushi.

I kind of loved it

To me it's a monsoon. To everyone else, we'll they're talking on their phones, sending emails, texting, and listening to their mp3 players. I suppose there was the occasional person struggling to keep their umbrella from flipping up like you see in the cartoons, but most seemed oblivious. Not me. Tonight I was a pawn in the middle of a metropolitan storm.

The wind blew from all directions. It's not like I have never witnessed this before, so I wasnt completely surprised, but I was bewildered over the uncountable number of rain pellets shooting upward into the cubby I formed with my body and black umbrella to keep my head and shoulders dry.

I could see it swirling in the halos of the amber street lights. The rest which hit my skin seemed invisible.

It was nearly a 20-minute walk and I soon found myself in the dry confines of the public bus, venturing home after a day of work downtown.

So many faces; everybody coming from their own worlds, with their own life adventures, and their own stories to tell. But here on this bus we were united, if even temporarily, within inches of one another awaiting for the next person to reach their stop. We shared the same stale stench of wet bodies and musty air. The dim neon lights shine only as bright as to know where one another are, and are not welcoming.

This unity is evanescent however, and almost immediately we, as bus riders, create yet another individual world.

The headphones turn on, the phones and internet become active again, and books appear from backpacks. I can see it all. I too have ventured off by myself to write on a pad of paper.

I can hear the guy next to me make call after call. He just told his unknowing friend that he blew out his back and was unsure of attending the upcoming event this weekend.  This man also loves his wife. I heard him say so.

On my left a droplet of water nicked my thigh. It has sporadically dripped from the roof of the bus this entire ride and I am sure it will target me before long. It is a similar droplet to those that scatter the bus window across the isle. On the other side of that window I can see a blurred soccer game under the lighted field. How can they stand upright in that wind?

To my right I have clandestinely observed an older man read a book on his Amazon Kindle. Have you seen these yet?

For some reason seeing this man read a book electronically on his tablet reaffirmed that I was some place new. It reassured me that I like it here.

One by one this collective group of strangers depart the bus. I am often the last one off, but not tonight.

I hate working in cyber clutter

Everyone clicks!

At least everyone who uses a computer - and maybe more. It's a necessity, I think.

But what has really begun to irritate me of late is the accidental clicking of advertisements and hidden links as I browse many of the million web pages. As a result I find myself backtracking all too often after being whipped around the Internet like some cyber-pancake batter.

I put blame on my extremely slow and cluttered computing machines, both at work and at home. 

Machines as I see them: programmed size, capability, and limits. Unlike humans they can't understand frustration at it's core. I, on the other hand, do.

Experiencing this, there is a realization that it's a strange duality living with technology. Because for as much as one can hate it, it is also that highly beloved -and more so- taken for granted (i.e. counting on your alarm to automatically sound every morning).

But back to the irritation of trying to click around the web when computers or websites slow down so much that you want to simply throw it out of the fifth floor window you look through everyday.

Ok.

Check out this site, kotaku.com.

As part of my newest job duties at a PR firm, I browse this site every morning. And with each new morning the frustration, irritation, and disbelief grow as I try to quickly search the site for relative articles under deadline.  I cant explain why because Im not a program writer or web developer, but I do know it sucks -- A lot.

Go ahead, click around the site a little bit. Scroll through it....   Maybe it is working just fine. But a site so cluttered (kinda like this post) makes it difficult to load pages and even browse at a normal rate.  Also notice the amount of links scattered across the screen.  Take that, combine it with other slowly operating opened browsing/Word windows currently on your screen, and I dare you to spend over an hour going back and forth without constantly clicking on links!

Then there are the links and other graphics that simply open a window by hovering your mouse over it... One word: ANNOYING.   Also: INEFFICIENT (for me).  I dont care about the Netflix offer damn you! I already use the service!

This may sound like nothing to you today, but one day you'll see.

In the words of Peter Griffin, "That is what really grinds my gears"

I am not a hipster dufus and I don't play one on TV

Reminiscent of the Seinfeld episode, we got lost in the parking garage today.  This occured after work, when we tried to leave the gym.

Walking to the elevators we realized that neither of us remembered, or even took the time to remember, how far up the parking garage my car traveled. Looking at each other, it was evident a crusade that can only be achieved on a television sit-com was upon us.

