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After a grueling day yesterday, I stopped for a mani/pedi and then I met Scott for happy hour at the Armadillo Palace off Kirby. It was only my second time there and ironically, the first time was also with him. We talked a lot of shop before Georgia and her friends showed up followed by Barrett and Andy. I have to say that they serve some of the best restaurant nachos I’ve had in a long time. Yum. I don’t know what my deal is recently, but I’ve been on this nacho kick. “It’s nacho cheese! It’s nacho cheese!” After a couple of hours, Scott claimed he needed to go home, so we all started to leave. I announced that I was stopping at Blanco’s Bar and Grill to see my old friends and coworkers because I knew they’d be hanging out there last night. Next thing I know, Barret, Andy, and had-to-go-home-Scott were all there with me. Joe, Dirk, John, and Andy (different Andy) as well as a gaggle of familiar faces from my old Blanco’s days were there sucking on barley pops. The place was packed, but it just kept getting busier and busier. By the time I left… much too late… it was more crowded than I’d ever seen it in all the years I’d been visiting from time to time. The only thing more amazing than the density of the crowd was that 70-ish percent of them were women and you had to really struggle to find one that was unattractive. What was this place? Where was my old, quiet, hidden gem of a icehouse? It had been invaded by second gen yuppies. Oh well, everything changes I suppose. Scott and I were the last to leave. Barrett lives close to midtown, so I stopped at his flat for some liver processing time before eventually driving home around 3:45 in the morning. Needless to say, I was hurting this morning. It wasn’t really a hang over as much as it was my body being pissed off at me for getting up and driving into the office on such little sleep. Recovery time exponentially increases with age. Indeed. Anyhoo, I was fortunate that one of my afternoon meetings canceled on me due to an unexpected delivery. One of the key participants apparently had a wife that leaked a baby, so I got to drive back to the home office and finish out the day working with bare wiggly toes in shorts instead of prim and proper business attire. Yay me. Now that the work day is over and the weekend is here, I need to catch up on R&R. I’ll let you know how that works out. 

“Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.” - Optimus Prime

Long week that keeps dragging, it is. To prevent further undue stress, I’m typing this post in OpenOffice with plans to cut and paste in a few minutes when I virtually pass out from exhaustion. Doing my boss’s job while he’s on sabbatical isn’t as intense as I’d built it up to be… it’s doing his job on top of my job that has been challenging. My Exchange calendar looks like someone shot it with multicolored paintballs from a fully automatic rifle. My cell phone battery won’t make it through a single business day. I know I have my finger on the pulse of every little thing and I’m on top of it, but at night, when I try to wind down for some recharge, I feel like something slipped through the cracks. I went back to the gym yesterday. I’ve been trying to motivate a friend of mine to get in shape, so I thought setting a good fitness example would be as good an excuse as any for me to pay the sweat factory a visit. My back is in knots and I need a massage. Outside of juggling at the office, I haven’t done much. I went to see Transformers tonight and really enjoyed it. I shipped a package overseas this afternoon and was floored by the price gouging on international parcel delivery. I’m in the wrong business. I had plans to head to the coast this weekend for some sand between the toes, but remembered it was Barrett’s girlfriend’s birthday and I’d pseudo-RSVP’d previously. I’m looking forward to the weekend downtime. Trying to sleep through Yorkie kisses after late night libations with friends. I had a moment today. A few months ago, my friend and neighbor, Sam, invited me over for a backyard bar-b-que. His family was hosting some other folks as well… one being a coworker, his wife, and two children. The man I’d met before on a few occasions (all in a business environment), but the wife and kids were new to me. One of the two children, a small boy, was autistic, but other than that, they were a very normal, happy, loving family of near spot on the 1.9 kids per family average in Texas (or whatever it’s become since the last time that useless knowledge invaded my brain with Superglue). A few days back, this mother of two was apparently playing with the kids at the playground and scratched her leg on the slide. The scratch got infected and she went to the doctor. The doctor (unknowingly mis-)diagnosed the infection as some normal plain-Jane playground dirt infection and not the ravenous staff it would and sent her home. 24 hours later, yesterday, she was dead. I don’t know how the doctor misdiagnosed such a thing, nor do I know how her rapidly declining condition was met with helplessness at the hospital. I do know that the beautiful family unit I met a couple of months ago is no more… a father of two (one with special needs) with a full time career is now a widower single dad that has to figure it all out without his mate. So back to the moment… Today, when I heard the news that his wife died just yesterday, for just a brief moment, I was completely vacant. Nothing. Like… “and what? So, you want a cookie? Shit happens.” /sigh It didn’t last long and I soon felt his pain as if it were my own. I felt my own pain ebb back from the numb little pocket I put it in when I have to deal with RealLife™ like work or other humans. I know. I’ve survived that moment… even if barely. I’ve become acutely aware of our fragile mortality over the last year and some change. Without conscious effort, I pay close attention to all sorts of human conditions that were white noise in the ambiance before that day. Interesting vignette along a voyage of self discovery, if nothing but a moment. My brain skips tracks on vinyl when I grow weary. Annoying to read, but quite delightful to type… like blogging with ADD.... so as I was saying… look! Oooh, shiiiiiney.

