Mad-Town Musings

2004-10-20T03:57:00.000-05:00

Again I am here, in the wee hours, tappimg away at this keyboard when I really ought to be sawing away at some logs. I'm not sure what it is about sleep that turns me off so much, but I have a feeling that it has something to do with my body pillow. It isn't warm, it doesn't snore, but most of alll, it doesn't cuddle back. Am I beginning to sound like a loser yet?

My cats don't seem to appreciate my attempts to smother them with love. In fact, they seem completely turned off by the idea. The more I try to snuggle with them, the harder they try to escape. It's ok, I'm not totally insulted, but I do wish they would stop scratching me.

And so I am left with my body pillow, cold and unresponsive as it may be. It is better than curling up to nothing. I saw a picture of a new Japanese invention where someone shaped a pillow into the form of a shoulder and an outstretched arm. It was specifically designed for people like me, although the caption only mentioned Japanese women, and if I could just get past the creep factor I might just send away for one of these. Of course, thanks to Bush my dollar doesn't have the same purchasing power against the Yen that it once did, so I'm hoping that I can afford it when I finally do decide to get one.

Now if only they could design one that snores.

2004-10-20T00:13:00.000-05:00

You want to know what I hate? Ignorance. It comes in all shapes and sizes: racism, classism, elitism, and just about any other "-ism" you can come up with. There's one recent entry however, which encompasses so much blind ignorance that I just want to spit on the person whenever it comes up. Bush Republicanism. I am losing my faith in half of America, particularly the half that is responsible for the dead heat in the polls.

Now before you get into an uproar about the tremendously bias and innacurate nature of these polls, think about this: even if their numbers are off by ten percent, that still means that more than a third of this country supports our commander in thief. That is still unbelievable to me. Are those people unaware of how large the deficit has grown (after Clinton actually got a surplus)? Do they not know how much the rest of the world disdains us? Do they not know that Bush is Beelzebub in a Republican suit?

Anyway, I'm battling a bit of insomnia currently and it's kind of a double edged sword. On the one hand, the wee hours are very peaceful and relaxing. I kind of enjoy being active while everyone else is snoring away. On the other hand, this lack of sleep is killing me. I'm not 21 anymore, and without some good shut-eye I am about as worthless as they come. I wake up feeling hung over, without the fun of having been drunk the night before. Still, there's something to be said about catching the first wisps of morning light (NOT from waking up early... I'm usually too resentful to appreciate the sunrise if I've just woken up). It really is a magical time, especially if it's slightly overcast like it was today.

I listened to a pack of coyotes this morning as they were celebrating their catch. I'm not sure how many there were, only that there was enough to make me kind of nervous. They were so close and loud that I couldn't help but get chills as I listened to the group. Very cool, but I would still rather have the sound of street traffic to keep me comfortable and cozy.

Sometimes it's so lonely out here that I can't help but feel as though I've lost all touch. I hate to say this (well, sort of), but if it weren't for the internet I might very well go insane. I never realized how important feeling connected really was. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in say, the Outback or the Sahara. Different priorities in life I suppose, but having grown up here I can't picture anything else but.

Well, that's it for today. I know it was a lot of complaining, but remember, I didn't get to sleep until about 8am. Next post will hopefully be more interesting, but I wouldn't count on it. Before I forget, I would like to thank Brian and Barbara Jo for your emails, I very much appreciate any correspondence. Speaking of which, Shash, I got your phone message and I will try to call you back very soon. Brian, thank you so much for the invitation to Thanksgiving, but Ariana is coming back for the break and I get the feeling she will want to spend it here. Perhaps we can get together for Shash's graduation... or maybe I'll just surprise you one day. Andy - still only two entries in your blog? I know that makes it twice as successful as the last one, but there are people who would love to know more about your life in Boston. Count me as one of them. Barbara Jo - I love your website and I keep up on it faithfully. I hope Personal Paperworks is going well. Mom - I love you and hope you are appreciating the 85 degree weather down there. And finally Ana - I have more faith in you than in anyone else I know. I have no doubt that you will do whatever it takes to succeed, and that you will succeed in whatever you choose to do. I love you.

Below is the best picture I could get of this morning. It doesn't do justice, but a picture is worth at least two-thousand of my words.

2004-10-19T02:38:00.000-05:00

Funny thing about these video games: I have spent the better part of a week being productive on Tiger Woods' video rendition of a golf course, and suddenly I feel moved to hit my first bucket of balls at a real driving range. I wonder what would have happened if I had played Mortal Kombat instead. No real need to worry. If I base it upon my experience hitting balls, even a child could whip my ass.

It was good to get outside however, my weekend was spent inside in an attempt to stay as far away from cigarettes as I possibly could. It didn't work. Around 4am on Sunday night (Monday morning), I took a short, 15 minute drive to the gas station to pick up a pack of Camel Lights. I caved in the final hours of my second day, and damn if it wasn't the very definition of guilty pleasure. Sort of like having sex with someone who is not your partner... only I've been carrying on a relationship with cigarettes for over a decade now (don't read too much into that analogy honey - you are still my one and only).

You want to know how pathetic the whole addiction thing makes you? I didn't actually crumble when I bought that pack of cigarettes. No, my first indiscretion came when I snuck a Marlboro Light out of Ariana's sleeping, 91-year grandmother's purse. I couldn't help myself. I sat with her outside so that she wouldn'thave to sit alone in the cold, and the aroma of her half-wasted smoke was too much for me to bear.

So you can see, hitting a bucket of balls at the driving range was the healthiest thing I have done in a while. I'm definitely not gunning for the PGA, but I can see myself doing this often to vent some pent up energies. There's something so satisfying about smacking the hell out of a small, helpless ball. I pictured George Bush's face on each and every one.

2004-10-13T17:21:00.000-05:00

What a whiz-bang trip this has already turned out to be. In Madison, teeny, tiny Madison (I know I just touted it as a burgeoning metropolis - but the airport is still very minor) I was forced to take everything off in the name of security. Wedding ring, belt, wristwatch, even my shoes: all had to pass through the X-ray. How I wish I had bought those odor eaters I was thinking about earlier.

To add insult to injury, the plane was delayed by over an hour. One poor, confused woman, thinking that she had missed her flight, ran down the terminal and onto the tarmac to try to catch a plane that wasn't her's. The airport security was apparently too busy confiscating people shoes to notice. Fortunately they caught her before she made it to any plane, but not before a hold was initiated that prevented any planes from taking off. She was the subject of many an icy glare.

When we were finally allowed to board the plane, we were ferried to the smallest twin prop I have ever been privileged to ride. It was decked out with leather seats, and although it was small, it was incredibly comfortable...that is until some obese guy sat directly in front of me and crushed my kneecaps trying to squeeze himself in. Fortunately, with only thirteen fellow passengers, I was able to move to the front of the plane where I could stretch out and relax.

As expected, the commuter plane gave us a bumpy ride. I don't think others enjoyed it as much as the flight attendant and I did. Every time we hit a particularly rough spot of turbulence, someone behind us would invariantly gasp and we would smile at each other in that amused, seasoned veteran sort of way. I'm thankful to say that not one person lost their lunch on the flight, although I'm sure there were more than a couple of green faces behind me.

Landing these planes is always the most exciting part (or worst, depending upon your frame of reference) - with so little weight and even less thrust, they are subject to shear winds that go unnoticed by their jet engine cousins. For the first time in my life I became uncertain about our ability to land. We rocked back and forth like babies in our mother's arms, and each time the pilot tried to bring the nose of the plane down we were hit by another sudden, and very sobering vibration. There was a collective sigh of relief as the wheels finally hit pavement.

What's the first thing 33% of passengers do when they finally make it to their destination? They hit the moving walkways running and head for the nearest exit to enjoy the cigarette they've been thinking of ever since they first sat down in the plane. You can smell it as soon as you hit any exit, most of us have already put one in our mouths to facilitate the entire process, and usually we barely make it out the door before we spark that lighter up. Although I was late, I still followed the smoker's credo of "neither rain nor wind nor connection missed...".

Here's the funny thing however: that small stick of cancer creates a bond between two travelers who might never give each other a second glance otherwise. Such was the case as I stepped into the Midway parking lot after that commuter flight. I was casually, yet rapidly smoking my cigarette when I made the mistake of looking this well dressed man in the eye and acknowledged his existence with one of those subtle nods of the heard. As soon as he opened his mouth the phrase came to mind, "you can put a suit on a pig but it's still just a pig."

This guy had a vocabulary straight from the NASCAR circuit. His favorite word was Fuckin-A and he spared no expense in using it often. "Fuckin' airports! If they really wanted to ease security, they wouldn't fucking make us go outside...Fuckin-A". I certainly agreed with him on that point, but he went on. "Fuckin cops! I just got a DUI, and I mean I was drunk, but I was OK to drive. They got me at this fuckin party I went to because they saw me rocking my car back and forth in the driveway. I tried to tell them it was because I couldn't get it into park, but fuck if they would listen to me at that point. I mean, Fuckin-A!"

Sensing he was losing me, he tied the story together by explaining that they had left him handcuffed to a chair with his cigarettes, but no means to light them. The guy next to him, who coincidentally had also gotten caught driving under the influence, had a lighter but no smokes. In a brilliant collaboration, they shared resources and each got to have a smoke while awaiting their breathalyzer tests. The cops then tried to tell them that the police station was no smoking, and that the cigarettes would inhibit the results of their tests, but he told them to go fuck themselves. "I mean Fuckin-A...did they expect me to give in just like that?"

I politely told him I was late for my connecting flight, snubbed my half smoked cigarette, and left his company as quickly as I could. I should have thanked him for forcing me to get to the terminal on time, but Fuckin-A...I just wanted the hell out of there.

The flight from Chicago to LaGuardia was on a much larger plane, but filled to capacity. There is no way a man of my height can comfortably sit in a seat designed for dwarfs. I know they need to maximize capacity, but I honestly think there is some sadism in the design process of these 747's. The small bag of pretzels were of little condolence to my aching legs.

Flying into New York at night is a unique experience, one that everyone should try at least once in their lives. From total darkness to nearly blinding orange light: the city illuminates the sky for miles before you land. It's incredible how much power this place consumes. Fly into LaGuardia and the experience becomes even more intense as the landing strip is directly next to the East River. I would have sworn we were going to skip across the water on our way down.

We made it to the airport on time (I'm always surprised when that happens) and ferried to our gate to deboard - except we couldn't. Not by a long shot. Rather than fly us in circles and trick us into thinking we hadn't yet arrived, our pilot chose to park us in the runway for 45 minutes while we waited for another plane to get out of our gate. That's 45 long minutes to a smoker waiting to deboard. Add to that a screaming infant (who I really can't blame - I felt like crying too) and a jovial Chicago man with a really shrill laugh, and before you know it you want to tear every last hair out of your head. Maybe it was just me.

They couldn't keep us there all night however, and eventually we made it to the gate. This was not, however, the end of my own personal nightmare. You see, while sitting in the rear of the plane allows you to get on first, it also forces you to leave last. People were pulling their overstuffed luggage out of the overhead bins in super-slomo...it was like watching an NFL broadcast of a really good hit.

I feel terrible upon reflection that Ana didn't get to see the best side of me as we rushed to the nearest exit. Two cigarettes later, and I was ecstatic to see her. I can't tell you what that moment was like for me, when I finally realized that we were together, it's something you'll have to experience on your own with a loved one you haven't seen. I think that classic picture of the sailor kissing his swooning wife captures the moment perfectly.

We grabbed my bag from the luggage carousel and booked it for the M60 bus stop. It was already 11pm and Queens is unfamiliar territory, we didn't wish to linger any longer than necessary. The bus got us to the Astoria stop of the N-line, and finally I was on my beloved subway. It's enough to make me wish I had gone into civil engineering just so I had more credibility when I apply for a job.

