There has been no water coming out from the kitchen wall for about the last 5 days. It's been a little damp around the walls, but not weeping and oozing.
Until tonight.
SoFA King Un Bee Leave Able.
All we can do is be pissed and wait for this to dry out. Until then its cement floors and dormant power tools.
Part of me is like, this is good Buddhist training. Suffering is part of daily existence. Its something we have to undergo whether we like it or not. So, its just really my attitude that needs to be modified. I need to tolerate it (wet cement, torn up floors) more.
The other part of me is like: You are full of shit!
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Tired Tired Tired.
I've been in no mood to write. It must be the weather, in part. It's cold and rainy and blechy. Today was the type of rainy blustery day that I always associate with my college days. The quality of the air, the wind, the light rain -- for whatever reason it makes me think of school and of mid-terms. Its also the type of day I would throw my covers back over my head and spend the day languishing in bed. But in this school you just get 15 days PTO a year, never mind a summer vacation - so you must choose wisely, lest you piss it all away.
Another reason I haven't written lately at all is that I am just tired. Tired tired tired. Its no wonder though, since my insomnia is kicking in pretty good and my brain just is not clicking the way I like it to when I write. I'm not sure if its really beneficial to my writing per se, but it certainly is more enjoyable.
Larry Block or some other author recommends you to write no matter what, even when you don't feel like it. Its important to me, and you dear Internet are important. All three or four of you that read this semi monthly. Or not. So here I am forcing it, for what its worth.
Onwards then...
Career possibilities are careening around my head again. Cinematography, photography, feature writing, screenwriting, graphic arts, painting, drawing, advertising. Even cooking school. Yep. If you check my IE history you will see FCI pages. If you look on my bookshelves you will see GRE and LSAT books. Somewhere there is even an application to CUNY Psychiatry program. I get Pace nursing school information. Westchester Community College sends me EMT literature because I had spoken to them last summer. Of course there's the Coldfusion, ASP.NET, SQL and SQL Server 2000 books as well. In short, I am all over the place. Part of me wants out of tech and another part of me thinks I might do well if I could just find niche and a mentor. That's not really working out though. Not yet.
So what does all these careening career thoughts mean? Just one thing. It means JamesBoDean here is none too happy with work and clutching at straws to find a way out. Still though, I don't think its coincidence I've tended to look at the less pragmatic choices - ones that take a ton of time and a ton of education (aka a ton of $$). Psychology would be a good example. It plays into my lightly held, very naive belief that you can do whatever you want, do whatever you put your mind to. No dream is too big and its never too late to change your life. But the reality of it is I am a bit old to pursue a PhD in psychology and it's not like I am coming off of twenty years of raking in the coin and I'm ready for a change of pace / second career type thing. I'm just starting to get this one figured out! However the advantage in choosing such impractical goals (at this juncture) is that one, I don't actually have to follow through and two, I get to feel miserable about it. Do you get it? The psychology of its pretty clear. I get to do nothing and be pissed off about it.
In my heart, I think I know what I need to do. I need to concentrate on one of these hobbies that I've laid aside (drawing, painting, writing, guitar and so forth) and try to grow it as best I can while performing the best I can at work. At least it would bring some balance to things. Anything else really seems like change for change's sake and rings false. I think Thoreau said it best...
Another reason I haven't written lately at all is that I am just tired. Tired tired tired. Its no wonder though, since my insomnia is kicking in pretty good and my brain just is not clicking the way I like it to when I write. I'm not sure if its really beneficial to my writing per se, but it certainly is more enjoyable.
Larry Block or some other author recommends you to write no matter what, even when you don't feel like it. Its important to me, and you dear Internet are important. All three or four of you that read this semi monthly. Or not. So here I am forcing it, for what its worth.
Onwards then...
Career possibilities are careening around my head again. Cinematography, photography, feature writing, screenwriting, graphic arts, painting, drawing, advertising. Even cooking school. Yep. If you check my IE history you will see FCI pages. If you look on my bookshelves you will see GRE and LSAT books. Somewhere there is even an application to CUNY Psychiatry program. I get Pace nursing school information. Westchester Community College sends me EMT literature because I had spoken to them last summer. Of course there's the Coldfusion, ASP.NET, SQL and SQL Server 2000 books as well. In short, I am all over the place. Part of me wants out of tech and another part of me thinks I might do well if I could just find niche and a mentor. That's not really working out though. Not yet.
So what does all these careening career thoughts mean? Just one thing. It means JamesBoDean here is none too happy with work and clutching at straws to find a way out. Still though, I don't think its coincidence I've tended to look at the less pragmatic choices - ones that take a ton of time and a ton of education (aka a ton of $$). Psychology would be a good example. It plays into my lightly held, very naive belief that you can do whatever you want, do whatever you put your mind to. No dream is too big and its never too late to change your life. But the reality of it is I am a bit old to pursue a PhD in psychology and it's not like I am coming off of twenty years of raking in the coin and I'm ready for a change of pace / second career type thing. I'm just starting to get this one figured out! However the advantage in choosing such impractical goals (at this juncture) is that one, I don't actually have to follow through and two, I get to feel miserable about it. Do you get it? The psychology of its pretty clear. I get to do nothing and be pissed off about it.
In my heart, I think I know what I need to do. I need to concentrate on one of these hobbies that I've laid aside (drawing, painting, writing, guitar and so forth) and try to grow it as best I can while performing the best I can at work. At least it would bring some balance to things. Anything else really seems like change for change's sake and rings false. I think Thoreau said it best...
All men want, not something to do with, but something to do, or rather something to be. Perhaps we should never procure a new suit, however ragged or dirty the old, until we have so conducted, so enterprised or sailed in some way, that we feel like new men in the old, and that to retain it would be like keeping new wine in old bottles.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Tooling Up
We've decided to wait till next weekend to put the new floor down. It's still too wet and this is not the type of thing to rush. The walls have stopped pushing out puddles of water, but the cement is still damp right around the kitchen wall, so we're running a fan on it and just giving it time.