But to our favor, we were fairly certain my car was on one of only four levels. It was finally after numerous visits to each floor (yes we actually over looked my car the first time around) that I found it.

We make one special couple, Taiece said to me during one of our quick elevator stints.  *Yes, it's true, only if you the reader actually knew.*

Part II


Luckily, all went smoothly and we were able to get home. However not before having to go all the way back to the gym to validate our parking pass I forgot to bring on the first trip in. Soon enough we were in the comforting confines of our apartment, just in time to break m'lady's door mirror down in our storage closet.

puddles, not snow

I stepped outside tonight to recycle a couple of early Christmas boxes and was in awe.

"Wow," I thought as I looked off at a lighted church above the tree tops. "I am actually here -- smelling this Pacific Northwest air... Cool. Literally."

Although it is late December and houses are brightly illuminated in whites, greens, and reds, the ground lay clear of holiday snow. There are puddles instead.

I am okay with that. 

Temperatures are warmer than my 25 previous Christmases have ever been and I am okay with that because the shopping centers are decorated, playing holiday music while shoppers pack the check-out lines and parking lots. 

I know the holiday season is nigh because once again, I am anticipating Christmas morning. You don't lose that, I think.

This walk was a good idea

There is a ravine in my neighborhood.

When I first heard of this wooded park, I wasnt sure what to expect -- maybe a flat, grassy area with kids pulling their mom around the swing set.

I couldnt have been more wrong.

Without being too loquacious in such a description, it was fascinating. It felt surreal --like I was in Jurassic Park, and I liked it!

The multitude of towering, skinny trees criss- cross each other in a tangled net, each trying to reach the sky first in a friendly battle.

As I walked down the hill I see the trees are complemented with a small stream, birds above my head, and a curious and not very timid squirrel. Through the gaps in the trees, a pink and purple sunset.


We pushed through the other end of the ravine. My index finger couldnt snap the button on my camera enough. I didnt want to leave this place.

[archive reprint] Cowabunga says it all

Original posted Oct. 16, 2009
It's amazing the comfort that familiarity brings when, at times, you may feel like a fish out of water.

Sometimes you may find it is the simplest of sounds, smells, sights, or items lying around the apartment.
Tonight this amenity was the guitar, pages of a novel; some defining music, a bowl of mac n' cheese, and... as of this very moment, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - the movie.
Perhaps I am not out of water at all. I have just swam to the next pond.

other thoughts:

• Does April O'neal get laid off from her news station in the year 2008?
• With today's green push, would it be a law that the Shredder has to recycle his metal spike-wear when he's done with it?
• It's amazing how real these turtles looked back in the late 80's. Why did we switch everything to CGI, it takes the imagination out of the art.

Jelly Bean War

You can forget how good a jelly bean is, but you will not forget the scarring sensations of eating baby powder, rotten eggs, or some sweetened skunk spray.

This my friends was Jelly Bean Wars -- a not so auspicious challenge.

Lounging around last week, awaiting my departure from Milwaukee and looking for some entertainment, I looked up at my cousin and made her a proposal:  "Gabrielle, will you eat a black jelly bean if I promise to eat a black jelly bean too?"

Before I could finish asking the question, she retorted with sure displeasure.
"Why?" you, the reader, might ask.
Well, because it wasn't just any black jelly bean of licorice flavor that she may be ingesting, there was a chance it was the ever-undesirable sensation of Skunk Spray.

Oh yes, this wasn't an ordinary box of jelly beans, it was a box filled with beads of wrongfully flavored sugar presented in the form of boogers, vomit, ear wax, pencil shavings, moldy cheese, rotten egg, black pepper, and the consensual disgust of the night -- Baby wipes.

However it wasn't that easy. The fun was this; you didn't know which flavor you were eating.

There were eight different colors of jelly beans. Each color could either be a regular flavored peach, pear, banana, etc., or it could unknowingly be it's counterpart like the all too realistic tasting "vomit", "booger", and "pencil shavings", respectively.

So, still starving for some action that evening, I knew I had to crank up the challenge on my end by making sure I would put myself in a "lose-lose" situation, giving her some incentive, and hopefully having some laughs.

She accepted so benevolently. The agreed verbal contract was this:  We each eat one black jelly bean (either licorice or skunk spray).  If she discovered she was chewing skunk spray, then I had to also eat a second jelly bean that was potentially Vomit flavor (the yellow and red one), and extremely disgusting, in addition to my original black jelly bean.