2004-10-13T17:19:00.000-05:00

I'm in a New York state of mind. Gone is the peaceful countryside of rural Oregon, WI. Yellow cabs scream at everyone with their horns. The pig shit smell has been replaced with human shit, and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

People walk around here yelling to themselves, and you can never tell if they're crazy or just talking on their cell phones through ear pieces. How great is that? Men in suits sit next to bums in rags, and neither seems to mind the other's smell.

Where else can you buy a hotdog on every street corner, and actually trust that it's kosher? Only in New York baby!

Mark Gapen (an old friend of Ana's from high school and an old friend of mine from the Blue Plate) arrived from Atlanta today, and the first thing we did was take him to 7A - the finest brunch establishment in all of Manhattan for Gen-X people like us. For $9.99 you get a full plate of food, coffee and your choice of morning alcoholic beverage. It's always packed, but the wait is never that long.

Afterward, it being game day and all, Mark and I went on the hunt for a pub that was showing the Badger vs. Buckeye football game. Here's where NYC disappointed me for the first time. ABC was showing regional coverage, and for reasons beyond comprehension they had decided that New York should get the USC vs. Cal game. I guess I understand their decision. I mean it's not like they're on completely the opposite coast or anything.

What? Ariana just informed me that not only is Wisconsin closer to NYC than California is, but Ohio is even closer still. What the hell were they thinking?

Unfortunately the Badgers were also competing against the Yankee vs. Twins and every television in every bar on Manhattan was tuned to something other than the game I wanted to watch. And trust me, Mark and I checked them all. There was this one place, a little store on Times Square called the ESPN Zone that was playing the game, but as you might imagine it was packed beyond belief. We tried standing on the third floor where we could just make out the silhouettes of our red and white uniforms on the twelve inch TV based on the first floor, but vertigo and claustrophobia soon set in and we were back on the streets. Fuckin-A!

After stepping in and out of perhaps 129 bars (NOT an exaggeration) we abandoned all hope and watched the ticker roll by at the bottom of the screen for the aforementioned USC-Cal game. If only there was a way that both California teams could have lost, I might have been appeased. But I wasn't. We won however, and that's worlds better than watching the game and losing... so I shouldn't complain too much. I always like beating the Buckeyes, they're such arrogant jackasses.

Ana and I spent the remainder of the evening indoors, doing our best to "catch up" on lost time. I won't paint the mental imagery any further except to say that everyone should try some separation at some point in their relationship.

That's not all we did, we actually watched The Punisher, yet another movie based on a Marvel comic book. It was set in Tampa, a city I have more than a passing familiarity with, and the special features explained perfectly why it was so difficult to ever feel at home there. According to the director, Tampa was the ideal locale because there are no residents in the downtown, which meant they didn't have to worry about shutting down the city to do any filming. There was no crowd control because there were no crowds, there was no diverting of traffic because all the cars left with the people. They had the city to themselves, and trust me when I say that they are absolutely right. Despite the presence of several skyscrapers, museums, and even an aquarium, the downtown becomes a ghost town during non-peak hours. Strangest thing I have ever witnessed.

Anyway, one highlight of the movie (at least for me) was when the lead character hailed a cab by simply raising his finger New York style. I couldn't help but giggle because that simply doesn't happen there. Raise your finger in Tampa and you're going to wait a very loooong time. If you're lucky, maybe a tourist will pick you up before it rains.

Sunday was a lazy day. I think we woke up around 2pm, although I can't be sure because we made it a point to not look at the clock. I love days like that, where time is of absolutely no importance. We did eventually have to take note so that Ariana could make her study session, but up to that point we were free of any productivity.

Monday Ana had class for six hours. Think about it. I know the standard person works two hours beyond that, but I usually equate class time to twice that of normal time. In the real world, we aren't forced to focus for the entire duration of our shifts. In a real job, we can periodically break from the labor we are performing. In a school room, if you want to do well, you had better pay attention to every word the professor says. That's the equivalent then of twelve hours of real-world work.

Fortunately, Mark and I were on vacation and got to enjoy this time. And it was a busy day. We started out by catching the subway (my beloved subway) to Battery Park - the launching point for many tourists who come to the city. From there one can catch a ferry to Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, or Staten Island. The latter happened to be free, so that's the one we rode.

Now here's a study in group dynamics. We had about twenty minutes to wait for the next ferry to arrive, and at first everyone was relaxed and spread out within the terminal. Five minutes later, with no provocation whatsoever, a few people began walking toward the gate in an attempt to get the best seat on the so far non-existent ferry. Two minutes later, with still no sign of the passenger ship, we were all crowding the gate. Think of bipedal Lemmings, and you have a good idea of what it was like. Rather than enjoy our somewhat comfortable seats (well, as comfortable as hard wood can be), we were all crowded against the gate in a most uncomfortable crush.

When the ferry finally did pull into port, the size of the crowd was cut in half although the number of people waiting continued to grow. By this point, we couldn't help but become very intimate with everyone around us as we mashed against each other in the mad dash to get the best spot. When the gates finally did open, we all filtered through like grains of sand through the neck of an hourglass. Turns out, the ferry was huge and we all had great seats for the ride.

There is really nothing else like leaving a city by boat. I've left Seattle twice that way. The city noises fade into the wash of the waves against the boat, and the smell quickly turns from shit and grime to salt. There's a certain peace to watching the city become a two dimensional skyline from across the water.

We made it to Staten Island despite my irrational Titanic fears, and I could officially say that I had been to all five boroughs. There really is little more to say however, as it is primarily a residential area that seems completely out of place as a member of New York City proper. There are houses, actual single family houses, and the density of people diminishes to about one per square block. I could have easily pretended that I was walking through the streets of Madison, it was that cozy and quiet.

I'm not sure why Staten Island is a part of New York versus New Jersey, other than the fact that New Jersey is the dirtiest place in this country. Who (aside from the mafia) would want to associate themselves with a state that prides themselves on being the "Garden State" and then fills those gardens with New York's garbage? Anyway, the island sticks out like a sore thumb from Manhattan, and after seven blocks of walking we realized that the best part of the trip would probably be getting off. We made our way back to the ferry, passed by the minor league stadium which was the size of many major league parks, and began our trip back to Manhattan.

With still plenty of time left before Ariana's class let out, we decided to explore the financial district. We saw the Merrill Lynch bull standing guard to Wall Street, walked through the graveyard where Alexander Hamilton is buried, glanced at the American Stock Exchange, and walked through Ground Zero to pay our respects. I am still disgusted at how many people view the area as an amusement park - taking pictures, laughing, and gobbling up the memorabilia that the street vendors offer. I really hate Americans sometimes, but I guess as a liberal that's my place (at least according to Bush and Limbaugh).

We caught the subway (my beloved subway) back up to midtown where we explored the Rockefeller center and basically acted like idiots. We tried to sneak onto each and every elevator, only to be thwarted by officers protecting the entertainment industry from the threats of terrorism. How would the world get by without Katie Couric and Conan Obrien?

The ice rink was up and running, and we thought that might make for a good, perfectly legal time, but at $20 a pop, we simply couldn't justify the expense. Instead, we decided it would be more fun to drop pebbles onto the ice and watch the skaters bite it. OK, we actually didn't do that, but the evil thought crossed my mind more than once.

It was getting late about this time, and Mark needed to get back to his friends house for dinner and drinks. The poor guy had been dragged to every gay bar in the city the previous two nights, so I hope they took him someplace nice for his last evening. Somehow I get the feeling they tricked him into yet another gay bar adventure.

We got back on the subway (my beloved subway) and headed down toward the village. In the process of looking to see which stop was ours, I was caught off guard by the motion of the subway and took a digger right into Mark's lap. Thankfully I only bumped my ego, but I did manage to get the stations wrong. By the time I realized I had misdirected us, the doors were closing. Now here's where the subway (my beloved subway) differs from other automated systems. If a piece of you is in the doorway when they close, that piece of you is going to remain stuck in the doorway until they open again. I had thought I could prevent us from going any further by sticking my hand in the closing doors, but no. They shut promptly on my wrist and I was forced to yank as hard as I could to prevent accidental amputation. Scared the puh-jesus out of me. There was fortunately one last stop before Brooklyn and we were able to reverse our mistake without too much trouble.

We parted ways at the Pizza Booth (best I've ever had) and that is unfortunately the last I saw of him on my NYC adventure. I soon met up with Ariana (my beloved Ariana) and joined her classmates for a small birthday toast that one of them was having. Thankfully we didn't stay long as I really don't enjoy the bar scene anymore, and we soon found ourselves in the comfort of her apartment.

2004-10-13T17:13:00.000-05:00

Today (Tuesday) has been kind of morose. I hate having to say goodbye to Ana. I don't think I'll ever get used to it. We woke up late again (reoccurring theme) and I walked her to her class. I spent my time in Washington Square Park watching this humongous black man, dressed completely in white except for his bare feet, dance around the central fountain as though he was Baryshnikov himself. Every once in a while he would stride next to me, sit down and inform me that I had a couple of flies on my shoulder. He was right every time: I did have a couple of flies on me. Then he would dance away to some music that only he could hear. You know, Madison doesn't have enough crazies in it (unfortunately this is not him...I was too nervous to take a picture of that guy. Instead this is a picture of the Merrill Lynch Bull with another crazy who wouldn't get out of the shot.)

2004-10-13T17:11:00.000-05:00

So now the trip is over, and all I have left are a few pictures and memories of Ariana and New York. I'll never get used to this feeling, it's very nearly the same one I used to experience when Ed (my father) would pick my sister and I up at the end of summer and we had to say goodbye to our mom. We knew we wouldn't see her again and we would be depressed about it all at least to Lansing, MI. Only this is much worse (sorry mom).

I will say that this time wasn't as bad as the last. This time I didn't have to watch Ariana cry in the rear view mirror as I drove away. This time I didn't have 19 hours in a car all by myself to contemplate how much I'll miss her. This time I didn't get stuck on the New Jersey Turnpike.

What I learned from this trip is that I will do anything to get back to her as soon as I can. Gone are the notions that we will live our lives regardless of where they take us, I now know that my life is with her and not in what I do. I could be happy in Gary, IN...as long as I call it home with her.

2004-10-08T11:54:00.000-05:00

Hospitals just creep me out beyond belief. I haven't had enough exposure to develop the defense mechanisms necessary to cope with other people's immense sadness and fear. No one is excited about going to the hospital, not even the ones who are paid to go.

I say this fresh off a visit to the UW hospital. A very good friend of mine recently discovered a lump in her breast and needed some company on her sonigram. I felt privledged to be asked, especially since as a man I have no real frame of reference. Turns out everything is OK - nothing to worry about, but christ it can be a scary thing.

And here's where I applaud the UW. The environment they have created is really quite soothing. The breast center waiting area was set up like a living room with rocking chairs and complimentary coffee (decaf of course) and tea. There were no flourescent lights at all, just the pleasant warm sunshine leaking in from the large atrium. A large fountain provided a soothing gurgle of water trickling over a wall of rocks and even the receptionists voice was mellow and nurturing. It was all very disarming for a place that should have been frightening.

Still, it was a hospital, and I couldn't shake the heeby-jeebies of being in a place where people die on a semi-regular basis. I don't have the strength of character to overcome such things.

Anyway, here is a lovely sunset view of Madison taken from Olin Park. It's always been one of my favorite vistas. See if you can notice the new building under construction, which is going to be the new courthouse. Just like Madison to make one of its more predominate skyline views littered with civic buildings.

2004-10-05T01:47:00.000-05:00

I had the opportuntiy (or the responsibility, depending upon how you look at it) to house sit for two different friends in town this past weekend. If there's one thing I learned from the experience, it's that I am definitely a city boy at heart. I also learned that I don't sleep that well with snoring pug dogs, but that would be two things and I'm trying to keep focus here.