We figure the water from the burst pipe froze underneath our master bath and kitchen floors and has been slowly melting and seeping into the dining area. Its the only thing we can think of to explain the water from the washer warping floor boards before the water from the burst pipe did.
Meanwhile, our dining area and hallway floors are a Meatpacking District loft cement chic.
There's also a growing arsenal of tools gathering in the dining area. We've got brand new Stanley screwdrivers, a Black & Decker 1/2" VSR drill/driver, a Ryobi 14 amp 71/4" circular saw, a mitre box and a Workforce workbench. Alas, I still lack the power sander that would grant me status and cachet amongst the Fordham Crew. Legend has it that our friend Jeff blew off a party of all parties because he had a new power sander and a deck to work on. Ever since, the power sander has taken on an almost mystical status. If you have one, you can get out of anything.
We figure the water from the burst pipe froze underneath our master bath and kitchen floors and has been slowly melting and seeping into the dining area. Its the only thing we can think of to explain the water from the washer warping floor boards before the water from the burst pipe did.
Meanwhile, our dining area and hallway floors are a Meatpacking District loft cement chic.
There's also a growing arsenal of tools gathering in the dining area. We've got brand new Stanley screwdrivers, a Black & Decker 1/2" VSR drill/driver, a Ryobi 14 amp 71/4" circular saw, a mitre box and a Workforce workbench. Alas, I still lack the power sander that would grant me status and cachet amongst the Fordham Crew. Legend has it that our friend Jeff blew off a party of all parties because he had a new power sander and a deck to work on. Ever since, the power sander has taken on an almost mystical status. If you have one, you can get out of anything.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Huzzah!
Ok, its time to throw some props around.
- Lets here it for Joe Rizzo of Sfumato! Aside from his prolific blogging, Joe and his wife, Debbie, are going to have triplets (Pedro, Carlos & Mike)! On top of that, Joe has just made public that he has taken a job with Insight. On top of that, I belive Joe just covered the Mets / Yankees game tonight as a freelancer for SportsTicker. Pfffff. Yanks win. So again, much love and congratulations to Joe and Deb.
- Jeff Healy of the Fordham crew is expecting baby "cuattro" at any time. The Rizzo's are quickly closing the gap, but as Healy would say 'Eh, though. I'm one up."
- Dennis DeRobertis of D2 is slinging code and dodging bullets at Clarisa's old stomping grounds - Mastercard. Dennis has also signed a contract to write a book on how to use FrontPage. He's also got a children's book in the works.
- Dave Chepiga is graduating Fordham University this weekend and getting his Masters in Education. While I cannot confirm, I will allege that he did it with a 4.0. Freaking great! It'll be nice to have him around again too now that his studies are winding down.
So that's it. People that I know are out there getting it done and movin' and groovin'. Way to go folks.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
I finally get around to saying thank you
Here it is, May 18th. Fourteen years ago today I graduated Fordham University with my very worldly, but not very practical liberal arts degree (BA in English). Its a cliche, but it sure does seem just like yesterday that the "Fordham Crew" was closing down Clarke's Bar and gathering later on with our families for the commencement ceremonies. Denzel Washington, a Fordham Lincoln Center Alum, spoke under sunny, warm skies.
As great as it was to be together that one last time as college kids, moods were tempered somewhat because we were all feeling for Paul, whose brother had just gotten into a very serious motorcycle accident earlier that week. For a while, it was touch and go whether or not he would be ok. Luckily everything worked out.
Everything really has.
As a group, we've had our share of setbacks, struggles, trials, tribulations and any other synonyms you want to throw in for "shitty, crappy times", but we've also seen wonderful, successful, remarkable times.
What's more, we've always been there for each other in good times and bad.
My turn came seven months ago today on October 18th, 2004, the day we buried my sister, Jenn. I can't believe its been that long already. I'll say the same thing again next month, and probably the months and years after that. Its always going to seem close. I can't imagine it not being that way. Big memories always do.
When she died, me, my parents and the rest of my family were wrecks, but we got a huge amount of support and love from all over the place that helped and is helping us all cope. People came in from all over. Brooklyn, PA, Virginia, New Jersey. Flowers came in from everywhere. The house filled up. People helped out however they could. Through most of it, through the cloud of my grief, it hardly seemed to help. I could not imagine feeling worse. In retrospect though, I see exactly how much it did help and how much of a comfort it was to have family and friends around. I'm pleased at the number of friends that Jenn still had in the area that showed up for the wake and funeral too.
Of course, the Fordham guys all made it up. If you were there, they were the "Good looking young men in suits." as one of my aunts put it. They were there when I needed them and I leaned on a few - especially Sfumato who put aside his own troubles for me.
It could have been so much worse. We could have gone through this alone, but we didn't.
Thank you.
As for what happened to Jenn. That's coming.
As great as it was to be together that one last time as college kids, moods were tempered somewhat because we were all feeling for Paul, whose brother had just gotten into a very serious motorcycle accident earlier that week. For a while, it was touch and go whether or not he would be ok. Luckily everything worked out.
Everything really has.
As a group, we've had our share of setbacks, struggles, trials, tribulations and any other synonyms you want to throw in for "shitty, crappy times", but we've also seen wonderful, successful, remarkable times.
What's more, we've always been there for each other in good times and bad.
My turn came seven months ago today on October 18th, 2004, the day we buried my sister, Jenn. I can't believe its been that long already. I'll say the same thing again next month, and probably the months and years after that. Its always going to seem close. I can't imagine it not being that way. Big memories always do.
