This is where I am working, at home, these weeks, sorting through Nietzsche notes in my Cahiers and getting more specific quotations down in other ones. I have some of the cooler quotations on the covers, such as, “”Has it been noticed that in heaven all interesting men are missing?” (from The Will to Power). Only I’m too tired today for tea, like in the photo. It’s black Zeke’s coffee all the way today. If not for my daily jaunt to The Evergreen for breakfast, I think I might go crazy.
Did you ever see that “Seinfeld” episode called “The Wig Master“? The one where Jerry is so pissed at a sales-person for hitting on Elaine and assuming they are not together that he takes the jacket he bought back to make the guy lose his commission? When asked by a woman working at the store why he wants to return the jacket, he responds, “For spite.” Neither her nor manager would let him return the jacket for spite.
I would have, I think. Spite is a good reason to return a jacket. Maybe a family-member or love-interest bought it, and he’s pissed enough at this person to return it. Or maybe a love-interest really liked it but then slept with his uncle. Good reasons to make “for spite” a good reason. I think anyone can understand and possibly empathize with the desire to, if not necessarily get someone back, then at least to stick it to them a little. If not, well, I don’t know. Not even understanding the urge for some small or large revenge, well, that’s not human — whether that is a sign of robot-ness of modern life or some vendetta-transcendence that I cannot fathom.
Took a walk to the Farmers’ Market in Waverly this Saturday and to the BMA. This statue/sculpture creeps me out to no end.
[Larger.]
[Larger size.]
Dan and Paulie of The Landings. Also very good friends of mine. From a photo-shoot in May 2005.
That is what we refer to our downstairs neighbors as. They quit keeping me up every night and started ”only” doing it once or twice a week, never on the same nights or on weekends. I keep my peanut-butter on the doormat idea in check through turning our fan up to drown out of most of their loud talking and idiotic banging around.
But last night, I couldn’t hold back my temper. Not quite. I had rolled over into the position I like for falling asleep at around 1:00 a.m. Just drifted off, after having a moderately hard time getting there. Hmpt hmpt hmpt went with the big goofball who lives there or their idiot friend (who watched porn loudly and, uh, you know, loudly in their living room when he was staying with them in the fall, gross, I know). You know, I can’t hate on my gnome sheets. I jumped out of bed with two thumps of my feet, and I sat in the dark bathroom on the closed toilet lid just being pissed and really tired. They must have been in the bathroom or something, because it got really loud. And I just let loose with a, “SHUT UP!”
I yelled it right in the middle of when whichever jerk was doing his bassy talk was yelling, but there was no more noise at all after his sentence, or utterance or gutterance. I think they heard me. I can imagine the skinny girl who lives there shutting him up, since the property managers have called them twice to tell them to shut the hell up. And evidently, they take the quiet rules seriously enough to have steps for making people leave (though they told us they have never actually had to do it yet).
So I sat there for another five minutes or so and wasted the water in the toilet by flushing it for no other reason than to let them know I was awake and that their upstairs neighbor (who can really make your life hell with these wood floors) is indeed the person who is pissed about what inconsiderate asses they are. I sat in bed for another five minutes. Nothing. And they were still up. I could hear them banging around — because they are for some reason completely incapable of not being loud all hours of the day and night.Â
I felt guilty right away, for wasting a whole old-fashioned toilet full of water (gallons!) for nothing and for likely letting the stupid poopies know who did the complaining twice so far. But screw it. It’s possible that they didn’t actually hear me. They have not exactly been quiet this evening. And what can they do? Complain about us? I doubt the nice people at the rental office will buy that crap. My wife talks to them all the time, and she’s the sweetest person on Earth.
I was wondering if they would come up today to either apologize or yell at me. I had a response rehearsed for either course, but they didn’t. I hope I don’t have to yell or stomp or take my morning revenge anymore.Â
I guess my life’s pretty damned good if the biggest thing pissing me off is two (sometimes three — in a creepy way) wankers living below me in an apartment as small as mine.
Got my gnome sheets on the bed, and it’s nice and cold in Baltimore. Dang, it’s hard to wake up now.
Keeping with the theme of sunsets, my entry for Photo Friday: Fast. Fast, because this is the same sky, on the same night, from the fame place. The colors are separated by exactly sixteen minutes. The sky went from something out of an inspirational poster to something from a Poe story. Taken from the balcony from when I lived in Southern Illinois.