I missed it all: the sound of traffic whizzing by at bedtime, the grime that lower air quality produces, and especially the better cellphone reception. I didn't even mind the claustrophobia of having the neighbor's kitchen window directly across from my bathroom window. Voyeurism is what city life is all about.

And really, that's primarily what I did. I took the pug for a walk and enjoyed the glimpses of other people's lives through open windows. It all comes down to sharing, and in a city where space is a premium, you can't help but share your life with everyone else. I know I shared my nekkidness with the people of 1110 East Johnson, who caught a glimpse of me as I was standing in front of the toilet.

Seriously, one of the truly magnificient things about city life (and I don't mean suburbia here) is that there is no place to hide. Privacy is what you make of it, and you just have to grow comfortable in the fact that most people don't care that you're reading your book alone in a coffee shop. Moost people don't care that you are there at all, unless you happen to be occupying a four person table during a time when there are no available seats.

I remember when Madison was referred to as the small, overachieving midwestern town. We now have over 200,000 people in the city proper, with almost another 300,000 in the commuting community. Madison is growing into a metropolis, and although we certainly don't rival NYC or LA (or any other town that uses initials instead of the full name) we are creeping up to Milwaukee's size - and that's all we really care about. We want to be better than "Stinkwaukee". Madtown has grown from a college town to a town with a college in it.

But my original topic was how much I missed life in the city, and how much the city missed me (ok - I made that last part up). Seriously, I think Madison is finally growing into its own. The Overture Center rivals any performing arts space in the country, the housing is finally growing up instead of out, and talk of a light rail system is finally getting through to the appropriate committees. OK, the light rail is actually no further than it was a couple of years ago, but the fact that there is at least a dialogue is promising.

We are not without problems as we grow however. Just try to catch a morning bus to campus and you'll have a good feel of what public transportation in India is like. Try to rent an apartment downtown and you'll discover why the suburbs are so attractive. Try to urinate outside and you'll soon develop an intimate relationship with Leon in the drunk tank (I have fortunately only heard second-hand accounts of this experience). The point is, if you look at the problems of our little oasis here, you'll see just how fast we are growing.

To give you a visual sense, look at this picture taken in 2001 from the pedestrian bridge overlooking downtown.

2004-10-05T01:39:00.000-05:00

Now look at the same picture taken today, 3 short years later. The more I look at it, the more I realize that I need to get a better camera because the differences dont see, nearly so drastic as they do in real life. Still, take my word for it. If you look really hard, you can spot several new buildings in the background.

2004-09-30T00:42:00.000-05:00

I had the opportunity yesterday to rekindle a friendship with someone I hadn't seen for years. I say "rekindle" because the last time we saw each other was a little more than four years ago, and we weren't exactly friends when we parted ways. Time has a habit of changing things however, and we are very different people now (for one thing, we have both entered our third decade of life). To be honest, I never thought we would ever see each other again (in that escoteric sense...I mean this is Madison after all, where the whole seven degrees of seperation actually feels more like two) but I am thankful that we have. There's nothing like seeing a bit of your past in someone else's future. Jake McMiller, this Bud's for you.

In other news, I have officially lost my intelligence for the time being. I don't want to say that it foollowed Ariana out to New York, but it certainly ain't here. At no point since our seperation have I been able to focus and concentrate on any one thing for longer than a fleeting minute. This blog entry alone has thusfar taken me several days to complete - and there's nothing particularly funny or witty about it.

The real reason I say all this is because I have dropped all but two of my classes. Chemistry was bound fall to the wayside, as it was the continuation of an earlier Chemistry that I cleared out of my brain to make room for more interesting, more pertinent information. Who knew I might actually need that class again?

Communication Arts 100 was an altogether different story. That class I dropped because I'm not paying for someone else's misery. Let's flash back to Monday.

Under normal circumstances, the TA is weird at best. She is usually about 15 minutes early so that she can set up her boombox and annoy the adjacent classroooms with her strange music (usually recordings of grade school children singing pop songs in an eery, almost hell-choir manner). Today, she was nowhere to be seen. The change of pace was odd, but not unwelcome as I actually had time to enjoy the silence. Then the class bell rings, and still no sign of her. No big deal. Actually enjoyable since the less interaction we have with her weirdness the better.

10 minutes later, just as everyone was beginning to give each other those "should we leave?" looks, she storms in with the most ominous black cloud over her head. I mean it, you could see the room darken upon her entrance. Without a word, she approaches the blackboard, picks up a piece of chalk, and screeches two questions on the blackboard. She didn't even try to prevent the chalk from making that horrible noise that only fingernails and chalk can create.

"Why am I taking this class?" and "What benefits does this class have to offer?" I knew we were in for a long class period.

She turned from the chalkboard and barked in a very authoritative manner, "take everything off of your desk except a piece of paper and a pencil, and I want you to answer each of these questions. With that, she stomped out of the room.

Now, I'm no expert in psychology, but I would have sworn something was on her mind. Again, we all looked at each other as if to verify that we had all witnessed the same event. Apparently we had. We furiously scribbled our answers to the questions which should have been asked the first day of class, and patiently waited another ten minutes for her return.

When she finally did make her reappearance, she had in her hand scraps of paper with numbers scrawled on them, one through twelve, each representing a different person in the class. "When I draw your number, I want you to stand at the podium and present to the class what you have written in response to my questions." Again, this was the type of thing which really should have been done on the first day of class, but what the hell...I wasn't teaching.

One by one our numbers were drawn in this military style draft, and one by one we explained that we were taking this class because it satisfied a requirement for graduation. It's COM ARTS 100 - can you blame us for being honest? What we had hoped to get out of the class varied as Granny Smiths differ from Pink Ladies, but when you get down to it they are each still an apple. To paraphrase everyone's reply, it was something to the effect of how important it is to effectively communicate one's idea in an intelligent manner.

At the end of each presentation, the speaker was grilled by the TA as to why, if they were only taking this class to graduate, didn't they take something they were genuinely interested in. I mean she was ruthless in her ambush techniques. A deer in headlights would have been proud of these poor kids. They just stuttered and coughed as they tried to think of replies which would get them out of this highly uncomfortable situation.

My number happened to be the last one drawn, and by this point I had seen enough. I knew what was coming and I was prepared. When she asked me why I was taking this class instead of something else, I replied "well my wife usually does my scheduling for me and to be perfectly honest, I don't know why I'm taking this class when I have already taken two other classes that go further in depth than this one seems to."

That was the only question she asked me.

The remainder of the time was spent reviewing the revised syllabus (version three I might add) and turning in the assignments which were due. As the bell rang, I couldn't resist the temptation to ask her why she had brought this obvious agitation into the classroom. My reply was exactly this: "It doesn't have anything to do with the class, don't worry about it. Does that answer your question?"

I told her that it didn't, but that I guessed I would have to speak with her another time to find out the real reason why. I dropped that joke of a class the very same day.

I really wish I had told her to kiss my ass, but I feel as though I got my point across. Still, safe in the knowledge that she will never read this blog, I would like to extend a hearty "Fuck You" to JoAnna Langworthy. You wasted my time and my tuition, and I hope you are repaid in kind someday.

Anyway, here is a picture of a sign I came across while walking across the patio of Union South. I don't know how I could have missed it all these years since the big brother-esque nature of it is just too creepy to ignore.

2004-09-25T01:06:00.000-05:00

So I guess I owe you a story about what has been going on since my last post of substance. Obviously I went to NYC, dropped Ariana off, and came back home to start school, but that is just scratching the surface. Not sure how far I'll get tonight, but I'll try to fit it all in before I get too tired to think clearly.

If you've ever had the pleasure of driving through the Chicago Loop during rush hour, you know why it isn't wise to carry a loaded firearm in the car with you; you might just be tempted to use it. Not that any of us are violent people, but if there was ever an opportunity to let go of morality and kill a few people, the Kennedy Expressway would be just such the time and place. I've inched along the LA freeway for hours just to get a mile down the road and I've cursed the commuters along Seattle's I-5, but I have never known a more dangerous group than the midway drivers at rush hour. That's how the trip began.

We made it through in one piece however, and soon we were passing Gary, IN (hell on Earth) on our way to the Ohio Turnpike. Believe it or not someone stole my million dollar idea - there are actually Starbucks in the waystations along this tollroad. It more than makes up for the lack of anything else along this stretch of highway. Cleveland was still there, right where we left it, and soon we were driving into uncharted territory as we passed through western Pennsylvania.

It was about 1am when we finally paid to drive into Buffallo, NY (another tollroad - the east is full of them) where we saw the majestic beauty of Niagra Falls. At least, we saw the majestic beauty of the Canadian side of the falls. The American side is a ghetto.

I'm not saying that Niagra, NY is dirty, but when you can't walk around freely in the middle of the night with all your worldly possesions locked in the truck behind you, well I would consider that ghetto-like. Besides, it's dirty. For this reason, and for the fact that Ariana had never been to Canada, we decided to cross the bridge into Niagra, Ontario. From across the river we could see the Las Vegas-like lights coming from the Canadian side, and it looked like too much fun to pass up.

Now, the last time I had been to Canada, crossing over consisted of little more than "Are you carrying any firearms? Do you have anything to declare? No, well welcome to Canada." That was before 9/11 and the horror that is the Patriot Act. This time was a bit different - more than different actually, it was horrifying.

Perhaps I should preface this by telling you that I was travelling with some marijuana...not a large amount, just enough to get us thrown into the pokey for longer than I think either of us wanted to. I have always carried some with me on long road trips, it makes the endless miles a bit easier to bear and the radio a bit easier to listen to. Before you judge me too harshly, think of this: if you've seen me within the past ten years or so, then you have seen me high. For me, it has been like Wellbutrin or some other anti-depressant that millions of Americans enjoy on a daily basis. I just didn't need a prescription to get it.

Anyway, there we were, waiting on the Rainbow Bridge to get into Canada, and it dawns upon me that perhaps Canadians don't like us as much as they used to. The line was intolerably slow, and I see that they are checking over each car very thoroghly. Time to freak out a little. Our turn finally arrives and the 3rd degree finally begins.

We turn over our licenses in lieu of the passports we didn't have, hoping that we hadn't made a mistake. While looking at our identification cards, the tollbooth attendant asks, "Where ya from?" Using our best midwestern accents we tell him that we are from Wisconsin and that we are on our way to NYC. "What's the purpose of your visit?" Again, we tell him that we are on our way to NYC and we only wanted to see the horseshoe part of Niagra Falls. "How long are you were you planning on staying?" Despite the fact that we were originally considering an hour or so, we whittled it down to 15 minutes thinking that the less time we spent in Canada now, the better.

Silence. Silence for a very long time.

"Why are you here so late?" He seemed irritated, like we were late for a party or something, but again we explained that we were from Wisconsin and this was just how long it took us to get here. "Are you carrying anything you need to declare?" Well obviously I wasn't going to tell him that I had a quarter of marijuana stashed partly in my underwear and partly in Ariana's purse, so I said flatly "No."

More silence of the unbearable kind. By this point the sweat was beading on my forehead and I can feel Ariana's neaseau creeping over to my side of the car. "Why don't you pull over to the immigration office." and with that he handed our licenses back and pointed us to the parking lot of immigration. Uh-oh.

We dutifully drove over to the large glass building with the twenty or so ploice cars parked in the lot and naively asked where we should go from there. A couple of gruff officers told us to leave the keys in the car and enter through the main hall marked "Immigration Office of the Canadian Provinces". By this point I wanted nothing more to do with Canadians. They could have their exclusive club and their horseshoe falls for all I cared, I only wanted out of the bad situation I had gotten us into.

