June 26, 2007


Yeah I know, people don't write letters anymore, they write emails or blogs. Still, it's something special to get a letter, on real paper.

What was that? Oh, I was going to tell you about what happened after I sent a letter that I regret sending, but in a way I don't, because I was telling the truth. Consider this - that much of civilization consists of not speaking how you really feel, unless you really feel positive about something. Feeling negative about something, or someone, and needing to vent, isn't polite. So I wasn't polite. Unfortunately I was cruel.

After I sent you the letter, lots of things have happened. First off, my father died of cancer. I have had my heart profoundly broken two more times. Then I had a serious episode where I should have snagged this hottie but he went off and got married to someone else. It is for the best because he did not appreciate my sense of humor. That's a way for me to say I could have sold him the brooklyn bridge, he was so gullible to my wiles. I need someone more cynical than that. So no I never did get married.
Nor will I! Unless he's a boater. Gotta be a boater. Well, a boater would be best. See, I started kayaking, and like Frost,
"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference"

I took a whitewater kayaking class, and fell in love. And it has taken the measure of me, and pitilessly... I have had two right shoulder dislocations and surgery thereon. I have been stuffed in an undercut and worked in a hole. I have felt fear I never thought possible to feel. It's amazingly alive, being in the moment as kayaking puts me. Like nothing else. It's THE BEST.
I know I know I get poetic about it. You rolling your eyes yet? That's fine. I'll always be intense.
Lessee, I also go caving. Caving is like being in a secret passageway in a fine old Victorian mansion. The passageway leads to a room filled with glittering jewels. There is much mystery in caves, and much comfort, too. I feel very comforted deep in a cave. There are bats and mud and water, tinkling waterfalls, quiet safe dark encompassing all, no light, no sound, the best peace there is. I think you might like it. But you have to get dirty to get to the best places.
I also go mountaineering. I'll describe that later.
What's needed here is a Quick summary - I rolled my truck on the interstate and walked away from it physically unscathed. This was less of an epiphanic moment than it deserves to be. You get really philosophical for awhile, then life gradually takes over and one day you're grousing over being out of peanut butter and other mundane things, just like you were before the wreck.
I work at the same place, I'm doing motion graphics and compositing on Avid DS. I wouldn't trade my job for any other except Lottery Winner or Rock Star.
My sister Kat survived breast cancer last year, she has had a double mastectomy and reconstruction.
I have vitiligo.

Oh by the way, of course I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for many reasons, but one of the major ones was when Kat got diagnosed. I don't want to read in the paper that you've died. I don't want to find that out from a website. It rips me apart to think of that. But on the other hand, there are plenty of people I never want to hear from or talk to again, and a couple that I will be quite happy to read their obits. People have their destinies, and only so much time. Why waste time on someone whose company you detest?
I was laughing with a friend about that, about how there is this certain woman that I'd like to call and say, "Listen you annoy the piss out of me and I really don't enjoy your company, nor do I want to talk to you after this, but are you doing ok?"
As this is a prerogative I enjoy, it is also your prerogative. So I don't expect a reply but it would be nice to get one. I didn't expect, or want, a reply to that last letter of course. I had kicked you to the proverbial curb.

Back to being sorry though - I am.
Another thing that happened was Shane dying in Little River Canyon. I have a PFD he sold me - my first - and I have a brilliant image of him in my mind in the Garage cafe when I told him I was taking the beginner kayak class, back in 99 - he said, "If you flip, try to roll up". He was a magnificent boater and a good friend. Several aquantiances of mine have also died in the past two years. It makes me wonder what I would say, if I could, to them if I had known the time left with them was so short.

So see, I wonder, because you come to mind rather often these days, and I have no idea why. Should I be concerned for you? Is this an omen? A sign? Are you in fact fine? Or is there something I could do to help? You, being a sensible woman, might laugh and say that we are worlds apart. But I remain concerned, for you, for unfathomable reasons, at least I haven't been able to probe them.
John Muir said, "When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe", and Leonardo Da Vinci said, "When you put your hand in a flowing stream, you touch the last that has gone before and the first of what is still to come." And John Lennon said, "I believe, yes I believe. More I cannot say. What more can I say?" And R Shackelford said, "I refuse to date a man with bigger breasts than mine." See, if I stack enough quotes in a row maybe you'll smile.

June 22, 2007

Pucker Unconcerned

I got this line in a spam email in the poem made of spam email lines listed in another portion of this blog.

Let's sing it to the tune of the chorus from the aptly titled, "Judy's turn to cry":

pucker unconcerned
pucker unconcerned...

"fashioned him an anus" fits the song as well. OK not as well as pucker unconcerned but wtf. Apparently doctors fashioned Fidel Castro an anus at some point in his recent medical care. I'd rather be fed sleeping pills until I died, but who knows, having an anus fashioned out of some sort of organic material might be pleasant.

I made this song up a while ago that is a rip of a slow version of Dancing Days by Zep. I made it up so I could do a solo that started at the low portion of the fretboard and went all the way up the fretboard to near the tippy top. This is 'cause a certain relative always complained that I would do solos on the lower frets. So of course I like to do them. Contrariwise. I'm talking to my intimate friends here. So lissen up.

So anyway, I found, or was led to by someone wise on here, those Bonham solo cuts in MP3 and think I might play along to one, even though they aren't, any of them, Dancing Days.

Another amazing fact about me - I can't really bend strings near the tippy top of the fretboard, they hurt too much. Maybe if I switched to 9's from 10's I could, but 9's are for pussies.