“No, no, no, no! Come, let’s away to prison:
We two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage:
When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down,
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we’ll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news; and we’ll talk with them too,
Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out;
And take upon’s the mystery of things,
As if we were God’s spies: and we’ll wear out,
In a wall’d prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.” - King Lear

Niters.

I typed several paragraphs of poo here not even 5 minutes ago. I spoke of my evening and the day leading up to it… who I went out with for dinner and what transpired. How I ended up home instead of in jail, etc. It was all here. Then, in a swift click of a mouse button (the wrong fucking button), it all went away. Gone.

I’m tired and don’t have the patience to attempt to recreate that shit. Even if I could, I would know it wasn’t the original stream of thought… hence, I’m going to bed.

Sorry.

ps. happy 7-7-7

“I’ll read Bukowski in the gutter
With a hooker on each arm
And a wine bottle up my ass,
I’ll make you smoke the majesty
Of my impending mullet,
I’ll suck the formaldehyde out of the jar
Holding Kurt Cobain’s brain
While using Hemingway’s shotgun barrel as a straw,
Before I let you touch my soul.” - Whammo

Yes folks, I’m in a particularly playful mood at the moment, so I thought I would share a rare mullet photo scanned from my 1988-ish Malibu Grand Prix Virage Racing License. The curly locks resting on my shoulders are several inches shorter than the fully erect mullet in the center of my back accentuated by the NASCAResque “bangs”. This photo was taken in Austin, TX. I was still a teenager and was deeply in love with my high school sweetheart, Jessica. Life was simple and I never really knew, understood, or appreciated things then the way I do now all these years later. Compartively innocent. I don’t even know who that guy is… but he’s got a hilarious coif atop his hormonally charged head.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to he man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew niether victory nor defeat.” - TR

The 4th was wet… everywhere. It has not appreciably stopped raining and I ended up taking a longer route home from my mother’s because the path normally taken was submerged. I’m home and meloncholy, but I don’t think it’s the weather. The rain is quite nice up until it begins to damage my lawn. I cut down a Tallow tree at the back corner of my yard and dug the root ball up as best I could with the tools on hand. It is being replaced by a Gardenia this weekend (or perhaps tomorrow). It’s still raining and I’m exhausted. Even though I’m technically “off work” today, I’ve been working on and off all morning. I think I’m going to try to nap.

I am not a Photographer.

Photographers carry around big cameras, big lights, big flash contraptions and little meters, they talk about film stock, ISO’s, F stops and capturing the perfect light right before dusk.

Photographers creep through neighborhoods of poor people looking for interesting poverty related things to “capture” in black and white or muted color.