We entered the sterile building and looked at the other poor souls who had also been stopped by immigration. A black man wearing a taxi driver's uniform was sitting on a bench against the wall and a middle-eastern man was talking to the woman at the counter. From the looks of it, we were the unfortunate white couple who had been pulled over in the name of fairness.

When our turn came we trembled to the counter together, and again handed over our ID's. For the next ten minutes we answere EXACTLY the same questions which were asked by the tollbooth attendent, except if anything this officer was even less friendly. Our answers remained the same, almost like we had rehearsed them. But the fun had only begun.

"I'd like to talk to each of you privately."

Great. Just fucking great. Their scare tactics were working like a charm as we both left the counter to sit down. I realized that one of us should stay, so like a bumbling idiot I walked back to the counter to answer the woman's questions.

"Have you been to Canada before?" I explained that when I was young my parents had brought me there and how fantastic a memory it was. She didn't seem interested in how much I enjoyed my previous trip and went on with the interrogation. "What brings you to Canada tonight?" Well obviously the warmth and friendliness of the Canadian people...duh! I didn't say that however, and maintained my previous stance that we were only interested in seeing the horseshoe part of the falls. My turn ended and Ariana's began. I could see just how pale she was as I passed her on my way to sit down.

I half expected to see her break down and start crying, but she held her composure well and dutifully answered all of the questions asked of her (which were the same question asked of me and the same questions asked of both of us at the tollbooth). She was sent back eventually to sit with me and we waited to hear if we had passed all of their tests. By this point it had been a full hour since we began our drive into Canada, and all we really wanted was to get out.

"OK, you can go." The four bestest words in the Canadian language. "OK, you can go." We practically sprinted out of that building and hopped into the truck without looking back. This was not the Canada I remembered. We drove to the nearest parking lot and got out for a breather and a glimpse at the horseshoe....except we couldn't enjoy it. Not one bit. We still had to get back through American customs.

We caught our breaths, got back into the truck and started the long drive toward the US. By this point we didn't know what to expect, but we were prepared for the worst. We got to the US tollbooth and were greeted by a police office who looked exactly like Puuty from Sienfeld. he didn't even ask for our ID's when he asked us the usual slew of questions. "Where you from? Where you going? Got anything to declare?"

After answering his questions he gave us one of those looks like "Hey...I have to ask these questions" and then waved us through. I can't express the relief we experienced upon getting back onto the US interstate. We didn't look back at the Canuks and their damn exclusive club they call "Canada".

Well, I need to get moving on some homework, but I promise I'll finish the rest of the story soon.

2004-09-24T23:32:00.000-05:00

Here's a gorgeous picture of the Hudson River, long before it becomes the grimy body of water that flows on the west side of Manhattan. No hypodermic needles here folks, just pure unadulterated water.

2004-09-24T01:35:00.000-05:00

I'VE GOT THE INTERNET BACK!!!!!! Can you believe it? After all this time I finally have my window to the world back. You wouldn't believe what life was like without it. To be fair, I had access to the net through AOL dial-up on Mary's computer, but something about 44kps just doesn't do justice to what the net has become. If you don't believe me, just check out this quote from one of my usual internet haunts, Pocket PC Thoughts.

"Tobacco companies, drug cartels and Starbucks beware--the Internet may be giving you a run for the money in the addiction department. According to a study sponsored by Yahoo and advertising company OMD, Internet detox makes people feel emotionally vacant and lost in life. Twenty-eight participants were asked to record their thoughts and feelings during a two-week period of no Net usage. From studying the subjects' video and written diaries, researchers noticed that two weeks of Internet deprivation affected social lives and left many feeling bored."

And I thought it was all in my head. Anyway, I don't have all the time tonight to write what I would have wanted to, this my first night with the net back, but I thought I should at least let everyone know that regular updates are on their way again. It's been a difficult month as many of you know, and I've been less than willing to do much of anything, let alone write about how crappy I've been feeling. Still, there are a great many stories to tell and I hope you'll come back to read them.

This picture is from our trip to New York. Although it may not look like it, we are actually about 100 feet high on a gondola normally used for skiers. As we were camping in the Adirondaks, we came across a sign that mentioned ski lift rides up the mountain. Knowing this is something Ariana would never do, I suggested that we give it a shot. Of course she tried to refuse, but she used the excuse of money. I didn't think it would be more than $5 a piece, she thought it would be more like $20. Needless to say, I was right and she was then obligated to join me on the rickety ride up the mountain. She ended up enjoying it a great deal (a testament to how much she has changed in the years we have been together), so much so that we rode it twice... we had forgotten cameras on the first trip up. The view was awesome!

Heading into NYC during the RNC

2004-08-27T04:12:00.000-05:00

The speed of light is beyond comprehension; 2.998e8 m/s. In no more than the blink of an eye, light can travel around the world one and a third times - that's all the way to the moon and a quarter of the way back. All in one blink of an eye.

And yet as I look back at the past thirty-one years, and more specifically the past three months, I find that life is passing by with an alarming velocity. The future is quickly becoming the past, and despite my best attempts to hold on to each moment, they simply speed away faster and faster. Is a moment quicker than the speed of light?

Anyway, enough with the morose. We are currently in Haverhill, MA (pronounced like "hayverill" without the "h") staying with Andy and Sara Miller, two of our closest and oldest friends. We are leaving this morning for NYC, much too soon to have actually gotten to enjoy their company, but such is the way when you are flying by the seat of your pants. Aren't we all?

Hopefully the Republican National Convention won't ruin everything. I just heard that Bush is leading Kerry by a few points in Wisconsin, I'm so terribly embarassed.

I have much more to say, and actually a great deal of it is already written down, but it feels like I ought to finish the trip before I post the story. I promise I will make it worth the wait.

2004-08-18T13:48:00.000-05:00

Coffee shops are the saving grace of Madison, so much so that I feel like we are sometimes East-Seattle in the caffeine boom. We may not have the mountains, we may not have the ocean, but we have enough coffee shops per capita that everyone in the city could be caffeinated three times over. Right now, it is the only place I can get internet access and a moment's peace and quiet. I think I like living out in Oregon, WI, but I certainly do miss easy access to cafes (and something other than dial-up).

So far, things are going well. I am almost completely moved into the spare bedroom and the cats have only now begun to explore the house. We are each carving out our niche in the pecking order of the pride, and unfortunately, I am only above the cats. That's the way it goes when you move in with your in-laws. Her parents are fortunately very accepting and easy going of the situation, although their boundaries are looser than my own. For my first piece of evidence I would like to submit the following story, unedited from actual events:

@@@

We had spent the better part of Saturday moving boxes upon boxes of crap. That's really all anything is when moving day comes - heavy crap. Why we collect so much of it I'll never know, but we certainly accumulated our fair share of heavy shit to move. Already I stray from the story at hand, but there is a Buddhist lesson in there somewhere.

We slept well that evening, the kind of sleep that only hard manual labor can induce, and woke up strangers in a strange land. The only familiar thing we had was our routine, which included a cigarette and a cup of coffee (diet Coke for Ariana). I'm not sure if these items have the same effect on everyone, but for me they act in combination like a powerful laxative, and soon I was heeding the call of the wild.

I thought I would save the nice bathroom for cleaner acts, and so I entered the utility room; a combination laundry, storage, and bathroom that only Ariana's father generally puts to any use. It seemed perfect for the job I was doing, and soon I was settled in nicely playing a well deserved game of chess against my handheld computer.

It was three moves before checkmate when the door handle began to jiggle in a threatening manner. Knowing from the deep baritone voice that it wasn't Ariana, I immediately and frantically hollered out "I'm in here!" - usually more than enough to ward off any intruder.

Not this time... not even close. The door kept opening as her father's head popped through the crack. Now, I'm not an overly endowed man, but a PDA is not nearly enough to cover up with, and I was feeling a bit vulnerable and exposed. "I didn't realize anyone was in here" he said to me, looking directly at me, "I just need to get my shoes."

By this point I had squeezed my legs together in a futile attempt to prevent the odor from wafting, and I was using my fore arms to compensate for the lack of coverage provided by my handhels. It was a most uncomfortable situation, watching him poke through the pile of clothing on the floor with his foot in a half-hearted attempt to find his sneakers. I was at this point so embarrassed that I didn't even notice the dull ache beginning to form in my legs from holding such a cock-eyed position for so long.

He eventually found what he was looking for, and in a very innocent manner turned to me and said, "I guess I should get used to that."

Yeah...I gues I should too.

@@@

There is a definite disempowerment living with parents, no matter how few limitations they place on your presence. Despite their best attempts to treat me as an adult, I feel as though I have reverted back to childhood. I'll be sucking my thumb before too long here.

The worst part is not being able to smoke where I live. Ouch. Anyway, I've included a picture of taken from the garage looking down the driveway. Look at all that corn!!!

2004-08-10T04:51:00.000-05:00

OK, my sister sent me this and tonight I fill it out in her honour. I know she’s feeling somewhat isolated up in Winter’s Wonderland - MN, and I feel bad that I haven’t called her lately. Shash, you are in my thoughts at least once a day and I hope you know that I love you more than words can say. I’ve only lived a year and eight months of my life without you, and that’s more than enough for me. Can’t imagine a world without you in it. So here, at 4 in the morning I present to you the “Getting to Know You” quiz. It’s an e-mail thingy that I admittedly never do, but tonight, for you Shash, I will move mountains. The theory is that you will learn a lot of little known facts about your friends. It is fun and easy!!!!

1. Your Full name: Kristofer Hamilton Faur

2. Were you named after anyone? I would like to think that I was named after the now deposed patron saint of travelers (apparently he just wasn’t good enough), St. Christopher. Of course, the spellings are totally different, and my mom isn’t the most religious of people, but I do like to travel. The Faur came from Amber Faur, my adopted sister. At the time she was the closest person to me that didn’t have the Robertson last name. As for Hamilton, I hope to god it doesn’t come from the treasury department ten-spot.

3. Do you wish on stars? Only if they are shooting.

4. Which finger is your favorite? My left index finger – it fits furthest up my nose.

5. When did you last cry? I think it was during a commercial, I shit you not.

Odd that there is no 6 in this quiz. This is how it came to me.

7. What is your favorite lunch meat? Not sure that lunch meat is on my favorites list just now. I think perhaps turkey, but I’m leaning toward tofurkey.

8. Any bad habits? Holy Shit do I!!! Oops, there’s one right there. Dammit, I just dropped a cigarette ash onto the keyboard, right next to the coffee stain. I’m sorry, what was the question?

9. What's in your CD player right now? Jay-Z’s Black Album

10. Do you believe in soul mates? I believe there are souls in this world we connect with better than others based upon some indescribably connection, but I don’t like to think that we have to narrow ourselves down to one, nor do I like the hint of predetermined destiny that the above question implies.

11. Are you a daredevil? Hell Yeah!

Again, this quiz is filled out As-Is, and again, there is a missing number. So far they have been multiples of 6, we’ll see if that pattern holds.

13. Do looks matter? Of course, but I’m not talking about beauty, I’m more referring to personal appearance. I don’t care what you look like, as long as you meant to look that way.

14. Have you ever misused a word and it sounded absolutely stupid? Nebulous (only Ana will get that, sorry). Anyway, doesn’t everyone at some point in their lives?

15. Do you think there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? No, but there is always something spectacular just around the bend.

16. Do fish have feelings? Some do, some don’t. I know some bastard humans without feelings.

17. Are you trendy? I feel trendy, but I guess that’s what makes my not trendy. I don’t know, pop culture is like, always changing and stuff.

18. How do you release anger? By figuring out what made me angry in the first place so I can avoid/change the situation next time.

19. Where is your second home? I Can’t even afford a first one yet. But in the spirit of the question, I would have to say Monty’s right now, and school when it starts.