When she died, me, my parents and the rest of my family were wrecks, but we got a huge amount of support and love from all over the place that helped and is helping us all cope. People came in from all over. Brooklyn, PA, Virginia, New Jersey. Flowers came in from everywhere. The house filled up. People helped out however they could. Through most of it, through the cloud of my grief, it hardly seemed to help. I could not imagine feeling worse. In retrospect though, I see exactly how much it did help and how much of a comfort it was to have family and friends around. I'm pleased at the number of friends that Jenn still had in the area that showed up for the wake and funeral too.
Of course, the Fordham guys all made it up. If you were there, they were the "Good looking young men in suits." as one of my aunts put it. They were there when I needed them and I leaned on a few - especially Sfumato who put aside his own troubles for me.
It could have been so much worse. We could have gone through this alone, but we didn't.
Thank you.
As for what happened to Jenn. That's coming.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Wet Floors. New Floors.
Well, the trip to Home Depot was successful. We wound up getting a little over 300 square feet of new, different laminate flooring.
Of course, it really wasn't that easy. I've got issues, man. As a recovering credit card junkie, I get pretty jittery spending anything over $500 dollars. I get buyers remorse, post cash-partum depression or whatever you want to call it. So, basically, when confronted with having to spend any amount of money these days, I become a difficult asshole. A passive aggressive difficult asshole. At least I'm aware of it though and try to rein it in.
Like I was saying, it wasn't that easy. I made the trip reluctantly and apprehensively. Reluctantly because I really wanted to be at home playing Desert Combat and configuring all sorts of different cool-mo-dean super high powered gaming PC rigs that I might want to gift myself. Apprehensively because I know money was going to be spent. Clarisa, when it comes to non-clothes shopping - shops like a man. She walks in and bang, she knows what she wants and buys it. Knowing this, for me the buyers remorse can actually kick in before the purchase.
Yeah, I'm pretty flaked out when it comes to spending money. But I'm not a tightwad. Its just that I flake out and hem and haw about it.
Naturally, I was hoping to get away with just buying a few replacement boards. One box at most. Maybe two. Clarisa, having hated the floor since we moved in, wanted to go for the gusto and just replace everything. We had the money, and its not rocket science installing laminate flooring - so what the heck?! I managed not to drive her from Home Depot in tears and we got the new flooring.
Good thing we did too, because when we got home we pulled up a few boards where we thought the water was, and then we pulled up a few more and then a few more until we'd cleared close to 200 hundred sq feet of board. Water everywhere. Obviously, a bigger problem than anticipated, but not really that surprising in retrospect.
There was even water under there from the great pipe bursting incident from this winter. Argh, that was disgusting. Its amazing there aren't more problems - the boards looked fine but underneath there was a layer of gunk and ooze Swamp Thing would love.
Right now the floor is ripped up, furniture all moved around (the bedroom has become the dining room) and we've got to bring in the flooring and let it acclimate for three days. Then we can start putting the new stuff down. In the meantime the place can dry out, too. It sure needs it.
But while I'm putting stuff down, I'm thinking "out". We've got to move out of here. Anywhere within an hour's train ride of the city and I think I'm game.
Of course, it really wasn't that easy. I've got issues, man. As a recovering credit card junkie, I get pretty jittery spending anything over $500 dollars. I get buyers remorse, post cash-partum depression or whatever you want to call it. So, basically, when confronted with having to spend any amount of money these days, I become a difficult asshole. A passive aggressive difficult asshole. At least I'm aware of it though and try to rein it in.
Like I was saying, it wasn't that easy. I made the trip reluctantly and apprehensively. Reluctantly because I really wanted to be at home playing Desert Combat and configuring all sorts of different cool-mo-dean super high powered gaming PC rigs that I might want to gift myself. Apprehensively because I know money was going to be spent. Clarisa, when it comes to non-clothes shopping - shops like a man. She walks in and bang, she knows what she wants and buys it. Knowing this, for me the buyers remorse can actually kick in before the purchase.
Yeah, I'm pretty flaked out when it comes to spending money. But I'm not a tightwad. Its just that I flake out and hem and haw about it.
Naturally, I was hoping to get away with just buying a few replacement boards. One box at most. Maybe two. Clarisa, having hated the floor since we moved in, wanted to go for the gusto and just replace everything. We had the money, and its not rocket science installing laminate flooring - so what the heck?! I managed not to drive her from Home Depot in tears and we got the new flooring.
Good thing we did too, because when we got home we pulled up a few boards where we thought the water was, and then we pulled up a few more and then a few more until we'd cleared close to 200 hundred sq feet of board. Water everywhere. Obviously, a bigger problem than anticipated, but not really that surprising in retrospect.
There was even water under there from the great pipe bursting incident from this winter. Argh, that was disgusting. Its amazing there aren't more problems - the boards looked fine but underneath there was a layer of gunk and ooze Swamp Thing would love.
Right now the floor is ripped up, furniture all moved around (the bedroom has become the dining room) and we've got to bring in the flooring and let it acclimate for three days. Then we can start putting the new stuff down. In the meantime the place can dry out, too. It sure needs it.
But while I'm putting stuff down, I'm thinking "out". We've got to move out of here. Anywhere within an hour's train ride of the city and I think I'm game.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
I clean my office yet must still face other responsibilities...
I spent most of the morning and this first part of the afternoon straightening up around the house, mainly in my office, which tends to ebb and flow from neat to cluttered to oh fuck and back to neat. I like neat, but I'm disorganized and a procrastinator -- so when the office gets bad it gets pretty bad but then some switch flips and I kick into clean mode. I even enjoy it. Perhaps its that buried inner chef in me, pissed off at my neglected mis en place.
Right now, Clarisa is still asleep with the cats piled around her. Saturday is her sleep in day. As for me, I try to sleep in, but rarely can unless I'm medicated and even then most times I'll just wake up stoned and try to deal. Not that it's a common occurrence. Given my family history (addictions seem to run rampant) and what happened to my sister - pills aren't really my favorite thing. However, when my insomnia is in full bloom and I'm getting like two hours of sleep a night for over a week - a pill does help.
