My brain hurt like a warehouse

Let's shut down the shutdown! Am I right, people? This is clearly not working. Our legislators have lost all purchase on the national interest. What the country needs, not pandering to what the country wants. It burns me up, so that I have to start ignoring the news. There's never any hope any more. No hope of good governance. No hope of real change. Not anything that you can use to fuel yourself with. What keeps us going? The pursuit of cash. Is that all there is? A crass, advertising-driven profit society? I am so disappointed.

Baseball

Days when I would have been hanging on every pitch of the baseball season have gone by. I would not have foreseen this at age 15, with ERAs filling my head and Pedro Martinez at the top of his game. Baseball is not compelling in the same way. I feel that I have seen through the pseudointellectualism of its culture at last. This is sad, in a way.

The scientists say it'll all wash away

We went dancing last night. It was a great time. The floor was a little packed by the end of the night and one's feet will hurt from 3 hours of dancing without a break, but we had so much fun. A good thing to remind myself that it's good to get out of the house, now and then.

I'm sitting in the basement office now, enjoying the sonic experiments of Atlas Sound. It's good to feel different sensations, to leave the comfortable routines of every day. I feel like an explorer in my little basement room.

Blessings

We live in a huge house in a quiet neighborhood. We have a skylight and two sinks in the bathroom. There is a we to speak of. There are dreams that are more than things you scatter and pile in a basement. We are free from illness and hunger and free from want. We have jobs where we are valued and well compensated. We can cook what we like and watch movies or just read quietly. We can live without harm and help each other grow.

Pizza for breakfast

I like making pizza dough, at least I think I do, because it is inexact. Imprecision is allowable in its making. The product of the effort will be more yeasty, a little light on flour, more bubbly, too salty, or overly sweet, but the imperfections are expected in the homemade version. A wide breadth is allowed from Cook's Illustrated perfection to the time I mistakenly used self-rising biscuit flour, or topped it with American cheese. Mistakes in the recipe could even become a source of pride over time, with guests commenting on the particular twist that the cook accidentally gave to his now-specialty.

It also brings the joy of chemistry, melding unlike things in varying amounts of powders and liquids to produce a warm, pleasant, rising growing mass that is almost alive. The ball of dough is expanding as I write, softly inhaling and pushing upwards towards the kitchen towel ceiling. It's difficult to leave it alone for the time it needs to rise. I can't wait until the dough is ready to be eaten as pizza, but I cherish the process of putting it together and my central role in its parenting.

You know

The blog marches on, never fear. We're moving to DC, but the blog marches on. I ate lasagna tonight. I started watching Twin Peaks last night. I saw Fast Five today. I don't have to work again until the 15th. These are all true sentences. I'm about to start a new notebook. This is every aspiration I have.

I have trouble sleeping. I get sentimental sometimes. Sometimes my heart's just not in the job. I like people better than anything else. I love my girlfriend and my family and everyone. I get scared a lot. I can't sleep anymore. I want freedom. I want Bliss. I like the dark and the cool and quiet times. I still won't sleep but maybe I'll be happy.

Due at signing

Your real name isn't Jock Sanders, is it? Your real name is Charlie Koren, you're a stevedore from Sag Harbor. Your real name is Randy Tirado, you're an airplane mechanic from Costa Mesa. Your real name is Sandy Wilhelm, you're a retired pipefitter from Piscataway. Your real name is Jim Snider, you're a blacksmith from Pondicherry. Your real name is Wilton Lynne, you're a journeyman plumber from Knoxville. Your real name is Katherine Wittels, you're a magazine executive from Fort Worth. Your real name is Johnny Kean, you're a bicycle messenger from Tuscaloosa. Your real name is Burt Kingman, you're a hacksaw manufacturer from Thousand Oaks. Your real name is Sarah Carter, you're a jeweler from Medicine Hat. Your real name is Marcus Harter, you're a speech therapist from Sarasota.

This is my favorite coffee cup in Medford

This is my favorite coffee cup in Medford. It has a narrow base that tapers outward to a wide mouth at the top. It has a stylized leaf inlaid on one side and is devoid of any design on the other. The inside of the cup is black. The outside is faux-aged stone-gray beige. It is almost never washed, and almost always contains coffee. It sits on a woven yarn coaster on my desk.

Can't help myself, I want you and nobody else

In the manner of a diary entry:

I spent December 11th in the company of A. We walked the streets of Washington. We remarked on Millard Fillmore's official portrait. My face eventually hurt from laughing. It was a day to remember.

The bar has been set high.

in love with love and lousy poetry

Opening Ceremony

Isn't it funny, what you notice?
Her hair falls around her face, short,
not too much cared for.
Skin, in this light, is scarred with blotchy teenage battle-wounds.

Eyes with a magic laugh in them,
that she does not bother to guard from view.
Doesn't shy from looking at you
Doesn't need anything from me, but wants my attention

Full of life,
full of knowing everything
You anticipate her presence in every moment:
She's there,
where she wasn't before

I used to live in Pittsburgh, now I live in New York

-What was that sickly sweet smell that flashed through the train car? I narrowed it down to blue cheese, bourbon, or my own sweat fermenting.

-Please notify a crew member if you plan to vomit at any time during today's trip. You will be swiftly dispatched.

-Bernard's bald head and teeth gleamed in the advertisement's photo, and seemed to welcome the inference that earning an MBA in Philadelphia would be safe for a black person.

-Gleaming against the murky dusk, the repair bays stretched efficiently into the middle distance.

ROYAL SONESTA

-Eternities spent in station stops were really only a minute or two, and the train bolted down the line so quickly that it had to slow to keep from reaching the line's terminus too early.