20. Do you trust others easily? Yes, I’m a sucker. Wouldn’t change a thing though.

21. What was your favorite toy as a child? Fire.

22. What class in school do you think is totally useless? There really isn’t a class for which I couldn’t find some merit. Usually it isn’t the class that’s useless, it’s either the student, the teacher or both.

23. Do you have a journal? You’re looking at it.

24. Do you use sarcasm a lot? I think perhaps more in my writing than in my everyday conversations.

25. Have you ever been in a mosh pit? Yes. It was scary fun.

26.What do you look for in a Man or Woman? Intelligence, kindness, maturity, you know…the works.

27. What are your nicknames? Nothing tops my high school nickname – Stiffy. I was at an awkward age at exactly the wrong time in the boy’s locker room.

28. Would you ever bungee jump? Have and would again, but only if I could get higher next time.

29. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Rarely, but then I never have trendy stuff to ruin.

30. Do you think that you are strong? No.

31. What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Chocolate Chip Cookie dough – an example of my aforementioned weakness.

32. What's your favorite color? Rain.

33. What is your least favorite food? Anything that comes from the sea. I could never be a fishatarian.

34. How many wisdom teeth do you have? Four

36. Who do you miss most right now? Everyone

No 37? Guess that rules out my multiples of 6 theory.

38. What are you wearing? Actually, I’m here doing some nude computing. Don’t picture it and you’ll be fine.

39. What are you listening to right now? The gurgling of the cat’s electric water fountain, a few creaks from the wooden desk, and a car or two as they buzz by on the street.

40.What was the last thing you ate? Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Crea. I told you I was weak. It helps clear the mind at 4 in the morning.

41. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Nude. They make that, right?

42. How is the weather right now? The weather is cool like an early Autumn night. Quite frankly, it’s depressing me. I need some rain.

43. Who is the last person you talked to on the phone? I last talked to a woman representing a church down the street from Monty’s. She was inquiring about discounts on bulk gift cards, and I had to tell her that a buck is a buck is a buck. As many of you know, I hate talking on the phone.

44. First thing you notice about the opposite sex? This is a varying as the individuals. I think it safest to leave it at that.

49. Favorite Drink? Coffee. Little surprise there.

50. Favorite alcoholic drink? Really well aged, single malt scotch.

51. Favorite sport? Disc Golf. But I can’t help but get into college football.

NO 52? Where's the pattern?

53. Eye color? Hazel.

54. Do you wear contacts? Couldn’t touch my eyes if my sight depended upon it.

55. Siblings? One sister, one adopted sister, and one MIA step-brother.

56. What is your favorite month? I think April, usually the month with the most rain.

57. Favorite food? Peanut Butter, but it can’t be the generic stuff. They do something funny to that (like leave out all the sugar).

58. Last movies you watched? Ironically enough, it was the same as my sister. Ana and I watched Six Feet Under.

59. Favorite day of the year? Two of them; the last days of school for each semester.

60. Summer or winter? Summer.

61. Hugs or kisses? I like a nice mixture of the two.

62. Relationships or one-night stands? Previously to Ana, I had never made it past two months in a relationship. I didn’t know how lonely I was until I met her. Relationship all the way!

63. Do you want your friends to write back? Only when they have time to write me something of substance and not just a “touching bases” letter.

Where the hell did 64 and 65 go? Were they just too racy?

66. What books are you reading? Fermat’s Enigma, a great gift from someone very special.

67. Favorite Song? Depends. Currently it’s Mass Destruction by Faithless. Check out my previous blog.

68. Favorite board game? Chess. There’s something about a game that old that you simply can’t deny. Each and every game is unique.

69. What did you watch on TV last night? I wasn’t paying attention. Probably some crap on cable.

70. Favorite sounds? There’s this sound Ariana makes when she’s being held down and tickled. It’s happens right after she’s exhausted from laughing and right before she’s ready to cry. I also like thunderstorms a great deal, but there’s something about the helplessness in her giggling weep that I love.

71. What is the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning? I don’t think until after my first cup of coffee.

2004-08-10T04:50:00.000-05:00

Getting to know you!

2004-08-06T04:30:00.000-05:00

Looking back at the summer, I see that although I have accomplished a great deal, none of it is what I promised myself I would do. I don't have my Curriculum Vitae, I haven't yet seen Shannon and Nate's new house in Crystal, MN, and I haven't taken advantage of every moment I've had with Ariana. Fucking work got in the goddamn way, AGAIN!

Actually, I let work get in the way, I'm man enough to admit that. It's the same reason Ariana is going to NYU rather than waiting another year for me to graduate. We are obsessive people and we find ourselves lost without something to consume ourselves. Of course we have each other to focus on, but that was never what we wanted out of this relationship, and indeed this marriage. We have a life together, but we have spirits of our own. I am not completely interested in what she is passionate about (OK, most if it creeps the hell out of me), and certainly the feeling is mutual (as her glazed eyes betray every time I talk about rotating coordinate systems). We can't fulfill our lives without each other, but we can't fulfill each other's lives...if that makes any sense whatsoever.

So this summer I was stuck. The opportunity came along to lose myself in work and I jumped at the chance. Thankfully management came with an expiration date, so I haven't spoiled myself on generic work, but for a time it was nice to be able to effect change. With Ana employed at the same place, we made time for each other at work. I still didn't get to my resume, and my sister is probably going to be very angry with me for some time to come (I'm really sorry Shash), but I feel fairly content with how I spent my summer.

Besides, if all things go well, I will be receiving a bonus for filling in as the floor manager. Should Monty's win this competition sponsored by our wine purveyor (and we have been well in the lead the entire time), I get a trip for two out to Napa Valley, five nights room and board, and $500 spending cash. Although California isn't exactly my favorite state in the union, it is nice enough to spend a free vacation.

Another thing this summer was good for was to test my ability to focus my energies in a non-academic environment. For many years (far more than I care to recall at this moment) my sole mission in life has been to get through school. Don't worry, my marriage always comes first, but as I mentioned earlier we are a product of the "Me Generation" in that we want self fulfillment as well. Anyway, I have made school my first priority and everything else came secondary. As many of you know, school is not like real life.

I was worried that I could still work for eight hours straight. Homework is ever-present, but if you work it right you can break it up into smaller, more manageable sections. Not only can I still stand on my feet for a good third of a day straight, I can still kick a little ass while doing so.

I also wondered about my ability to overcome disinterest and burnout. I don't want to be a restaurateur, it's part of the reason I went back to school, but not knowing if I'll get a career style job I realize that I may have to rely upon these skills in the future. It was important to me that I prove to myself that I could still "fake" interest in my job and overcome the lack of focus that comes with boredom.

Finally, I was able to ease some of my fears about future financial security, should I not find a job in my field. We're looking at around $40,000 worth of debt coming out of school (once Ana graduates), and the thought of paying for rent/mortgage, utilities, student loans, etc. scared the shit out of me. Again, school life is very different from real life. Getting paid for the 40+ hours a week of work is in stark contrast to school, where you essentially pay for the same work. Although we didn't make a killing this summer, we certainly made enough to survive comfortably.

All in all, there is a lot that I will take from this summer. I unfortunately won't know the layout and garden plan of my sister's house, and I may not have a working resume, but I will have some peace of mind and satisfaction for a job well done.

Tonight I'm including a picture of the Kickapoo River, one of the oldest in Wisconsin. It's about 40 minutes outside of Madison, and for a couple of years now we have been canoeing it with our very good friends, the Baartmans. The river has a very private feel, thanks to the seclusion created by these sandstone cliffs, and I have never seen it without lush, overgrown vegetation. The pine forest surrounding the area is pungent and earthy, even for a smoker's nose. Of course this is Wisconsin, so there are the occasional farmland dairy herds roaming the area, but they are harmless other than the powerful odor of their poo. All in all, probably one of my favorite places on this earth thusfar.

2004-08-01T17:32:00.000-05:00

In Madison, this is known as "Moving Month". With the majority of the downtown population still in college, most of the downtown housing is set to turn over right before school begins. There are actually two distinct dates within this month, the first and the fifteenth, which are notoriously gruesome for those seeking new living quarters.

Today is the first, and like clockwork, the humidity is higher than it has been all year. Something about forced, physical labor to bring out the best in the weather. I personally know two couples who are suffering today, and my base of acquaintances is quite small. I've also heard several U-hauls rumble past the apartment - I don't think they even build them with mufflers anymore. I imagine that bottled water is selling like crack-cocaine today.

It's so hot, I keep having to wipe my fingers off for fear of getting sweat into the laptop. Gross.

Anyway, I know our time is coming just two short weeks away. The fifteenth is the bigger of the two moving holidays, and we are just one of the masses uprooting our lives on that day. I managed to live downstairs for three good years, the longest span I have stayed anywhere in recent memory, and I rued the day I would lose that kind of security. Here I am now, with three moved in the last three years and at least two more in the foreseeable future. It's exciting to have a fresh start every time we move, but I miss the home improvement projects that never really get started until the second year of residence.

Moving within city limits isn't nearly so exciting as you might think, not unless you are one of the fortunate few who are upgrading. That's what Few Street was to me; an upgrade in living conditions. Even though we didn't have heat last winter, and I'm sure that we were living with lead paint in the walls, there was something about the place that made me feel at home. I'll be sad when I no longer have to wait twelve minutes to get hot water for a two minute dish washing. It's the little things.

Ariana, on the other hand, is getting the excitement of a new city...THE city in fact. It's her first real break from everything familiar, and her first chance to grow personally. I say this not as an insult, but as the person she's lived with ever since she moved away from her family. This is her chance to sow her non-sexual oats, and narcissistic as this will sound, I look forward to the stories she's going to have that don't involve me. I'm excited about getting to know her all over again.

Just for fun, I thought I would throw in a picture from our trip to Cleveland. Although it may have Case Western University, the Browns, and even the Heart of Rock and Roll, it has no hold over me. This image makes it seem otherwise, but Cleveland is a dirty, divided place. I've never seen a place where the have's are so separated from the have-not's, and mostly it follows the color divide. At least neither of us is moving there.

2004-07-31T00:03:00.000-05:00

Is this really the way we are living our lives now, in a constant state of catch up? School, work, and even personal time are far too short to enjoy fully. I know that we can't fully appreciate something until it is just a memory, but why can't we at least take pleasure in the present without worrying how it is going to turn into the future? Time is a precious commodity, and most of us are in debt to our ears on borrowed time. That's probably what limbo is all about, a place to payback every moment we rented here on earth.

I'm only feeling this way because in one short month my life will be utterly and irrevocably changed. This isn't the first occasion it has happened, but I have never grown so comfortable in a period of my life that I regretted moving forward. If I could only have a little more time here at Few Street, I would gladly pay it back in limbo.

--------------------

We went back to Mount Horeb last night for an evening drive through the Wisconsin Mountains. It's actually just a region of glacial moraines and erosional features, but if you squint just right you can pretend you're in the foothills of some steep mountain ranges. It was a cool night, the kind where fog hangs in the bottom of every valley, and no one else was on the road. I swear, a few more pine trees and I would have sworn I was in the Olympics.

The best part wasn't the landscape, the weather, or even the doe we saw at the side of the road... it was the pair of red foxes that went darting across the road. They looked like little dogs and they were fast as hell, but there was no mistaking the fact that they were fox and they were after something.

In other news, we heard this fantastic song titled Mass Destruction sung by this British group called Faithless. The song is fantastic, I highly reccomend it, but it is a misrepresentation of what the rest of the album is like. Little wonder why I stopped purchasing CD's a long time ago. Still, I don't feel bad because the song is that good and the group's highly political message seems that worthy. And if you watched the linked video, yes...those two actually are the group. Gotta love it when a young, hot blonde and an older, time-worn black man get together to make music.