Photographers spend lots of time in cramped dark rooms with red lights and chemicals that smell like egg farts.

Photographers get in heated exchanges about the direction Leica is headed or that one camera maker that sounds all german, hasselhoff?

Photographers have lots of lenses that they will tell you about whether you ask them or not, like the one that can see an ass hair on a mosquito or the remarkably “bright” one that can photograph the pope’s underwear tag from a tower in hell.

Photographers say “glass” a lot, “Thats a nice piece of glass you got there Danny.” which would be funny if it was a joke. No it wouldn’t.

Photographers show you shoes hanging on wires, pink boxes in the green weeds, little black girls with blue eyes and nuns sitting under billboards of naked men.

Photographers have all kinds of cameras, most of them are rare and vintage but they love to remind you that their absolute favorite cameras are crappy plastic cameras they found at the thrift store for 25 cents.

Photographers LOVE Polaroid because you can take a picture of absolutely ANYTHING with a Polaroid and it will look like you got your BFA.

Photographers know the names of every other photographer who ever lived and they can tell you exactly who took the first picture of an old barn door or a naked girl on a sofa.

Photographers talk about how little they use photoshop IF AT ALL, and even then it’s only to “adjust some curves” or “make the blacks a little more black.”

Photographers make use of make up artists, hairdressers, location scouts and stylists which is way way WAY different than photoshopping out zits and wrinkles.

Photographers freeze moments to show the REALITY. They love that word, “reality” also they like to say “RAW” a lot.

Photographers have websites with big black or red sans serif fonts on white backgrounds.

Photographers put their client list at the bottom of the side bar where it looks like they don’t really care about it but just in case you didn’t like their photographs you can see who did.

Photographers list their accomplishments in a timeline so just in case you didn’t like their photographs you can see who did. Wait, did I just say that?

Photographers have strong opinions about Terry Richardson.

Photographers get upset about cropping.

Photographers like the anticipation, surprise, expense, delay, grain, smell, challenge, discipline, texture, and overall unpredictable “magic” of analog, soo opposite of effing digital.

Photographers use the word amateur to describe most other photographers.

Photographers miss the good old days when photography was expensive and out of reach to amateurs.

Photographers blame the lab a lot.

Photographers go to school to study photography because you can’t tell if a photo is good just by looking at it.

Photographers whisper cutting edge poetic gems like “digital has no soul.”

Photographers only really like 2 or 3 other photographers, the one’s whose photographs most resemble their own and they like to keep those books right out on the coffee table where everyone can see them.

Photographers think all commentary about photography and photographers is likely directed at them.

So yeah, I don’t give a stumbling poop about any of that stuff.

I’m not a photographer.

- Merkley???

Arrrrrg. I went to bed at 3:30 and got up at 4:30 to get ready for the airport. I drove through nasty, stormy weather only to fly in nasty, stormy weather immediately afterwards. My day was spent in a huge conference room with a fancy schmancy ceiling-mounted overhead projector and a motorized white screen that comes down from the a long slit where the room’s sides converge. One whole wall of the room was frosted plate glass from floor to sky and the movie-stage-big oak table splitting the spine of the cavern was keep warm along all edges with little 98.6 degree participants. I was so tired, but the words just kept coming out… rolling off my lips and down my arm onto the black thingy with buttons, then marching up the beam of laser light to pop on the screen where it punctuated the surfaces of a pixelated Power Point. I ate terrible Mexican food at a deceptively unauthentic Tex-Mex restaurant in the home of mudbugs and Hurricanes. I weaved to and fro amongst the Cajun natives to find a standby flight back home. Overstuffed, hot, smelly, and entirely too long for my heavy eyes… somehow, I survived. The road home was a blur. I think there were lines and toll booths, but it seems so far away on this side of a power nap. Mildly refreshed, my evening can now begin.

Cheerio.