When I was little, both houses that we lived in gave me Eastward-facing windows. I liked to have the sun showing when waking up. Living on the East Coast, I always got to see the sun rise when we vacationed at the beach. I feel like most of my early life faced East in a weird way. That sounds like something out of a bad poem, but it’s true.
Facing West and seeing the sun set was always something exotic for me. Whether it was how the day faded to grey-blue on the walls and courtyard outside my apartment in Massachusetts or when I would sit in the graveyard on Roland Avenue and 40th/41st Street[s] and watch the sun go down over TV Hill, the sunset was something darkly colorful and calming. Not like the caffeinated sunrise that warmed up Baltimore City before I was really ready to be awake and coherent.
One of things I miss about living in Carbondale was the Western feeling it gave me. I know it was pretty far East for some people, but it was (and is) the most Westerly I have ever actually lived. The balcony off the back of our apartment opened onto a wooded lot, but the side gave a nice view of Route 51 as it left the flat parts where the glaciers slid and made its way into Shawnee National Forest and began bending and rolling. Some of the sunsets there was spectacular (and pictured on this blog before). My wife commented long before we decided to move that she would always miss that view. I agree, and I do. Miss it.
I used to like to go outside and lean against the wooden railing of the balcony and look West around sundown, just before dusk. Watching the people leaving Carbondale after work, after school. The trucks making their way South. Enjoying the coolness of the evening blowing in from the direction I was facing. Blowing my hair and sometimes beard. Breathing it in before going inside to my window-less kitchen to cook dinner.
These photos are from another sunset spot I liked — near the little pond behind the president’s house/office at SIUC. I didn’t get to go there much because I had to ride along Route 51 on my bike to get home, and sometimes cars and trucks came a little close or a little too fast, and even my bright bike lights didn’t make me feel better. That, and all that rushing pretty much killed the nice vibe of that view.
Sitting here tonight in a cold Baltimore, listening to Morcheeba and checking out old photos, I find myself longing for a nice sunset. But now I live just a very long block from the graveyard I mentioned, so I suppose I can get off my bum and go enjoy the view whenever I want to.
[Via TreeHugger.] A man in North Dakota may become the first licensed industrial hemp farmer in the US. It’s been illegal to grow hemp in the United States since the 1930s (except for during the second World War) because we have our heads up our bums and are afraid of everything. If we get this going, Maryland is one of the states poised to start producing hemp. Maybe then hemp gear won’t cost so dang much.
I remember the boys in “The Dukes of Hazard” talking about “getting a hemp” once when I was in my early teens. Hemp? I thought those redneck boys were going to blaze up and forget who they were trying to rescue. And I was far from the only person who can’t tell the difference. Recently, someone asked if my hemp wallet was legal and suggested that I might smoke it while doing research. Seems our country really doesn’t know it’s info on a plant that can help keep the planet in a more user-friendly state.
It’s cold as hell in Baltimore, and my new flannel gnome sheets are on. Rockin.
I miss you, too. Sorry. Been busy. Maybe I’ll come give you some love tomorrow or later tonight if I can’t sleep.
I need to take photos of my sheets. And The Evergreen and me, beardless.
I just want to point out that I have refrained from my usual complaining about warm winters. Someone should drop into The Evergreen tomorrow morning (9-ish) and buy me something with chocolate. You know, as a reward. I’m too happy to be back in Baltimore to get all that bothered with wearing sandals today in January. At least it’s getting cold tomorrow, and I can put my flannel gnome sheets on. Maybe that’s why I don’t care that much.
I had not shaved since either late June or early July. Right around when I started getting into Burt’s Bees and put Pencil Revolution on indefinite hiatus. Started packing to move. Was still enjoying the peaceful bike-rides that Carbondale afforded. When we moved away from the Dale in August, I was already sporting a thick beard. I never shaved in my current apartment yet, despite being here for nearly five months. Considering that I have to start job hunting this spring/summer and that I should probably be clean-cut for job interviews, everyone knew I could not keep the beard for too long. My brother’s soon-to-wife was nervous that I would have beard to my knees for their June 22nd wedding, helped by my constantly telling everyone that I would shave my beard on June 23rd. Sharp.