2004-07-22T00:07:00.000-05:00

There's a place very much like Atlantis and the Lost Sock Land where despite our knowledge of its existence, we are simply powerless to ever find it. I have recently contributed my last week's journal entry to the digital El Dorado that is my home network. It is gone, without a trace, and I feel a bit like crying. There was an awful lot that I have to recall, and I was pretty happy with what I had remembered, so please bear with me as I try to write down second hand words.

The week started out with an impromptu camping trip to New Glarus State Park. It wasn't so spur of the moment that we didn't have a reservation (what ever happened to just showing up and choosing your campsite?), but neither of us actually expected it would happen. Finding replacement bodies at the Blue Plate is a hit or miss proposition, and I was fairly surprised that the stars aligned just enough to get all of our shifts covered.

New Glarus is very near the converted cheese factory where my sister and I called home for a good many summers during our youth. I swear the place is haunted, and I do seem to remember wishing that we lived closer to Madison at the time, but overall it is one of the happier times of my childhood. It's the place where I first experience death with any real intimacy as our neighbor's daughter (and good friend to both my sister and I) was killed on her way back home one Christmastime. It's also the place where I lived when I first entered the workforce at the tender age of 15 as a proud cashier for the fine dining establishment that is known as Hardee's. Regardless, I know the area like I know computers (although I'm still perplexed by the lost journal).

The first stop of importance on this particular trip was a place called Observatory Hill - the highest point in Dane County. Every time I have ever gone to the peak of this hill I have carried out the tradition of coasting down its winding south slope to see if I could make it to the stop sign at the end of the road. Rarely do I ever make it, but it is exhilarating to reach speeds of 70 mph without any form of combustion. Although I know Shannon and mom won't believe me, we actually made it in the trust black Jeep. No, really. All the way to the stop sign.

2004-07-22T00:06:00.000-05:00

We passed by the aforementioned cheese factory

2004-07-22T00:05:00.000-05:00

And then passed by over the Sugar River at a tiny, unincorporated town named Frenchtown.

2004-07-22T00:04:00.000-05:00

The area is just absolutely incredible, but only if you know the area. Much of the beauty is hidden along county roads and other such thoroughfares that are not speed oriented as is the highway and interstate. I like driving in areas where I don't have to worry about keeping my lane or even pulling over to take in the scenery. The experience of having residents wave as you drive by, simply because you are perhaps the second car they've seen all day; that's comforting in a small town kind of way.

2004-07-22T00:03:00.000-05:00

NEW GLARUS

OK, here's a quick game. One of the pictures if of Frankenmuth and one is of New Glarus...see if you can tell which is which.

2004-07-22T00:01:00.000-05:00

Picture one

2004-07-22T00:00:00.000-05:00

And picture two. See the difference? Only the trained eye can tell that the first one is Frankenmuth and the second is New Glarus. One is "Wisconsin's Little Switzerland" and the other is "Michigan's Little Bavaria", but my point is that you can purchase lederhosen in both.

Still, it's not that bad if you're not from the place, and thankfully I am not from New Glarus. The town is a little more quaint than its Michigan counterpart, the glacial moraines provide a lot of hiding places and the Sugar River is far less polluted than the Cass. There's even a coffee shop in town that serves the freshest, darkest cup of Victor Allen's coffee you'd ever want to pour down your gullet.

Our campsite was in the overlooking forest, completely secluded from both the town and other campers. It was the last walk in site on the right, and had we known better we would have brought backpacks and a servant or two. Marching two bundles of loosely packed firewood down a mosquito ridden forest trail was lesson in Zen. I'm not big on violence and death, but I enjoy killing every mosquito I come across. We set up our tent on the flattest hill we could find, and commenced to camp. Usually this involves hypnotizing ourselves with the campfire, but this year we broke with tradition and drove into town for some frozen custard (I mean bloody hell, it was over 98 degrees).

The first night was pelasant enough, uneventful and quiet if not a wee bit uncomfortable. The second night however was full of surprises. We came across a field of lightning bugs on our evening walk, a very spiritual experience, and ate sun ripened raspberries from the vines along the trail. We felt the slope of the sleeping hill a little more the second night, and unfortunately made the poor decision to take the "wait and see" approach to going to the bathroom.

Fast forward about two tossing and turning hours and suddenly we hear our garbage bag being rustled out of the tree branch where we had hung it up. Remember, this is Wisconsin we're talking about, and the most dangerous creature in the state is a drunken frat boy, but for some reason we were freaked out. We are seasoned campers, we have slept somewhat comfortably through a barrage of shotguns firing rubber bullets at bears meandering through our campground, and we have dreamed on the fringe of a forest fire, but for some reason we could not shake the hibbie-geebies that came from hearing this noise.

Turns out, we were raided by hissing raccoons. I even mustered up the courage to get out of the tent to try to scare them away, but once I heard that unmistakable pissed off coon sound I was done for. I went rip roaring into the tent and practically jumped directly into my sleeping bag head first. We were forced to lay in the dark, listen to the little buggers surround us ambush-style, and squeeze our kiegles for dear life. The next morning probably sounded like Niagara Falls and felt very near any orgasm I've ever had. I think next time we'll make the effort to pee before zipping the tent for the evening.

What we saw the next morning was a wasteland of garbage; those raccoons have no environmental sense whatsoever. We cleaned up, packed up camp, and lugged our stuff past the remaining campers with embarrassed heads hanging low. Nothing like a coon banging together some glass coke bottles to get everyone's attention (and we only had them because it was a special occasion and Coke really does taste better out of a frost cold glass bottle).

OK, that's enough about the camping trip, I better get this posted before yet another day runs by. I'm sorry for not updating recently, it's been a game of catch-up at work ever since. It's going well, and I am really excited about giving it all up, but it's driving me into the ground. I'm dreading the imminent drive to New York to drop off my wife, but I can hardly wait for the vacation and some serious time away from work. Anyway, I'm back on track and hopefully that means daily updates again. I hope everyone is well.

2004-07-08T02:12:00.000-05:00

This may be a long one since it has been a couple of days...

If anyone needs any more shame about being a citizen of the United States, I highly recommend watching Micheal Moore's "Fahrenheit 911". Very powerful movie; a mixture of leftist propaganda and unrepentant hard facts, but most of all just a good old fashioned (and well deserved) slap in the face. I'm definitely going to say I'm Canadian if I ever travel outside of the U.S.

Ironically enough, I watched it on the Fourth of July and ended up walking out midway through. I spent the remainder of the movie in the parking lot trying to compose myself enough to not be embarrassed once my companions finished. My breaking point was when a soldier started to sing "We don't need no water, let the muthafucka burn" in reference to the town they had just demolished. It saddens me that we as a race can condition ourselves to gaily commit the most heinous of acts.

Up to then however, it had been a wonderful holiday. Ana and I spent the morning waiting tables, then enjoyed the afternoon with her parents. At one point we all had a musical instrument and were jamming out like a group of Grateful Dead hippies (sans marijuana, of course). Having little to no musical skill, I spent my time banging on a beautiful drum which, I'm sad to say, I did no justice to with my irregular and tentative beats. Mostly I just repeated "bottle-of-rum" in my head as I tried to keep the "rat-a-tat-tat" on the drum synchronized.

The next day was the fifth of July, one of those weird holidays to everyone but the service industry. I went into work at 8:30 AM and didn't leave again until 3:30 AM the next day (19 hours). It was grueling, yet oddly rewarding. Kind of like when I stay up all night to finish a project and go to bed content that I gave it everything I had. Those are always the best night's sleep.

Anyway, the fifth of July was also the rain date for our local fireworks show, "Rhythm and Booms". It's billed as the largest show in the Midwest, and I'm apt to believe the hype. It routinely draws crowds over 200,000 and manages to sardine them into a park only large enough for 20,000. Picnic blankets become territorial markers and border skirmishes become commonplace. It really is an awesome experience, especially when the explosions are set to the tempo of The 1812 Overture. Every year however, some kid ruins it for everyone when he gets a bottle rocket stuck in his eye.

The most amazing fireworks display I have ever been privy to was in Santa Barbara on the Fourth spanning our honeymoon. We went to the top of the mountains behind the city (the picture is of our daytime view) and watched as the colors exploded BELOW us. It was incredible. I don't think words can describe it.

2004-07-04T01:19:00.000-05:00

State Street, the primary business thoroughfare of Madison, has experienced a tripling of rent over a three year period. This has unfortunately pushed such places as the Puzzlebox and the Art Mart out of the area and into bankruptcy. Ironically, progress has taken us back a few steps. The construction of the Arts Center downtown has created a frenzy of new condominiums, high rise apartments (ok, well a couple of stories above the average Madison building), and national chain stores that are pushing the little guy out.

With somewhat of a guilty heart I have to admit that I frequent these national chains, sometimes for the quality and emotional connections (Starbucks), other times for the lower cost (Noodles and Company), and occasionally because there is no other choice (Einstein's Bagels). Notice that these places are all service oriented businesses, as only the Gap has managed to find a space on State Street that is large enough to accommodate its needs. Ironically, with this explosion of development there has been a disconnect between the rents desired by landlords and the space desired by tenants. The locals can accept the space, the nationals can accept the cost. It's a conundrum.

The good news however, is that local businesses will take their character to other neighborhoods. Although we are losing a certain commercial individuality from our downtown region, we are gaining it in outlying regions between there and the suburbs. We are fortunate in that the transformation occurred at a time when Madison had enough size to absorb the "revitalization".

In essence, what people are afraid of by this change is the loss of Madison's eccentricity - that unnamed thing that makes each place special. What I see happening is a renaissance whereby arts and culture become our primary means of expression; not our businesses and storefronts. I'm nervous, certainly, but I think everything will be OK.

2004-07-02T23:47:00.000-05:00

Here's my brother in law, in all his pantyhose glory. I really don't have much time to write tonight, but I thought I would give all the Minnesotans their props. Here's to the northerners and their wacky way of life.

Speaking of wierd, we experienced an honest to god earthquake here the other night. It was about 1:30am when suddenly the walls began to shake like a semi-truck was roaring by at 60 mph. I'm proud to say that although I originally entertained the idea of supernatural acivity, I went to sleep that night with the conclusion of seismic activity. Ariana, a Skonnie born and bred, couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that an actual earthquake rocked Wisconsin.

Marlin Brando also died today...didn't see that one coming.

2004-07-02T01:46:00.000-05:00

I know this is blurry, but take a good look at it. This is one of the reasons I hated Texas - the bugs just got too fucking big. But this isn't Texas. This is the dining room table of our apartment in Madison, Wisconsin. Let me tell you a little story here, and I hope you'll forgive me if I still seem a bit creeped out.

It all begins with an innocent enough trip to the bathroom. I had been watching Cold Mountain from my usual perch on the office chair in the living room when the urge struck. I turned the corner into the hallway and saw Freddie (our youngest cat) run away from something in the middle of the dark hallway floor. Realizing he had left something precious behind, he turned a quick 180 and grabbed the thing in his mouth before I could bend down and get a good look at it. He bolted into the bedroom, where he accidentally smacked his face into a low lying shirt.

I could see the dark object hanging in the cusp of the shirt, but Freddie couldn't figure out for the life of him where he had lost his thing. As he meowed frantically, I turned on the light and moved the bit of shirt still blocking the view. I practically jumped out of my skin when I saw it was this thing, this monstrous beast of a bug that Freddie had found in our hallway.

My curiosity, much like our cat's, got the better of me and I shook it to the floor. Immediately Freddy went for the bug and tried to put it entirely in his mouth. I considered for a second possibly letting him dispose of it in the usual way (he loves to catch horseflies and crunch on them in our presence), but realized this thing wasn't at all like a fly (Beelzebub's greatest and most effective creation). I managed to fend the cat off with one hand while I scooped the bug up with the nearest piece of paper I could find. As soon as I could take these pictures, the thing was out of the house and well on its way to anywhere but here.