I have to admit one thing -- I've straightened up around here today and been quiet and tried not to wake Clairey because I don't want to go do the run around errand thing today - like go across the Tappan Zee the Palisades Mall and Home Depot. I figure maybe if the place is clean and if she sleeps in long enough she'll think its too late to go.
Oh well. That's not too be. Just as I typed that last paragraph she got up and came straight into the office and announced we will be going to Home Depot.
Now is that ironic? My not-so-elaborate stupid plan...foiled.
See, its the procrastinator in me. I know we need to go because we need to replace our floors because we had yet another flood a few days ago. This time our piece of shit washer door flew open and sudsy water poured out and underneath our laminate floor. The floorboards are bulging and the water is still sloshing around in there despite my efforts to wet-vac it up.
So its something that needs to be done. Really.
Yet here I am hoping somehow to avoid having to do anything about it. At times like these I must seem 13.
Right now, Clarisa is still asleep with the cats piled around her. Saturday is her sleep in day. As for me, I try to sleep in, but rarely can unless I'm medicated and even then most times I'll just wake up stoned and try to deal. Not that it's a common occurrence. Given my family history (addictions seem to run rampant) and what happened to my sister - pills aren't really my favorite thing. However, when my insomnia is in full bloom and I'm getting like two hours of sleep a night for over a week - a pill does help.
I have to admit one thing -- I've straightened up around here today and been quiet and tried not to wake Clairey because I don't want to go do the run around errand thing today - like go across the Tappan Zee the Palisades Mall and Home Depot. I figure maybe if the place is clean and if she sleeps in long enough she'll think its too late to go.
Oh well. That's not too be. Just as I typed that last paragraph she got up and came straight into the office and announced we will be going to Home Depot.
Now is that ironic? My not-so-elaborate stupid plan...foiled.
See, its the procrastinator in me. I know we need to go because we need to replace our floors because we had yet another flood a few days ago. This time our piece of shit washer door flew open and sudsy water poured out and underneath our laminate floor. The floorboards are bulging and the water is still sloshing around in there despite my efforts to wet-vac it up.
So its something that needs to be done. Really.
Yet here I am hoping somehow to avoid having to do anything about it. At times like these I must seem 13.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Conjecture
Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" seems to owe a lot to Snoop's "Drop it Like it's Hot".
Listen to both of em and tell me if I'm right.
I just wonder if the similarities are on purpose or if Snoop just rubbed off on Gwen and her crew of Harajukus. Or maybe its just the emergence, at least to me in my own little world, of a new "hit song" structure, akin to the minor 6-4-1-5 structure John Mayer explains in June's Esquire.
Why the hell this might be of any importance is beyond me, but its what's going through my mind now and I'm grateful for it and any other non career worrying non technology implementing thoughts that might float by.
Listen to both of em and tell me if I'm right.
I just wonder if the similarities are on purpose or if Snoop just rubbed off on Gwen and her crew of Harajukus. Or maybe its just the emergence, at least to me in my own little world, of a new "hit song" structure, akin to the minor 6-4-1-5 structure John Mayer explains in June's Esquire.
Why the hell this might be of any importance is beyond me, but its what's going through my mind now and I'm grateful for it and any other non career worrying non technology implementing thoughts that might float by.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
The Not Exciting Vacation Post.
Prior to the near fisticuffs recounted in my last post, the vacation was going really, really well. Lots of R&R and doing stuff and seeing stuff I had never seen before.
Four Wheeling
On Monday of that week, Matt and "The Dick" Arlyn loaded up Matt's supercharged turbo V8 truck of doom, hitched a trailer loaded with 4x4's and took off for the fireroads above the Shasta Dam. The mountains are only about 20 or so minutes outside of Redding, so its just a bit of a drive and then all of a sudden, every turn of the road is a vista. 199 from Redding to Eureka is like that. Just beautiful. Now, I love the Catskills and New England, but I get a bigger sense of vitality out of there. Like I was saying, we went 4 wheeling. I'd gone once before with Clarisa and Matt on a short trip, but this was a loooong ass trip. Gone in the morning, back in evening, 60 miles over fire trails type of trip.
Driving the damn thing was a pain in the ass. For some reason, I thought I should sit back on it with my legs out in front of me slightly. Well, the damn thing is drifted on me and the steering was all light. I could not imagine these things being so hard to control. As luck would have it, we hit a couple of downhill slopes that pulled me forward into more of a motorcycle position that I kept when I finally came off the very steep slope that I locked the rear brake up on and slid sideways toward the cliff on (not a fun moment, but definitely memorable). Once I found that position, things were so much easier.
Anyhow as we made our way up, it just got prettier and prettier. At our furthest destination, we were on the top of some peak, and as best I could tell, Shasta lake was southeast of us and waaaay down and to the west were what Matt called the Trinity Alps. Not sure if that's a local name or not, but they were huge and far away and half covered in snow. Where we were, there was just a smidge of snow here and there - and we were high up, around six thousand feet. On the way back we had to turn on our reserve tanks with about an hours worth of riding left. The quote of the day came from Matt, "I'm almost 50% confident that we will make it back." But we did, probably by the skin of our teeth too.
To the Coast
Two days later we headed out for the coast, driving along 199 from Redding to Eureka. Vista. Vista. Vista. Vista. About 10 miles or so from the actual coast, the skies grew overcast and you could smell moisture in the air. As we came out of the mountains a few farms appeared. Cows were grazing in lush long grass and a light fog covered everything, especially along Arcata Bay. Once in town, the first thing we did was head to the Samoa CookHouse, an old lumbermill chow hall that's been converted into a familty style dining place. Its the type of place where the food is brown, hot, and there is lots of it. The waitress who served us was overweight, weathered and cheerful. I had the feeling she had not seen a lot, but what she had seen, she'd seen a lot of. A few diners in NY near here have her type, but not many.