Because the drum line's goin' wild in the San Francisco streets

A swirling mess of elbows and backs, while you try to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror for fear of embarrassment on your own behalf. Strangely attractive people all over the crowded room, being somewhat self-consciously quirky.

The gentleman at the front likes to remind people periodically of the evening's title, "Soul-le-lu-jah", which is not as clever as he might have hoped upon further review. The music is loud and archaic and punchy, stunning. There is a crush by the end, and we emerged dazed to greet the fresh air.

Windwhistle sentences, Part One

*Martin wished she had given advance notice of her visit, so that he could have made his expectations far too high to meet.

*The crown of the rock was encumbered by low clouds and a crowd of puffins.

*He took his frigid feet as a sign he had long overstayed his welcome in the shady nook.

*Caressed by the ever-present breeze, his feet carried him to places he could not have expected, even as he wished he had.

*The refrigerator laid ice cubes four at a time, and Mary grew tired of the private joke she replayed in her mind when they fell, clattering.

*He wondered fruitlessly if her claim that it was different this time around was only a feint, though he knew it to be genuine.

Gates of the Old City

Tell me it's your broken faith now baby
Don't lie and say it's coffee you're makin'

Oregon is insanely beautiful

There exists a coffee called "Double French Roast"

My feelings have not changed

I'm still making up things to worry about

non sequitir thoughts on "King of Kong"

I was struck by Billy Mitchell saying early in the documentary that he once had someone draw an analogy for him. What kind of person doesn't even draw their own analogies, I asked myself. The analogy itself was also less than stellar. It should have been obvious then that he was crazy, but I gave him too much credit for having a family. I allowed myself the thought that the director of the documentary might be manipulating me, but it still seemed obvious that Steve Weibe was the better man. It did give me pause to wonder, however, why he wanted to be involved in competitive video gaming so much, when he had so much aside from that world, and the people in it were so petty and sort of small.

Do I dare to eat a peach?

The car rocking forward and back in the driveway last night.
The cycle screaming through the Esplanade this morning (back on the old racing wheel).
The trope in literature about how mournful a train whistle always sounds.
How nervous he was to see her, even after they had contracted a certain intimacy.
The almost infantile fears people have when others leave; That which is not here now may be gone forever.
How easy it is to talk about trust and how very hard it is to practice it.
If you're a train conductor you can't be embarrassed by the sound of your own voice.
The graffiti read: "Sorry Chris". A farewell.
The look of amused mock-awe and surprise on her face when she is presented with something.

Shining steel, tempered in the fire

Truths (subject to debate)

=Stop trying to make me care about college baseball, ESPN, I continue to not give a rat's ass. There is just no more room in my brain for caring about more and more obscure and meaningless sports. Clearly your business plan involves expanding forever ad infinitum, but I cannot be bothered to care about the College World Series and the "Road to Omaha". I mean, come on, they use metal bats. What is this, Little League?

="There's laughs and fun up where the conversation flows". I used to think about this song in a completely different way, in a wishful thinking kind of fashion. It's different now.

=You can't make coffee strong enough for me. I will not fall in line.

=Obviously everything will be fine. Obviously. Why can't I remember this, though? When I need it most, I forget it.

=I bought two CDs yesterday at Newbury Comics. Jeff Buckley and Saturday Looks Good To Me. Does that make me anachronistic?

=A place where the temperature is forever lingering between 65 and 85 degrees F with a cool breeze whenever you need it. This would be a lovely place, a place I would gladly call my home.

=There are a lot of bookstores in Metro Boston. A ton. It's sad when one closes, but I think we're dealing with an embarrassment of riches here, really.

=Haven't you ever wanted to cry, just to get rid of it? Happens from time to time, and it would be nice to be able to cue it up and cry at will. I'm not ashamed to say that it really works. It's a concentrated flush of emotions leaving you all at once, and it feels great when it's over.

=Dirty Old Town. The Pogues. It is beyond lovely. Give it a chance, in spite of the bad teeth on display in the video. The note of defiance is important, otherwise the song would dissolve into gooey sentimentality.

=Bullet points make things easier, but they feel like a cop-out.

=Thanks for the kind blog words, JD. I wish my attention span was long enough to write the nice long-form posts like yours.

=Reading, how important it is. Don't stop reading! Television is fun, but it's mostly junk food. Feed your brain with books.

Mediocre poetry, part who knows of many

Lines in the sand,

Lines for the T

Heavy screeches on the tracks between here and points west:

Newton Lower Falls, Coolidge Corner.

Where are you tonight?

Do you sleep?

Do you dream of Waban, Woodland, Maverick?

I am in all of them,

Waiting for your train to arrive

looking for you

Peg

Right now,
I can barely tell if I'm sleepin' or awake.
In a little while
It'll be the morning.

You won't remember bein' lost
In the after-hours,
Take my number down
Write it on your hand
Call me in the morning.

Which of these worlds is going to find you?
Is gonna remind you what you have to do
And why do you feel that you're being lied to?
Why don't you feel like anything new?

Peg,
It's almost winter time,
Is it snowing where you are?
Wait another hour,
It'll be the morning.

-Lyrics: Saturday Looks Good to Me
Transcription: Me

la neige

Cold Boston parking lot decked out in 8 pm gloom. Broken glass and snow alike crunch crisply underfoot. The chill creeps in through warm sweaters and windbreakers, freezes nose-hairs in its frightful power. Power to kill without bias anyone who falls into its icy embrace.

Catering truck alone in an oasis of uncleared snow. Advertises warm Mediterranean delights that don't fit in this cold, cold night. The sea of shining black pavement expands ahead like the Atlantic, unbroken and vast.