Come to find out that it's a stag beetle, and apparently it's fairly common around the world. This fella is of the giant stag beetle species, in particular the reddish brown variety (sounds like someone got tired of making up names for over 900 different species). Those antler-like mandibles are only for digging through rotten wood and defending territory against other rival males. I have never seen something so innately harmless appear so ferocious. I mean, they eat tree sap of all things...how bad can they be?

Still, it was unnerving and has given me the creeps for sure (not confident about how well I'll sleep tonight, thinking one of those could fall on me at any time). The encyclopedia tells me they can fly (horror of horrors), although thank god our guy never tried to make a break for it. There's a little screaming girl in all of us when something the size of your thumb and with pincers that could cut cigars hits you from above. Yeah, I'll be freaked out for a while - educating myself about this has done nothing to ease the creep factor.

2004-06-30T01:29:00.000-05:00

This one goes out to my Grammy, who passed her tests with flying colors. I don't think she could have studied before hand, but I am sure there was plenty of stress and anticipation leading up to the examination. From the sound of things, she's actually healthier than I am.

I want to take a moment to tell you what comes to my mind whenever I think of my maternal grandmother. She is a religious woman, the black sheep in reverse of my immediate family, and for many years I thought she wouldn't/couldn't accept me as her grandson. I mean, technically I am headed straight to hell - at least as the scripture is written. You see, I experienced life on the other side of sexuality for a while. Half exploration, half discovery, and maybe a pinch of that hedonism I mentioned earlier...they all had a factor in my experimentation.

We all know how well this flies with the bible loving folk, especially when the "sinner" is unrepentant.

I thought there was no way she could resolve my taste of homosexuality with her commitment to Christianity. And then my mom started kissing women, and I thought for sure we were done for. Rarely had I any good interactions with the religious right at any of the gay pride/solidarity/party events. I thought Grammy would be no different.

But I couldn't have been more wrong. My grandmother is an amazing woman. She digested everything (I don't know how difficult this was for her), and then found a way to resolve that which she believes with those that she loves. I have never heard one repercussive word escape her mouth, nor have I ever felt threatened by her beliefs. All I ever experience when I am around her is absolute love, and I'm sure my mother would say the same thing. Despite her stage in life, she is still open and accepting of change. I have the utmost respect for that.

Grammy, I hope you are reading this so you know how much I love you. Can't wait to see what the next 50 years bring.

2004-06-28T12:38:00.000-05:00

For some reason I'm not quite sure of, I've had responsibility on my mind ever since I woke up. There is a specific instance, of course, which involves a woman at work who recently pulled her groin muscle. On her accident report, she wrote this,

"Someone else spilled a milkshake on the floor and had put newspapers down over the area. When I came back, the newspapers had been picked up and the floor had been wiped clean, but there was no sign indicating a slippery floor or anything. I caught myself in a fall and pulled my groin."

It's obvious she blames someone else, and she has been complaining ever since that no one does their job properly (wait, that's actually something which is on-going and ever constant). What I fail to see is how someone who has worked in restaurants for nearly a decade, and is normally quite aware and attentive, can so easily forget where a milkshake had been recently spilled.

If you've ever worked in a restaurant of any sort, you'll know that there are certain occupational hazards. If you work with a knife, there is always the threat that you could cut yourself. The Blue Plate is a busy place, and there are bound to be things spilled from time to time (we won't even get into the floor sweating) - the floor is naturally going to be a bit slippery on occasion. It has been this way with every restaurant I've ever worked in; you develop what I call "kitchen legs". You skate and you dance as fast as you can, but eventually you get the hang of keeping yourself erect for the duration of your shift.

Now I'm not saying the fall was her fault, not by any stretch of the imagination, but neither can anyone else be blamed. It sounds as though the other employees cleaned up their mess and went off to finish one of their other 4,628 tasks. If it had been me who had spilled the milkshake, I would have done the exact same thing.

I find that people who complain non-stop, whether justified or not, tend to be very superficial. They refuse to look at themselves, to get to know themselves, and they often need others to explain away personal failings. It's a tightrope, since we should have the ability to voice our displeasure with something and make active measures to change it; however I also believe that we lead by example, and rather than tell everyone else what they are doing wrong, you should show them how to do it correctly.

Anyway, here's a picture of our cat, wishing she could get outside. She got the crap beaten out of her a little while ago, and consequently she is under house arrest.

2004-06-27T23:55:00.000-05:00

So I've been trying to live by the mantra "demand more from yourself everyday than anyone could possibly expect" and it's making me fucking tired. Of course, my production has gone up (I've been faithful to this blogging thing longer than I ever thought possible), and my financial situation is better (marginally), but the lack of sleep is beginning to drive me up a wall. It's not the things I have to do that keep me awake, it's the things I have to think about.

I'm becoming a list guy. I'm sad to say that my PDA just doesn't take french fry grease that well and I have to rely upon paper for my lists. It doesn't have the same gratifying feeling as turning something on and digitally recording my idea, but it gets the job done. This all makes me realize that I am going to have to alter my idea of work if I ever wish to be successful in the aerospace industry. I feel kind of lazy if I'm not moving around and physically doing things. I've based the quality of my day's work on how tired I have been - not how brain weary I was. Even school allows for freedom of movement between classes (and sometimes there's some actual hustle involved).

Anyway, I thought I might give you a picture of my favorite place on this planet... Texas. Just kidding. In fact, sorry I even mentioned it. I'm probably on a list somewhere by now.

It's actually the Hoh Rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula. What you see as that heavenly aura was actually a burst of rain clouds that were passing through the treetops. If you can stand the rain, and don't like all the poisonous and irritating creatures that normally inhabit the rainforest, then this place is for you. Being from Wisconsin, you know I hate to say this, but Washington really is Paul Bunyon territory. The trees just don't stop growing.

This picture just reminds me of a smell - that deep forest smell that's very earthy and rich.

Thanks for the Birthday wishes

2004-06-27T01:35:00.000-05:00

Thirty one down, however many to go...

Although that sounds like I'm living to die, I'm actually remarking about how long of a span thirty one years is. One more year and I will have doubled those kids impatiently awaiting their driver's licenses. By my current age, my mother had a pubescent teenager on her hands with another one waiting in the wings. Thirty one years is a long, long time.

But where am I after thirty one years? I am still in Madtown, a place I have called home longer than anywhere else, and I am back at Few Street, an apartment that has housed me for the better part of a decade. I still smoke, which is driving me both crazy and to the poor house, and I am still fascinated by computers. I am a full blooded skonnie by this point; the Pack is my team, Stinkwaukee will always be the second best city in the state, and I will always call it "soda" over "pop". In many ways, I am the person I have always been, only older...much older.

In so many other ways however, I am completely different than anything I thought I might be. I am still in school, so I'm a bit behind there, but I am learning about things I never dreamed I might have the confidence to study. I usually feel uncomfortable talking about schoolwork because it has a glassing effect on the eyes, but last semester I learned hot to use multiple, rotating, nine-dimensional coordinate systems to describe the interaction of a body relative to a given reference frame. That's stuff that would have scared the shit out of me had I stayed in business school. It's difficult to keep up with the kids, and as an older student I occasionally have difficulty relating to my peers, but I am getting far more from school than I would have had I gone for the sole purpose of finding a job. I have had the pleasure of working with some truly brilliant people who are motivated by knowledge. That's exciting as hell!

I am also married, much to my surprise. I knew I wasn't going to be a suburban warrior in a battle to keep up with the Joneses (I'd like to think I'm far more adventurous than that,) so you can imagine how perplexed I am that I settled down with someone in an honest to god relationship. I mean c'mon - my longest relationship prior to Ana had lasted just two short months. They were all two months. And before I know it, I am looking back at six and a half of the happiest years in my life. My wedding (below) was without a doubt the single greatest thing to happen to me aside from my birth. Can't you tell from the picture?

2004-06-27T01:34:00.000-05:00

When I reflect on thirty one, I find it's too young to be old, and too old to be young. I guess that's why it's called middle age. Gen X has given way to the angry youth of Gen Y (how original guys...even "baby boomers" was catchier than that) and Nike no longer vies for my market share anymore. I'm in the purgatory of life.

One strange phenomenon is that my closest friends no longer live that close to me (and by friends I mean family as well). I've got both coasts covered, as well as both sides of the Mason-Dixon, and no matter how long it has been I know that it will be exactly like it was. That's the beauty of age; you have time to watch the superficial relationships fade away. Sure, I have met and enjoyed many people's company, but I don't let them know everything about me. To my friends, I am no mystery; there isn't a thing I would keep from them.

One thing that has stayed the same since last year is my feelings toward Ed, my biological father. Through my sister I came into possession of a certain letter written by Kathie, my step-whatever and one minion to Lucifer himself. In it she recalls a conversation she had regarding old age and how they were going to manage when they became incapable of taking care of themselves. Kathy (she always hated it when people misspelled her name, hehehe) couldn't stand the thought of her child seeing her in a "poor facility" because they couldn't finance a better place. Ed lamented that his children wouldn't care where he was put. Sadly enough, he hit the nail right on the head - and with a wife like that, it isn't difficult to see why. In her own words,

"Kristofer was always kind to animals and anyone who does that must also be kind to people. I know that he lacked in some social skills but I also think that he too is a kind person." - If she only knew how I liked to kick puppies and pull on cat's tails.

He's a lonely, insecure man who chose the life he leads. I'll probably always be a skeleton in his closet and a demon in his mind.

I digress however. It is now officially two days after my birthday, so I'll try to wrap things up (Although these things are never finished). Thank you to everyone who sent me something. It was entirely unnecessary but wholly appreciated. Shannon and Nate (though I have a feeling it was probably just Shash) - you should take a tip from Grammy and just send the damn gift late. You know me, I'm as laid back as a guy who kicks puppies can be.

OK, now for what's happening in the immediate. I am the temporary floor manager at Monty's, a job I took because I knew I would hate it. I like the purchasing power, and I like having the ability to take action immediately, but I really miss just being one of the guys there. Odd as it may sound, I actually miss my customers more than I thought I would (how a guy like me, with no social skills, ever got to be a waiter is beyond explanation). Who knew I would grow such an attachment to the gay guys that just bought a house near Blue Mounds and are planning to do some farming? I never thought I would miss the man with the fake ticker and the woman with the fake hair...but I do. I've already fired two people (which makes me want to scratch a couple layers of skin off), but that's nothing compared to telling people that we aren't hiring. If nothing else, this experience makes me appreciate everything I have. I often forget how wealthy in life I really am.

2004-06-27T01:33:00.000-05:00

I'm also preparing for Ariana's departure, although I don't really know how to go about it. I guess I'm taking the "wait and see" approach to managing my emotions, and hoping everything comes out for the best. Work isn't good for romance, and unfortunately, our fiscal necessity is overwhelming our romantic desires. I know I will regret not spending enough time with her before she goes, but I also know that she couldn't go if we weren't working so much. It's a conundrum.

I also read today that scientists are going to make an elevator to space. This isn't a new idea, I remember reading about it in 2061 by Arthur C. Clarke back in 1991, and it is just as cool now as it was back then.

2004-06-24T15:35:00.000-05:00

Here's the view from the office. As you can see it has rained again, thus ruining another chance of having the patio...darn. After last night I don't care if it rains all summer. Patty Smith and her band are responsible for my cooking nightmare. The night was one constant buzz of the kitchen printer as it vomited ticket after ticket. I couldn't prevent the stimulus response of "Goddamit!!!" everytime I heard it print another one.