Belly's full, we drove Matt's truck out onto the beach. Coming from NY, this was a real novelty. Anywhere I have ever been, trucks on the beach aren't allowed. Or if they are, its a college type crazy thing. Out there though, there were a few trucks here and there, none very close to each other. The tide was coming in and pushing piles of kelp up the beach. I was not going not go into the water after coming all this way. It would be a waste, freezing ass cold or not. For starters I just kicked off my shoes and rolled up my pants and strode in.
Oh shit was that cold. No swimming for JimmyBoy, no matter how far he'd come. Still though, there were surfers out there. They were down the beach to north a half mile or so. Right in front of me and to my left was a huge jetty built to protect the bay entrance. At the end of it there was a pile of huge cement structures that looked like God had scattered some of his jacks there. The opposing jetty to the south was covered with the same structures, but from a distance they looked like a huge grave site.
While we puttered around there I saw a sea lion and a bunch of starfish while I walked out onto the jetty, beyond the chain and sign that was spray painted, "LA FAGS GO HOME". Anyhoo, undeterred by the sign, not being from LA or a fag, I ventured out more. Eventually I found a starfish on top of the jetty, half dead. It must have been a big ass wave that hit to have brought it that far in and that high. Not really wanting to see it bake in the hazy sun, I pried it off the cement and tossed it back in. Either it lived or it died and became a meal. Either way I figure I helped something out.
Another curious site on the beach in Eureka were the small sand dunes, covered in flowers and plants and overtaking the WWII bunkers that had been installed there. You don't think about it much, and laugh at it in the movie "1941", but California was really terrified and serious about protecting itself and the nation from a Japanese invasion. From what I read on the plaques out there, lots of subs were spotted and destroyed. In NY, if you tried riding a 4 wheeler through the dunes in the Hamptons, I think you might get lynched. Things are definitely more relaxed out there.
The strangest site while out there - Arlyn pissing on a WWII bunker. Freaking surreal.
Once done with the coast, we drove up it. We got to see the "Goonies" rocks and more gorgeious views as we made our way up the coast into Crescent City and into the Redwood Forest.
Redwoods
Big. Trees. Wow. I had no idea. And aside from genetics, I guess the fog that's always there really nourishes them and lets them get big. They can live to be 2000 years old. Wow. Thank god we protected them, or at least most of them.
The big surprise came when we hit the coast drive in the Redwood National Forest. Aside from seeing this just absoloutely stunning view of the Pacific coast with its primordial forest, high bluffs, rocks and beach...we saw whales. About 6 or so of them. Huge black and mottled with spots making there way up the coast about 300 yards offshore. A little Internet research makes me think they were Gray whales, but they might have been Humpbacks. Regardless, I'd never seen a whale in the wild, and for just us to see them right then and there was striking.
I remember looking at the whales, looking to the south down the coast and seeing just one of the most spectular views I'd ever seen and just waiting. I just stood there for a bit, soaking it all in and waiting. Waiting for some sort of intimation. A further sign. Nothing came though. Just me and that view for just right then. A place I could not stay but will forever stay with me.
From there we drove up into Oregon to meet up with I-5 in Grants pass. I guess we were not too far from Portland. Maybe another trip.
Four Wheeling
On Monday of that week, Matt and "The Dick" Arlyn loaded up Matt's supercharged turbo V8 truck of doom, hitched a trailer loaded with 4x4's and took off for the fireroads above the Shasta Dam. The mountains are only about 20 or so minutes outside of Redding, so its just a bit of a drive and then all of a sudden, every turn of the road is a vista. 199 from Redding to Eureka is like that. Just beautiful. Now, I love the Catskills and New England, but I get a bigger sense of vitality out of there. Like I was saying, we went 4 wheeling. I'd gone once before with Clarisa and Matt on a short trip, but this was a loooong ass trip. Gone in the morning, back in evening, 60 miles over fire trails type of trip.
Driving the damn thing was a pain in the ass. For some reason, I thought I should sit back on it with my legs out in front of me slightly. Well, the damn thing is drifted on me and the steering was all light. I could not imagine these things being so hard to control. As luck would have it, we hit a couple of downhill slopes that pulled me forward into more of a motorcycle position that I kept when I finally came off the very steep slope that I locked the rear brake up on and slid sideways toward the cliff on (not a fun moment, but definitely memorable). Once I found that position, things were so much easier.
Anyhow as we made our way up, it just got prettier and prettier. At our furthest destination, we were on the top of some peak, and as best I could tell, Shasta lake was southeast of us and waaaay down and to the west were what Matt called the Trinity Alps. Not sure if that's a local name or not, but they were huge and far away and half covered in snow. Where we were, there was just a smidge of snow here and there - and we were high up, around six thousand feet. On the way back we had to turn on our reserve tanks with about an hours worth of riding left. The quote of the day came from Matt, "I'm almost 50% confident that we will make it back." But we did, probably by the skin of our teeth too.
To the Coast
Two days later we headed out for the coast, driving along 199 from Redding to Eureka. Vista. Vista. Vista. Vista. About 10 miles or so from the actual coast, the skies grew overcast and you could smell moisture in the air. As we came out of the mountains a few farms appeared. Cows were grazing in lush long grass and a light fog covered everything, especially along Arcata Bay. Once in town, the first thing we did was head to the Samoa CookHouse, an old lumbermill chow hall that's been converted into a familty style dining place. Its the type of place where the food is brown, hot, and there is lots of it. The waitress who served us was overweight, weathered and cheerful. I had the feeling she had not seen a lot, but what she had seen, she'd seen a lot of. A few diners in NY near here have her type, but not many.