“Well, I’m a mushroom-cloud-layin’ motherfucker, motherfucker! Every time my fingers touch brain, I’m Superfly T.N.T., I’m the Guns of the Navarone!” - Jules

Damnit. I really was hoping I was past this insomnia thing. I slept well the last few nights of the week because I took some OTC sleep aid (Target brand) even if later than I probably should have, but the weekend was more of the same… late nights. I have to fly early tomorrow and I’m not the least bit tired. My mind is racing with a myriad of thoughts… like how I love the Theme Time Radio Hour with Bob Dylan or how I can’t remember the vintage of Châteauneuf-du-Pape I liked so much a few years back. Randomness. I watched this ridiculous movie (well, most of it) while channel surfing and waiting for sleepytime. It was about these people stranded on some deserted island and how they interacted in the midst of their situation. Ironically, I thought of people I know if real life that are going through their own personal issues and how that affects the way they treat those around them… I wonder how much of my struggle over the last year was projected on those around me. It was never intended if any, but I can understand how difficult it is to keep things separated. The burden I carry is my own and there is no one at fault or that can change what has happened, so there is no reason to treat anyone in my life differently now even if I feel as if I’ve become another man.

“when I’m gone like yesterday
when I’m high like heaven
when I’m strong like music
cuz I’m slow like honey, and
heavy with mood” - Fiona Apple

After the movie rolled credits, I still was completely awake. I ate some leftover steak that I’d grilled on the patio earlier for dinner. Cooking for one is only slightly more difficult than shopping at the grocery store for one. They go hand in hand really. Umm… yeah. So, have you ever heard a tune that just stuck to you? You can’t get it out of our head until you give it its stage and let it speak. I impulse ordered a CD tonight because of that phenomenon. People that know me know I’m an aspiring impulse shopper anyway, but this was obscure… even my boy, Google, didn’t know much about the artist. It was like Googling an original song by the garage band in your neighborhood that keeps your dog barking at night. I’ll give you the full report when it arrives.

“i really like to ride the train
especially when i forget where i’m going
i really like the way it feels
the motion of the wheels” - Dan “the Automator” Nakamura a.k.a.  “Nathaniel Merriweather” from “Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By” (you see what I mean… shit!)

In case you haven’t seen it… Google Maps has this cool new ‘drag and drop’ feature to modify your route. Really slick. That must be why their stock is $522 and I own none of it. I dig the company despite and how it owns success in a predominantly Machiavellian corporate America with fresh ideas and approaching old problems with a neopragmatic spin. Let them eat cake. I don’t know why that popped into my head. I’m not even remotely close to looking for or needing directions at nearly three-ish in the morning. It’s still cool.

The Secret
Many truths float through life never finding validation in breath,
but they’re true just the same and no closer to death.
Ageless and absolute are but a few,
But one stands out that I’d like to share with you.
Behind each man that knows success and prosperity,
is the love of a woman given freely and charitably.
Whether a mother’s son whose morals and actions tell true
the love that she gave him as he stumbled and grew,
or a passing acquaintance, a lover, or wife,
whose love keeps him warm amongst cold men and cold nights
these men that find the strength to persevere when most fail
and champion the mightiest when they seem weaker and frail
are the men that know greatness beyond me and perhaps you
these are the men who awaken to woman’s ”I love you.”

I never write anymore… anything. I mean, this rubbish about how I spent my weekend or what I ate for lunch may be real and offer incite to my gastronomic preferences, but it’s hardly worth the pixels on the screen. I used to write short stories and poetry. I used to express and share. It’s easier to be luke warm, bland, and gray than any other color in the spice cabinet. Do you think there is the possibilty that action does not exist? Perhaps there is only reaction… and everything that happens and everything we do is a direct result of some environmental or sociopsychological event… and we all feed off each other to exist if for just the ability to provide someone else with something for which to live their next (re)action. If that were true, there would be no blind, deaf, mutes in the world. Although grand in so many ways, I don’t think one can live on touch alone. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. It must be late.