People used to ask me, “How can you stand it?” “Because I’m manly as shit.” Seriously, though, growing a beard is much more than being able to physically get dense, inches-long hair to grow out of your face and neck. It’s a lot to put up with, and it takes patience to push it under your pillow when you turn over in your sleep, patience to dry it after a shower, patience when elderly people eye your suspiciously or even get startled by your appearance.
Everyone has their limit, and I turned into an impatient sissy Thursday. I had a dream that I had no more beard, and I liked the feeling. I thought about it a lot, finished my work early and went to town on the hair. The beard actually came off in less than a minute because I have a nice set of barber-type clippers from Wahl. What was left of my rough manliness killed two razor blades. And I got to use my new Burt’s Bees shaving kit, Bay Rum and all. I got it off quickly enough that I actually have it still. The beard. Yeah, gross, I know. If it can be made into little braids, I think I might send them to people as a joke. Maybe. That might be too gross even for me.
I have a wedding party to go to today, so I thought it might be nice to not have to sit through everyone tell me that I look like a terrorist, John Brown, Cat Stevens, etc. A dozen people last night told, “You look good without a beard, you really do.” What the hell? How bad did my beard look?
Also for Photo Friday: Fuzzy.
One of the blogs I check every single day is Moleskinerie, which turns three (!) today. And there is more good news about the site and its awesome founder, which is made public today.
Walden Pond, November 2006.
Full version here! I know this photo is dark, but I didn’t want to mess with it. There is a totally untouched version on Flickr with absolutely no photo manipulation whatsoever (didn’t even re-size it or re-name it).
It was a day that started with rain from the day before and opened up into a gorgeous spectacle where the thick clouds really brought out the intensity of the color of everything.
For Photo Friday: Peaceful.
Got finished working early today and caught the 4:15 showing of The Good Shepherd at the Rotunda before it’s gone after next week. I’m a sucker for spy flicks. Don’t worry. I won’t give anything away. Some notes:
1) Angelina Jolie absolutely cannot play a twenty-year-old.
2) Neither can Matt Damon, though he comes close.
3) Billy Crudup is a convincing Brit, though I’m American, so maybe he’s horrible. Maybe I just like Big Fish.
4) Whenever Michael Gambon’s character talked, all I could hear was, “You must swear — legally swear — that you’ll not kill that shark.”
5) One would think they would have had Stellan SkarsgÃ¥rd play the character of Ulysses, but I’m glad they got the guy from that “Frasier” episode about the expensive fish eggs.
Got me a new Moleskine for 2007. Trying out the large one again — I can never make my mind up.  Third try with that size, second without lines. Like I think I mentioned last year, the books they use for writings/scraps/notes/sketches in The Saint make me want to use the large unlined Moleskines. They are not that big. After a few months of my last small version, my stubby hands are happy about this one. Now what to do with the little blue silk one I got for Christmas?
If you think evil thoughts about someone and imagine putting a piece of bread and butter outside their door just to drive their dog nuts and keep them up at night (maybe even smearing peanut butter under their doormat to keep poochie nuts after the bread is removed or eaten); but they don’t know about such a nefarious plan; and you don’t do it — are the thoughts still evil? And if not evil, at least funny?
This year is already pretty nice. Got to hang out at my new favorite coffee shop last week, did some travelling, stayed home all weekend, finally saw Little Miss Sunshine. Get to have breakfast at said coffee shop tomorrow, as we get back to work from the holiday.
The Mrs. and I caught a short bug this weekend, though. The kind that makes you puke your guts out exactly once and then leaves you feeling crappy — but doesn’t last very long. Much better than week-long colds.
[Larger image here!]
Sue, at the Field Museum in Chicago. May 2006.
Apologies for the old photo. I’m not home, but some of my photos from May are on my brother’s computer. We got into the Field Museum for free that day, which was very nice. Just missed King Tut, though. And I’m never in Chicago long enough.
For Photo Friday: Sister.
Here I am waking up at a time that is earlier than I went to bed the other night. We are off to Hawley, PA on a 6:00 a.m. train to visit my wife’s grandmother. Hawley is in the middle of nowhere, and you have to take a bus from New York to get there. But first you have to get to New York. So we have around twelve hours of travelling today, with a nice visit with Grandma, who is Italian and cooks the best damned food. And my neighbors have been at it again lately, so I get to creak the floors a little for them very very early. Tee hee hee. The window to catch our train home tonight is small, so we might miss it and have to stay in New York for a night. Boy, that would be a shame, a fun night in New York. I tell you.
Fatherhood