Belly's full, we drove Matt's truck out onto the beach. Coming from NY, this was a real novelty. Anywhere I have ever been, trucks on the beach aren't allowed. Or if they are, its a college type crazy thing. Out there though, there were a few trucks here and there, none very close to each other. The tide was coming in and pushing piles of kelp up the beach. I was not going not go into the water after coming all this way. It would be a waste, freezing ass cold or not. For starters I just kicked off my shoes and rolled up my pants and strode in.
Oh shit was that cold. No swimming for JimmyBoy, no matter how far he'd come. Still though, there were surfers out there. They were down the beach to north a half mile or so. Right in front of me and to my left was a huge jetty built to protect the bay entrance. At the end of it there was a pile of huge cement structures that looked like God had scattered some of his jacks there. The opposing jetty to the south was covered with the same structures, but from a distance they looked like a huge grave site.
While we puttered around there I saw a sea lion and a bunch of starfish while I walked out onto the jetty, beyond the chain and sign that was spray painted, "LA FAGS GO HOME". Anyhoo, undeterred by the sign, not being from LA or a fag, I ventured out more. Eventually I found a starfish on top of the jetty, half dead. It must have been a big ass wave that hit to have brought it that far in and that high. Not really wanting to see it bake in the hazy sun, I pried it off the cement and tossed it back in. Either it lived or it died and became a meal. Either way I figure I helped something out.
Another curious site on the beach in Eureka were the small sand dunes, covered in flowers and plants and overtaking the WWII bunkers that had been installed there. You don't think about it much, and laugh at it in the movie "1941", but California was really terrified and serious about protecting itself and the nation from a Japanese invasion. From what I read on the plaques out there, lots of subs were spotted and destroyed. In NY, if you tried riding a 4 wheeler through the dunes in the Hamptons, I think you might get lynched. Things are definitely more relaxed out there.
The strangest site while out there - Arlyn pissing on a WWII bunker. Freaking surreal.
Once done with the coast, we drove up it. We got to see the "Goonies" rocks and more gorgeious views as we made our way up the coast into Crescent City and into the Redwood Forest.
Redwoods
Big. Trees. Wow. I had no idea. And aside from genetics, I guess the fog that's always there really nourishes them and lets them get big. They can live to be 2000 years old. Wow. Thank god we protected them, or at least most of them.
The big surprise came when we hit the coast drive in the Redwood National Forest. Aside from seeing this just absoloutely stunning view of the Pacific coast with its primordial forest, high bluffs, rocks and beach...we saw whales. About 6 or so of them. Huge black and mottled with spots making there way up the coast about 300 yards offshore. A little Internet research makes me think they were Gray whales, but they might have been Humpbacks. Regardless, I'd never seen a whale in the wild, and for just us to see them right then and there was striking.
I remember looking at the whales, looking to the south down the coast and seeing just one of the most spectular views I'd ever seen and just waiting. I just stood there for a bit, soaking it all in and waiting. Waiting for some sort of intimation. A further sign. Nothing came though. Just me and that view for just right then. A place I could not stay but will forever stay with me.
From there we drove up into Oregon to meet up with I-5 in Grants pass. I guess we were not too far from Portland. Maybe another trip.
Friday, May 06, 2005
My Vacation, In which I do not appear on COPS
Since Clarisa’s mother died in November 2002, we’ve taken to traveling out to Redding, CA for vacation to see the some of her family. Last time we went it was a last minute decision because one of a great many hurricanes that year was busy beating the crap out of Florida and ruining our trip to Universal. This trip, though, was planned.
We left on Friday, April 22nd. Clarisa picked me up in hired car on 36th and Broadway a little after 4pm. It was cool cloudy and drizzling. Traffic on the way to JFK was slow, but we made it in plenty of time for our flight at 7:05, thus proving my father’s concerns about leaving Manhattan three hours before departure baseless. Score one for the kids.
On the plane, some of our fellow passengers could not get it together enough to find their seat and stow their shit in a timely fashion. While we waited, a zillion other planes packed the flight line. The pilot called the plane-jam he saw “impressive”. So we waited an hour on the tarmac to take off, but hey, there was that 6”x 4” TV with 36 channels on it. Six+ plus hours of TV. Oy.
Thought it was just my third trip out there, it was all very familiar. The night flight, the long drive north up I-5 through the Sacramento River valley past miles of nothing. Sacramento receding. The glow of San Francisco behind the shadowed mountains to the west following us for a bit. Denny’s. RV Park. Motels. Nothing. Nothing. Grain deal of some sort. Denny’s. RV Park. Car Dealership. Straight driving at 80mph. Never any traffic. A late hotel check in. A hard bed. Amazement in the morning as I step outside and see the mountains again. Mt. Shasta to the north, Mount Lassen to the East. They seem close, but I know they are far.
This time though, it started to rain like Hell about halfway to Redding. Actually it was more of a deluge. Not fun. Not fun especially when your wife is driving and you are nodding out constantly and waking up with the false sensation that your car is hydroplaning and you are zooming sideways across the road. In other words, totally fucked up. Muchos kudos to the missus for maintaining her composure has I jolted awake each time with a "Gaaaah!".
Rain and relatively cooler temperatures would punctuate the vacation, but overall it was a great relaxing time and I got to do and see things I’d never done or seen before. Highlights of the trip include racing RC buggies on an indoor dirt track, a pizza party with Hannah and a bunch of her friends, 4 wheeling through the mountains above Lake Shasta, a 531 mile road trip out to Eureka on the coast, up to Crescent City and into the Redwood Forest and then northeast into Oregon and back down I-5 from Grants Pass. Those were all great things to do. Really. Fun. Stuff. However, I will get to those things later. Now, I want to jump ahead to Saturday and my aborted appearance on COPS.