“you scream and you holler about my chevy impala
but the sweat is getting wet around the ring around your collar
but like a dream i’m flowing without no stopping
sweeter than a cherry pie with ready whip topping” - Mike D

I’ve had my eye on this for a while. I almost ordered it this week, but I didn’t want it to come while I was out of town and sit on the porch. The catch is, I’d need a sturdier tripod and head to support the glass. Not everyone can enjoy Tom’s success as a wildlife photographer, but I know for a fact that a lot of the imagery is not obtainable with reach. The voice of reason always nags at me. At the end of the day, it’s going to fall into the “toy” catagory like a mid-life-crisis sports car. Although I’ve actually licenses some of my photography this fiscal year, I’m far from moving the volume requisite of the title “Professional”.

Hrm. Yesh. I think I’ll take this opportunity to mindlessly surf the web until my eyes get heavy and I find my way to the big, lonely bed. Bon nuit.

“All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” - Bob Dylan

Sam: There’s all these words for a woman who doesn’t want to have sex: frigid, uptight, cold, icy. But can you like even think of one word for a man that doesn’t want to have sex?

Danny: Dead?

Other than preparing for 3.5 weeks of moderate chaos at work, I’ve not been up to much of anything other than the occasional movie here or there from the couch. I repotted my plumeria when it began to bloom last week and bought some other fragrant flora for the yard, but I’m not yet sure where to plant. I need to put some serious time into weeding the loriapy and trimming the hedges in the yard. The Chinese witchhazel is getting unruly. The weekend went by fairly quickly despite most of it having been spent indoors due to the inclimate weather. The rain is incessant. I went to Mercer Arboretum briefly yesterday afternoon, but the heat and humidity stifled my desire to photography anything. I tried to give Henry another summer trim this evening, but he grew restless, so we’re on part one of two. Maybe I can finish it up tonight before bed. As of today (July 1), I am no longer working for the management infrastructure I have been for the last 2 and almost a half years. Today I work for a new arm of the company. Time will tell how positive the unrequested change will become, but topically, it doesn’t appear to be a bad move (yet). My mom is flying up in the morning to petsit the kids while I’m in Louisiana on business tomorrow. I have to be at the airport by 5:45 in the morning. Not fun. 

Sunflowers make such pretty weeds. This one snuck through my weeding process and bloomed this morning. I have a little yard work to do this afternoon when it cools off, but I think I’m going to leave it a couple of days since it’s so pretty. Work is busy today and I have a presentation to finish for tomorrow. My boss is going on sabaticle for 3 weeks starting Monday and has left me to cover his post, so this is my last week of normality for a while when it comes to work. More later…

As I type the first few letters of this post, the clock ticks 3:06 a.m. and all the hopes I’d had of this being an early night for me drift away between me and the TV… muffled amidst the HD video channel striving to be the MTV of 1981 where music reined, commercials were few, and no one knew what the fuck Reality Television was (nor the negative impact it would have on life as we would come to know it). My mind drifts. Imagine stepping across the surface of a liquid just fast enough to know that if you were to slow, you would sink. That is the state of my consciousness now-a-days. Stop to reflect and get caught in the web of it all. I don’t represent my opinions as a statement of position anymore as much I just as reflect upon observation on others. It’s like my own flavor of Reality TV. If you put all your time in watching shit around you, you don’t actually have to take ownership in living your own life. Just go through the motions. It works. Ironically, there are a series of complicated observations in my personal and professional lives recently that I want to loquate here but haven’t the strength to make it through the paragraphs required truly convey my thoughts. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K. Perhaps some random dictation would be a start? My best friend, Sean, seems more distant than ever and although I know this is not intentional, it makes the geographic distance between us more real than it needs to be. I’ve fulfilled a new role at work and now am having to move into a new arm of the organization that presents itself as a double edged sword. It brings new opportunity, new potential, yet possible political implications resulting in drama… all tiring.  EL’s close friends and family seem to have found a way to move forward (perhaps on) and I can’t seem to stop the bleeding. I have a network of men in my life, accumulated over fortunate experience and time, that make up the closest thing I could hope for to brotherhood. Their recent inaccessibility to me makes me question the possibility of my becoming a burden in their lives somehow by not being the man they knew before June of last year… as if I’ve become someone to groom out of their Rolodex. I have many friends that I really want to give my time to… that I want to share myself with, but I just can’t. That social butterfly found his way back to the cocoon. My life is becoming quite discontiguous. I don’t know which way is up.