And so it goes...

Would you take the risk?  Do the flavors of Skunk Spray deter you from anything resembling this challenge? Or do you take on the challenge for a little family fun?
Did Gabrielle accept my challenge, and if so, did I want to actually partake knowing the flavors that present themselves...?

Think about it, and check back later for the video result.

Good morning world

Through the window I watch the sunrise.  Seated as comfortably as I can in this oft-used airport seat, I await my flight listening to the little girl from the family next to me gaze in awe and excitement as the metallic vehicles come and go to the sky.
A small explosion of dust, probably tire particles and concrete, erupts as a plane just hit ground.
I am tired, but will be home in about 12 hours.

Anticipation still overwhelms my brain, but mainly my lungs and stomach. I try to sit comfortable in these seats.

I shouldn't be in angst. This is the end of my third trip in the past seven months. When all is said and done, I will have visited eight airports and sat on 12 different planes.  I am getting used to it and have come a far way since I swore off flying forever in 2001 after my initial trip to Florida. It has taken 8 years and maybe I am starting, finally, to enjoy the thrill of travel.

Noise fills the space behind me as the gate's waiting area grows. In front of me the sun has just peeked through the morning clouds.  The world is waking up.

It is time for me to join.

Beers, deer[s], and a monster [burger]

This was the scene at about 8p.m. last Saturday. From the looks on our faces, you probably wouldn't guess what we had just gone through. Or should you?

There was a weekend waiting for me. A continuing tradition from my childhood. The annual family deer hunt -- something I knew I didnt want to miss because I simply couldnt. I would never hear the end of it if I did.

It begins a while back. After a half year of nothing but nebulous, anticipative planning concerning my move west, it was finally in September when the script was written -- I knew I was coming back to Wisconsin for the state deer hunt opening weekend.

Remember those childhood memories the night before Christmas, the moments before buying your first car to freedom, and the restless butterflies in your stomach before that very first date.  Wrap them all up into one very warm sleeping bag, and try to sleep. I challenge you.  This is, and always has, defined me during what has become one of the last remaining countryside activities in my back pocket. For those of us from this state; we know what a craze the sport becomes as the woods and roadside transform orange and the hunters themselves become a deer in rut.

This year, however, deer camp was changed. Because we stayed in a new campground, we also found some new northwoods dining at a place called "The Mug", home of something so large and so life altering that I cant believe many have walked into this place and left the same person. My audience, I present to you, The Monster Burger.

This succulent medley of every traditional topping that takes atop the tremendous one-pound patty of beef is no doubt a challenge to any, but also a feat and competition to others. This night, all was the case.

Check it -- Bacon, mushrooms, ham, cheese, tomatoes, onions, an apparent whole head of lettuce, ketchup, mustard, barbecue sauce and mayonnaise team up with this pound of meat to create one barbaric sandwich, my friends.

I first heard of this story several weeks back after my youngest brother managed to force every little bite into his big mouth...finishing the dinner meant to serve a family.

This weekend, two more challengers came to the table, me and my other brother Chris.  Mono a mono. Could we both make this greasy goodness disappear into the lower depths of our soon to be dying stomachs?....I thought so. But if we in fact did so, could we walk out of the establishment under our own power? Would we be able to wake up the next morning to hunt? We were soon to find out.

After mere minutes of chomping away, this towering monument of food started to disappear...and fast. It's just too bad the napkin's proporations didnt match up. There were no clean hands or faces here.

After nearly 15 minutes the rate of chewing slowed, the stomach's filled -- we were indeed fighting a monster. The looks on our faces said it all.

I felt like a deer myself, continuously chewing the cud of this burger, waiting for the green light from my internal organs to eat more.

Chris and I looked at each other still with confidence, but now with a new pinch of disgust. We were already full, and we were going to eat it all.

And we did. After a half hour our plates were cleared of the $14 dinner.  It had become part of us now. "Ouch," I remember thinking.

That pain was temporarily submissed with the presentation of our trophy T-shirts. Yes, it was now all worth it. Free t-shirt. Chris did finish before me, but I truely believe it was my documentation of the event that allowed such to happen.

The lesson learned here is never give up despite how full of a greasy, fatty, brick-like burger your life becomes......... No. Actually, the real lesson here is to always show up your siblings despite how sick it makes you feel... And always eat your way to a free t-shirt.