Saturday. Afternoon light. Sunny skies. The air is warm and a slight breeze is blowing. We can see a little windmill set up in the backyard turning at a relaxed pace. There are kids playing basketball in the park beyond the backyard. My brother in law, Matt, and I are chilling out on the back deck of his place. Clarisa is inside and so is her stepfather, Arlyn. In our house, he is often lovingly referred to as “Fucking Asshole”, or “Dick”.
The two of them don’t really get along. Actually its more one sided than that. Clarisa hates him with a furious passion, and with good reason. Arlyn, on the other hand is just too blocked, stupid or in denial to recognize why she hates him. Let’s just put it this way, a lot of the shit that would get you put in jail or your kids taken away today was just business as usual for Arlyn back then. Family accounts corroborate it.
So why are we there? Well, Clarisa wants to see her family out there and have a relationship with her brother. To have that she is willing to tolerate being around her step-father. To her credit there has not been an altercation. We do this dance. She tolerates him, I try to buffer things and just be polite.
Until this time.
Just after the thought, “She’s been in there a while…she should not really be left alone with him…” enters my head we hear an angry shout and then a loud sound of something falling or being slammed. Right away Matt and I know it’s on.
We come in the through the screen door to the dining room and Clarisa is on the left, screaming at Arlyn and he’s saying something back to her but I can’t quite tell what at first. Then I hear him hurl some insults at her. Words like whore and bitch are being used and Clarisa is trying to tear into Arlyn but Matt’s holding her back. She’s raging. Among other things, I hear!”
“I may be a bitch but I’m no child molester!” she screams. She’s clawing at Matt, trying to throw him aside. But Matt’s a big and he’s got her contained.
Arlyn really doesn’t like what she said. Things escalate. He calls her a fucking whore. She wants a piece of him.
The dog, Max, an eighty pound shepherd mix, is freaking out and jumping up on the two of them and barking like mad. For what seems like a long time I look at the three of them there to my left and keep Arlyn to my right. I see that the dog is not biting and that Clarisa isn’t being hurt so I turn my attention to Arlyn. I step in front of him. I get close.
“You better just shut your mouth. Shut the fuck up right now. Don’t. Talk. To. Her. Like. THAT.”
He’s hardly paying any attention to me though and is saying something about “This is my house!” and “I’ll show you.” He heads over to the kitchen phone.
The guy is going to call the cops! What a pussy. This is just a screaming match and he’s losing. I guess the rules change when you aren’t the one doing the screaming or beating or molesting.
Matt manages to fend off Clarisa and get the phone out of Arlyn’s hands. More screaming. Clarisa is letting him know how he ruined her life, how he took her childhood away from her. She is unloading a lifetimes worth of pent up anger. Arlyn is heading toward the garage door in the kitchen and I’m behind him, pissed off now myself, saying mean shit to him. He’s yelling that Clarisa’s told everyone he fucked her. He’s also restating the claim that its his house. Those are both lies. I respond sarcastically.
“Shut the fuck up. You rent. You mother-fucking scumbag. You piece of shit. She is so much better than you.”
Now he is pullng something out of his pocket and saying “I’ll show you!” (again). At first I think it’s a knife and I contemplate what I think I need to do. Jump him? Run?
It’s a phone. Again. He’s going to call the cops. Again. Unbelievable.
I go back inside and tell Matt. Matt comes into the garage and takes the phone away from Arlyn. He’s telling us just to leave, which is a good idea at this point, and that he’ll call us in a bit.
Even as we leave though, I’m trying to goad Arlyn into a fight. I really want a piece of this guy, seventy years old or not. I keep hurling the insults. He charges at me when I call him a fucking scumbag again but stops short. Its all show. Things are different when it’s not a helpless kid.
Then we are in our rental and Clarisa is still screaming and giving him dual birds. My knees are feeling a bit weak from the fight or flight dump of adrenaline I’ve got coursing through me. We pull out and I know I will never see that house again until Arlyn is on the wrong side of the grass.
Once we are down the street, I ask Clarisa, “What the hell happened?” All of this went down without me knowing why, but the answer was not too surprising. Clarisa had gone into the garage to pick up her vacation cigarettes (she only smokes with other smokers and whilst on vacation) and Aryln was out there too. He asked angrily “What do you have against me?”. She said she did not want to fight with him and asked him to drop it. He said she’d always been a fucking bitch as she went up the stairs. I guess he thought she’d let it go?
Anyhow that’s what set it all off. She finally got to tell him what and why and where to go.
She calmed down really fast in the car. We went to a nearby mall and sat at a table outside. Matt called and met us out there after closing the garage door and giving his father a piece of his own mind first.
All in all it was pretty cathartic. I know the two of us have been a lot closer since it happened.
We left on Friday, April 22nd. Clarisa picked me up in hired car on 36th and Broadway a little after 4pm. It was cool cloudy and drizzling. Traffic on the way to JFK was slow, but we made it in plenty of time for our flight at 7:05, thus proving my father’s concerns about leaving Manhattan three hours before departure baseless. Score one for the kids.
On the plane, some of our fellow passengers could not get it together enough to find their seat and stow their shit in a timely fashion. While we waited, a zillion other planes packed the flight line. The pilot called the plane-jam he saw “impressive”. So we waited an hour on the tarmac to take off, but hey, there was that 6”x 4” TV with 36 channels on it. Six+ plus hours of TV. Oy.
Thought it was just my third trip out there, it was all very familiar. The night flight, the long drive north up I-5 through the Sacramento River valley past miles of nothing. Sacramento receding. The glow of San Francisco behind the shadowed mountains to the west following us for a bit. Denny’s. RV Park. Motels. Nothing. Nothing. Grain deal of some sort. Denny’s. RV Park. Car Dealership. Straight driving at 80mph. Never any traffic. A late hotel check in. A hard bed. Amazement in the morning as I step outside and see the mountains again. Mt. Shasta to the north, Mount Lassen to the East. They seem close, but I know they are far.