Another night to bed past four. I dug up some photos I took of my cousins and developed the images. I went downstairs to get a drink, sat on the couch as a movie was coming on whatever channel was on the television, and stayed for the whole thing. I don’t know what’s up with me. I hope tonight will be different.

“my heart is drenched in wine…
but you’ll be on my mind…
...forever”

Holy shit.

I have been up past four aye emm the last 4 nights in a row or so… not in-the-least-bit (that’s one word) tired. My mind isn’t necessarily churning anything useful during that time. I just simply can not seem to wind down without pharmaceutical assistance. I’m not diametrically opposed to such ingestion. I hate that it has become a prerequisite. I’ve tried to maintain a level of sociability with geographically convenient friends rather than succumb to hermitism (is that a word?). I dig the thought of not seeing or talking to anyone, but it is so completely against the grain of my personality to be isolated. I’ve been in a lot of pain. Other than being inexplicably emotional recently (always well concealed), I’ve not been able to shake this aching muscle cramping in my back and shoulders despite an ass kicking deep tissue massage at a reputable five-star salon in town administered by a arguably militant, large, black woman. At times, I thought I might cry. It’s rapidly approaching two and I’m wide awake. Not only must I work early, I have a conference call right off. The plan is to avoid speaking. My brain already hurts at the envisioning of dragging my ass out of bed in the morning. Henry suffers the most. He struggles to stay conscious and ride out daddy’s insomnia by his side with his fluttery little heavy eyelids. My plan to spend a significant amount of time in the yard this weekend was foiled by frequent rain showers. I managed a little here and there, but mostly I avoided the elements opting for A/C and icy libations. Just when you think there may actually be light at the end of the tunnel, you get a lung full of soot and dirt in your eye. 

I spent more time than usual downtown this week. I can’t recall how I managed to do that commute for so long. It seems further each time I drive… like there is some sort of geographic expansion going on between trips. My time there was relatively productive, so I don’t mind the to and fro. Every day seems fuzzy to me outside of the temporal instant that is happening right now (in any given now). If you were on the open ocean, where the horizon fades into the curvature of Earth, and there was no reference of land or star… you were just there… you would find me. Finding empty purpose to spend the currency of time for the sake of having something to do besides eat, sleep, and defecate for the duration of your finite number of breaths on this planet seems so counterproductive… almost indistinguishable from doing nothing at all. You would never miss the taste of a succulent dish if you have only known stale bread. I had direction and goals. I knew the deepest love and was building a life as part of something bigger than myself. I had passion in life and was stronger because of it. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Waiting to die sounds so morbid and is, finally, inaccurate since I am apathetic toward either outcome. I had some lists drawn up in the ‘ole noggin for this year. Step 1, I suppose, was the create of the list itself. I’ve not gone much further. I acquired my Class II pilot’s medical certificate, but never filed for VA benefits to continue training. I started guitar lessons again, but found work was conflicting more often than not to continue. I started going back to the gym and was making terrific progress and then fell off the wagon subsequent to a few back to back out of town trips that sabotaged my schedule and diet. I cleaned up my SPAM problem and re-energize my blog publishing system only to rarely post. I have a stack of unopened Christmas cards from last Christmas on the dining room table I bought fro EL to keep the piles of unsent mail company. If it were not for my hatred of being late for anything, I would probably not pay my bills on time. Life is different… and barely life at all.