This time though, it started to rain like Hell about halfway to Redding. Actually it was more of a deluge. Not fun. Not fun especially when your wife is driving and you are nodding out constantly and waking up with the false sensation that your car is hydroplaning and you are zooming sideways across the road. In other words, totally fucked up. Muchos kudos to the missus for maintaining her composure has I jolted awake each time with a "Gaaaah!".
Rain and relatively cooler temperatures would punctuate the vacation, but overall it was a great relaxing time and I got to do and see things I’d never done or seen before. Highlights of the trip include racing RC buggies on an indoor dirt track, a pizza party with Hannah and a bunch of her friends, 4 wheeling through the mountains above Lake Shasta, a 531 mile road trip out to Eureka on the coast, up to Crescent City and into the Redwood Forest and then northeast into Oregon and back down I-5 from Grants Pass. Those were all great things to do. Really. Fun. Stuff. However, I will get to those things later. Now, I want to jump ahead to Saturday and my aborted appearance on COPS.
Saturday. Afternoon light. Sunny skies. The air is warm and a slight breeze is blowing. We can see a little windmill set up in the backyard turning at a relaxed pace. There are kids playing basketball in the park beyond the backyard. My brother in law, Matt, and I are chilling out on the back deck of his place. Clarisa is inside and so is her stepfather, Arlyn. In our house, he is often lovingly referred to as “Fucking Asshole”, or “Dick”.
The two of them don’t really get along. Actually its more one sided than that. Clarisa hates him with a furious passion, and with good reason. Arlyn, on the other hand is just too blocked, stupid or in denial to recognize why she hates him. Let’s just put it this way, a lot of the shit that would get you put in jail or your kids taken away today was just business as usual for Arlyn back then. Family accounts corroborate it.
So why are we there? Well, Clarisa wants to see her family out there and have a relationship with her brother. To have that she is willing to tolerate being around her step-father. To her credit there has not been an altercation. We do this dance. She tolerates him, I try to buffer things and just be polite.
Until this time.
Just after the thought, “She’s been in there a while…she should not really be left alone with him…” enters my head we hear an angry shout and then a loud sound of something falling or being slammed. Right away Matt and I know it’s on.
We come in the through the screen door to the dining room and Clarisa is on the left, screaming at Arlyn and he’s saying something back to her but I can’t quite tell what at first. Then I hear him hurl some insults at her. Words like whore and bitch are being used and Clarisa is trying to tear into Arlyn but Matt’s holding her back. She’s raging. Among other things, I hear!”
“I may be a bitch but I’m no child molester!” she screams. She’s clawing at Matt, trying to throw him aside. But Matt’s a big and he’s got her contained.
Arlyn really doesn’t like what she said. Things escalate. He calls her a fucking whore. She wants a piece of him.
The dog, Max, an eighty pound shepherd mix, is freaking out and jumping up on the two of them and barking like mad. For what seems like a long time I look at the three of them there to my left and keep Arlyn to my right. I see that the dog is not biting and that Clarisa isn’t being hurt so I turn my attention to Arlyn. I step in front of him. I get close.
“You better just shut your mouth. Shut the fuck up right now. Don’t. Talk. To. Her. Like. THAT.”
He’s hardly paying any attention to me though and is saying something about “This is my house!” and “I’ll show you.” He heads over to the kitchen phone.
The guy is going to call the cops! What a pussy. This is just a screaming match and he’s losing. I guess the rules change when you aren’t the one doing the screaming or beating or molesting.
Matt manages to fend off Clarisa and get the phone out of Arlyn’s hands. More screaming. Clarisa is letting him know how he ruined her life, how he took her childhood away from her. She is unloading a lifetimes worth of pent up anger. Arlyn is heading toward the garage door in the kitchen and I’m behind him, pissed off now myself, saying mean shit to him. He’s yelling that Clarisa’s told everyone he fucked her. He’s also restating the claim that its his house. Those are both lies. I respond sarcastically.
“Shut the fuck up. You rent. You mother-fucking scumbag. You piece of shit. She is so much better than you.”
Now he is pullng something out of his pocket and saying “I’ll show you!” (again). At first I think it’s a knife and I contemplate what I think I need to do. Jump him? Run?
It’s a phone. Again. He’s going to call the cops. Again. Unbelievable.
I go back inside and tell Matt. Matt comes into the garage and takes the phone away from Arlyn. He’s telling us just to leave, which is a good idea at this point, and that he’ll call us in a bit.
Even as we leave though, I’m trying to goad Arlyn into a fight. I really want a piece of this guy, seventy years old or not. I keep hurling the insults. He charges at me when I call him a fucking scumbag again but stops short. Its all show. Things are different when it’s not a helpless kid.
Then we are in our rental and Clarisa is still screaming and giving him dual birds. My knees are feeling a bit weak from the fight or flight dump of adrenaline I’ve got coursing through me. We pull out and I know I will never see that house again until Arlyn is on the wrong side of the grass.
Once we are down the street, I ask Clarisa, “What the hell happened?” All of this went down without me knowing why, but the answer was not too surprising. Clarisa had gone into the garage to pick up her vacation cigarettes (she only smokes with other smokers and whilst on vacation) and Aryln was out there too. He asked angrily “What do you have against me?”. She said she did not want to fight with him and asked him to drop it. He said she’d always been a fucking bitch as she went up the stairs. I guess he thought she’d let it go?
Anyhow that’s what set it all off. She finally got to tell him what and why and where to go.
She calmed down really fast in the car. We went to a nearby mall and sat at a table outside. Matt called and met us out there after closing the garage door and giving his father a piece of his own mind first.
All in all it was pretty cathartic. I know the two of us have been a lot closer since it happened.
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