I spent a few minutes starting to pull the St. Augustine choking my loriapi from its midst, but realized it was going to take more time I had to invest at the moment, so I’m hoping to find dry enough weather to finish this weekend. I need to re-pot my plumeria this weekend as well. I am struggling with life, the universe, and everything at the moment… but maybe I’ll show my face around here more often soon.

ps. the little critter mugshot was just a camera whore perched upon a twig on my patio… it seemed an injustice to not go grab the camera for a snapshot

pps. happy birthday mom… I love you. I tried to call several times, but you retired folks must be out on some sort of adventure. 

I am never eating bacon again. From now on, the artist formerly known as bacon will simply be known as “pork candy”.

I have discovered that when one is in the IT industry, unless you can completely disassociate yourself from your job (and I’ve not met someone yet that can), you tend to collect (often unwillingly) techno-stuff. I have entirely too many computers in my home. Most of them are fully functional… perhaps limping on three legs, but functional. Since I built a new system, I’ve been going through what I always go through when I make an iteration in technology in the space known as “the home computer"… migration. I resist it with every breath. There are sentiments and lost little forgotten thingamadoos on the old system. There are random thoughts, my wife’s stuff, disorganized everything that represents a collective of me over the last since my previous upgrade. Inevitably, some things will move to the new system and some will end up on CD’s or DVD’s as archived data… and regrettably, some will fall through the cracks and remain on the existing drive to be rotated into the dust collection of old hardware I have laying around my completely untidy office. I really dislike the entire process.

So one might ask where the fuck I have been… might. I have been, more or less, here… hurting, reflecting, remembering, and struggling with this quilt of life swatches I have left before me. I drove to my mother’s the weekend before last. The anniversary of EL’s death was not as difficult as her birthday, but I didn’t need to be sitting home alone for either. My dear friend Rob twisted my arm into going to a quite interesting mullet-fest taking place at Concrete Street in Corpus Christi. Yes, I witnessed a Ted Nugent concert. Gasp! He was dressed head to toe in some form of denim or camouflage and referred to himself as “Uncle Ted” the entire show. All the songs had sexual undertones and he had the stage decorated with machine guns. He constantly talked about hunting, killing, and guns and referred to himself as a snakeskin wearin’ shit-kickin’ redneck cowboy. Ooookay. I was ok taking in the humor of it all since I figured a large percentage of the attendees were just there to hear Stranglehold and bail. Then the show took a terrible turn for the worse. He sang some tribute song to the old geezer that taught him how to bow hunt (an activity for which he embraces activism) and during the song, he played video footage on the big projection screens of forest animals being slaughtered by arrows from his weapon. I’m no PETA freak that chains is body to a cage and pours “blood” everywhere preaching animal rights, but I can not stand to see animals in pain. I share a lot of the underlying ideals of the extremists, just in a more sensible fashion. I could have left then and there, but I was a guest and didn’t want to be a party pooper (and I didn’t have a ride… I hear the ability to hail a taxi in Corpus Christi is an urban legend). It was good to see my friends and family. I wanted to see Beth while I was at the coast, but she was sick with ebola or SARS or something. Poor thing. The week ahead was slated to be busy with travel, so I left the pups with grandma and headed home Sunday morning. I flew to San Antonio during the week and to Virginia Thursday night. I spent the weekend visiting old friends from when I lived in Virginia Beach. I went to an open air concert at the Naval station on Friday night. The main act was not someone I was familiar with (Travis Tritt), but it was fun to people watch. Apparently, he is a well known country singer, but I didn’t know any of his music. He did cover a Bon Jovi tune from the 80’s… heh. I attended the 12 year birthday celebration of my exgirlfriend’s daughter (whom I’d not seen since she was 2 and a half) on Saturday in Norfolk. I didn’t get to stop by my old house in Virginia Beach, but I did manage to make it to Colley Street in Ghent and eat at The Baker’s Crust. The menu is completely different. Bienville Grille is closed down. Sad Panda. It was a nice weekend to just get away and not think about RealLife™ for a while. I flew back Sunday morning to receive my mom and stepdad with the pups shortly thereafter. Norah Jones was one of EL’s favorites. I remember catching her beautiful voice, which she normally keep well hidden, peeking through when she would sing along with Norah’s CD’s in the house. I purchased orchestra seats to the Norah Jones concert playing at Jones Hall (no relation… heh) on the night of EL’s birthday. She would have so loved to go, but given the circumstance, I took my mother instead. The show was great, Norah was great, her opening act (M. Ward) was great… the evening was something EL would have been so pleased with… instead, I just cried. My flea problem in the yard at the house is better. While mom and Bob were in town, we re-treated the yard and sprayed in the house. I called a professional pest control service and they said this season is really bad. In fact, they said almost all their calls are for flea outbreaks. I can only assume it is squirrels bringing them in, but I’d never do anything to hurt the squirrels, so I just need to deal with the little buggers as they come.

This week has been work and regularity. Nothing special. Just work. Okay, this next bit is a little geeky, so skip it if you so choose. I attended the Magtheridon raid on Monday night as my guild prepares for Serpentshrine Cavern and Tempest Keep Eye attunement trying to get into The Black Temple. Skullcrusher is my realm by the way. Magtheridon is a very calculated battle. It takes about 5 tanks and 7 healers in a 25 man raid to execute a strat precisely over about 20 minutes or so with no mistakes to complete successfully. Every single person has to be on their “A Game”. Mid-fight, one of the raid tanks DC’s, but he is in Vent with us and doesn’t lose that link. Then, he logs back in, drops raid, and hearths out. WTF? He was being hacked. He immediately logged into Blizzard’s site and changed his password. In the 8 minutes it took to do that and log back in the thief had emptied every bank and all bags on his main and all his alts… every epic gone… all gold gone… everything… gone. Apparently there has been a rash of trojan keyloggers embedded in UI add-ons that people get from public sources and his password was captured and sent to the bad guys. Ok, geek story is over.

I was approached about shooting a wedding in a couple weeks. Wedding photography is one of the most stressful ways to use a camera I can think of, but I’d be willing to do it to help someone out. The bride sounded stressed. Urs and Sandra’s wedding was the only one I’ve ever done, so I’m really not experienced at it at all. On the subject of photography, one of my landscape shots was licensed last month for a web site and another wildlife shot was licensed for a tourist magazine in Canada. I haven’t been able to regain any passion for photography… or life in general for that matter… since EL’s accident. I just don’t seem to care the way I used to about much of anything. It sucks. My father is trying to set up a web site for the B&B he and his girlfriend run. I offered to assist since they are completely ignorant of all things Internet. I’m no web ninja, but I can at least help them set up a basic site. They want to put up representative, yet beautiful photos of the land and indigenous animals along with the location and business info, so I’ll probably try and do some sort of shoot for that, but I just can’t seem to get my heart into it. That’s why you’ve not seen anything from me in soon long with regards to landscape, wildlife, etc. Basically, I’m just… meh.

I am in disrepair (again). My recent travels have hosed up my workout schedule and I’ve allowed them to equally disrupt my healthy diet. Laziness. My back is in knots and I can’t seem to sleep well. I scheduled a deep tissue massage and pedi for tomorrow morning. I hope that helps. I have to head to a meeting downtown, so it’s time to brave the afternoon traffic. I often think of things I’d like to post, but they all slip away (along with my motivation) by the time I get to a browser. I think I would be lying if I said the last couple of weeks were exceptionally hard. A more realistic statement would be the last couple of weeks were equally hard. I try to lean on my friends to help keep my mind occupied, but at the end of the day, the hurt is just as strong. I’ll try to write more this weekend. I really have no excuse.