2004-06-23T13:01:00.000-05:00

Things have cooled off considerably here, it seems that if we aren't suffering the heat we are languishing in the rain. There is so much water here that our governor has declared a state of emergency for the farmers. Wisconsin is becoming more and more like Minnesota by the day; every farmer now has a lake that was not there before. Even Lake Monona is threatening to burst over its shoreline and encompass some of downtown in a "Day After Tomorrow" kind of catastrophe.

I love it. I love the rain. Can't help it, that's why the northwest has such a hold over me. The rain makes everything green. The rain gives us water to flush down our toilets. The rain forces all the pissy people inside so that there is more outside for me to enjoy. Just look at the picture above. It is the exact same perspective as the winter one I posted earlier, only look at it now. The vegetation (not the crops) has taken hold and flourished into a lush city forest. Why, we even have two rabbits, several squirrels and an uncountable many birds that live in our yard.

We are the only beings on this planet for which rain is a pain in the ass.

2004-06-22T11:33:00.000-05:00

I hope you can see this one. What you see (or don't see) is a bit of whiteboard artistry created in one of the mechanical engineering classrooms. It depicts (quite accurately) one of the senior design professors for the engineering mechanics and astronautics program. There were two; one passive and bound in a wheelchair, and one aggressive and cut from a fifties mold. The one you don't see is Fucking Hirshkowitz, the one you do see is Fucking Elder... I intensely dislike them both.

Two semesters ago I had the single worst class in my academic life. It was without a doubt the most worthless piece of shit class I have ever come across, which is a shame really, because it could have been truly beneficial - had other professors taught the course. Last semester I (and my teammates) contested the grade, which resulted in our bending over and taking one up the ass. I doubt I'll ever be a contributing alumni.

I still have pride in the work I've done while in school, I'm just not as proud of the school that I worked in.

But it's nice to know that someone else feels the same way I do. Glad I had the camera phone that day.

2004-06-21T00:26:00.000-05:00

This picture is from my phone, so the quality is a bit suspect, but the color is the most important part. This is the handywork of Ariana's aunt, and the onslaugh of rains have left a bed of lush wildflowers. My appreciation for her handywork stems from the chaotic nature in which it was accomplished; she took a handful of seeds and simply threw them into a big pile of dirt. That was three years ago, and now I believe it's the most stunning garden in her yard. There's a certain beauty to unpredictability.

I just wish it wasn't so damn frightening.

It's finally beginning to sink in that life will be unpredictable in just a short couple of weeks. I can prepare all I want, but I will never be able to fully grasp what life will be like without Ariana. That moment is an impending black hole pulling everything familiar into its horizon. It also doesn't help that, as a thirty year old man (ok, ok..I'll probably be thirty one), I'll be moving back in with parents again. I thought I had grown out of that.

But those flowers are magnificient. I wish every one of you could see them.

2004-06-18T23:55:00.000-05:00

For those who read the post about Willy Street, here's the link to the story.

2004-06-18T22:39:00.000-05:00

OK, I'm trying to send multiple pictures for the first time, so bear with me. These are all from our trip to New York Fucking City, one of the cosmic centers of the earth. Unlike our last visit, this time we were left with a very heartwarming feeling toward the city. Our previous (and virginal) NYC experience was primarily Times Square during our stay at the Double Tree.

2004-06-18T22:38:00.001-05:00

While sensational, the experience was a bit overwhelming as we stayed in the places that tourists normally stay and did the things that tourists normally do. I can't say I regret seeing "Cabaret" in Studio 54, getting drunk on humongous rusty nails, and stumbling back into Times Square with eye candy like this,

2004-06-18T22:38:00.000-05:00

But after a while, the New York crowd began to look like this.

2004-06-18T22:35:00.000-05:00

Our feeling of relief was only heightened when, a month after our return, we watched the television with the rest of the nation as 9-11 shook NYC to the bone. I had always thought of myself as a big city guy, but after that I was happy to be a cheese making hick from Wisconsin.

And then Ariana got into graduate school at NYU. After a brief period of questioning how badly she needed the secondary education, it was off to New York to see the campus and become familiar with her soon to be new digs.

As I mentioned above, this time was vastly different, apples and oranges different, square peg in a circular hole different. Why?

REASON ONE - Gisselle and Kurt (unfortunately we have no pictures of Kurt as he was primarily in his office studying for a gruesome test for the duration of our visit).

2004-06-18T22:34:00.000-05:00

Giselle is a fellow incoming graduate student who happens to live in the city with her husband. They moved from Ohio a year earlier because Curt got his degree in finance something or other, and "if you're going to be an actor, move to Hollywood. If you're going to be in finance, move to New York City."

We stayed with them the first night, sleeping beneath that painting posted earlier, and felt very welcome and invited. It was through them that I attribute REASON TWO for why NYC was much improved - We got to know the subway.

2004-06-18T22:33:00.000-05:00

Unbelievable thing, this subway. Without a doubt my favorite part of the entire trip. Our experience began with a warning from Giselle to NOT touch the handrails if at all possible, and I would like to pass on this good advice to you. It only takes one trip to see why - Not everyone washes their hands after a trip to the restroom, but everyone does hold on to the handrails. Once you learn how to surf without holding on, and once you accept that rats are everywhere, the subway is a fantastic voyage. The entire city is no more that 15 minutes away. I�m not sure if I can convey how cool it is to sit in the last car and watch the fading light of the platform disappear into a pinpoint...like death in a dream.

2004-06-18T22:32:00.001-05:00

Ironically, not three New York City blocks from the Anthropology building we came upon this restaurant with dead people strewn about the awning. I think it's a vegan place.

2004-06-18T22:32:00.000-05:00

This is the Anthropology Department, a block east of Washington Square Park, and Arianas future home away from home. Seven floors of ditch-digging bliss.

2004-06-18T22:29:00.000-05:00

REASON THREE for why New York was so improved - You really have to make your own privacy. Once we realized that no one was paying attention to us, we were free to relax in the company of others. One of the biggest misconceptions of the average New Yorker is that they are rude. Truth is, this is simply a survival mechanism for citizens of a city that is incapable of solitude. One of the best times we had on the second trip was our picnic in the middle of Broadway.

True Story: We had just spent the afternoon exploring the NYU area, and were ready to settle down into our individual beds for the evening (there was no place we could sleep together for under $170) when we realized that we should take advantage of our time in the city. Besides, we had no soda.

As we were walking around the upper west side, our stomachs began to grumble. At the time, Subway Sandwiches was the best combination of taste and economy I could think of, and I said so to Ana. I turned to look at her, and what did I see but a Subway Sandwich shop. Serendipity. I swear it happened just like that.

Now obviously, a NY Subway shop is not the most inviting locale in which to dine, so we got our food to go. Where to eat? In the middle of Broadway, that's where. See the median in the picture? At the cross-street intersections they had benches set up. People crossed the street, and even got stuck on our island in the street waiting for the light, but we were utterly alone. It was as romantic as picnicing in the Hollywood Hills overlooking the valley lights. I would have sworn we were the only people in the city.

OK, that's enough for today. Look for part two in the inevitable future.

2004-06-17T11:14:00.000-05:00

For those of you who have done the e-mail personality quiz that has been floating around, I'm a 52 - which supposedly lumps Dr. Phil and I into the same category. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that, but it seems a little fishy to me. For those of you who have no idea what all this means, e-mail me and I will forward a copy of the quiz to you.

Speaking of Dr. Phil and Oprah, I thought a picture of Chicago might be fitting. This was taken on Spring Break 2004, after Ana and I had walked to the Field Museum of Natural History and decided we couldn't go the extra four miles to the MOSI. Before any of you power walkers pee-shaw over a measly four miles, remember that this is the windy city in March. I had a snotcicle that was practically touching my chin by the time we gave up on Science and Industry and decided Science and History would be suffice.

I also remember there being a line to get into the Shedd Aquarium. Crazy bastards had to wait probably a good half hour before they could even get into the foyer (we were watching amused as we smoked our cigarettes in front of the Field Museum.) There were no banners up declaring any special event or exhibit, so I have to believe the line began when one of the ticket-clerks went to the bathroom, and then grew under the weight of human curiosity. We all have a little lemming inside our souls.

2004-06-17T01:20:00.000-05:00

In the spirit of the neighborhood, these birds have been fashioned completely from recycled material, since there is so much garbage in the area anyway. Every since I moved here I have heard about the re-invention of Williamson Street, but then ten years go by and it's pretty much as I remember it; A long ghetto street out of place with the neighborhood it cuts through. A block up from Willy street reside some of the most beautiful Victorian homes in Madison. Its semi-affluent population is mostly hippy-turned-yuppie or gay and lesbian family types who do not flaunt their wealth as the rich are want to do (golf courses, private gates, etc.). B.B. Clarke Beach, hidden deep in the area, was the unofficial skinny dipping locale - until the psychedelic yet poisonous blue algae began to grow in the lake like frogs plaguing Australia. All in all, just a good feeling neighborhood.

But Williamson Street, the commercial avenue of the neighborhood, is craptacular. Only the destitute live on Willy. Perhaps it's the high traffic density, perhaps it's the combination of homeless shelter, soup kitchen and reformed alcoholics dry bar...whatever the case, something has kept rent low on Williamson. My favorite dive bar; the Wisco (named, I think, from the way the old sign read after the "nsin" burned out) is located on Willy. If I ever wanted to get some coke, the Wisco is where I would go. It's that kind of street.

Four days ago in fact, there was a disturbance on Willy that seems to typify the nature of this street; According to the official statement by the police, a female police officer was called to a domestic disturbance (read: a man was beating a woman), and used a taser to try to subdue the man. This only pissed him off more and he went for the officer, who was now obligated to use deadly force to protect herself (the guy actually absorbed a taser shock - that's some good shit he was on). He suffered some injuries and fled the scene using the police car, eventually crashing it into a tree several blocks away. He was taken into custody and was treated for his wounds. No word yet on the condition of the officer or the other woman.

And these birds just sat there watching the whole damn thing.

Truth be told, the area is finally receiving its long overdue facelift. There are several major mixed development units being constructed along the length of Willy St., and it is actually beginning to feel like a neighborhood rather than one long street everyone is afraid to live on. Still, I will miss my coke connection when it's gone.

...I hope you know I'm kidding about that one.

2004-06-16T00:44:00.000-05:00

Before I begin with tonight's thoughts, I would like to thank everyone who sent me a reply e-mail - you are more proactive men and women than I. I'm not completely sure how one leaves comments on the blog, but you can ask Barbara Jo since she was successful. In fact, I hope you don't mind that I linked to your website - it has quite a polished look to it and I am impressed with your knowledge of html. It has really kept me feeling close to you guys (although the Easter egg hunt was too much of a mind bender for me to start in the midst of school).

I thought I might share this picture of Frankenmuth, MI for those who don't know where I spent my fragile, formative years. Shash and I grew up in Faux Bavaria where Lederhosen were an everyday occurrence and nothing was quite what it seemed. There is no end to the fun we could have exploring this branch of my past, but tonight I'll just keep it simple.

Long before Uff-Da was a tasty beer from New Glarus, WI, it was the favorite expression of my choir teacher at "Muth High". Although not German, I feel it best explains what growing up there was like. Uff-Da! Uff-a-fuckin-Da! Can't believe I made it out of there alive. It took a town like Madison to undo the damage from a town like Frankenmuth. Of course things are what you make of them, and it wasn't really all that bad while we (Shash and I) were there. However, I betcha the entire town voted Republican in the last presidential election.

2004-06-14T20:06:00.000-05:00

It is now officially unbearably hot here in Madison. The wonderful rains from April and May have finally given way to lush green vegetation and lots of heat. There's nothing like sweat to agitate a mosquito bite (or three-thousand bites, if you want a more accurate depiction). I know we didn't invent humidity, but Madison has to at least be in the hall of fame. Thus, in honor of THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER sentiment, I am providing this picture taken from our balcony in the squeeze of winter's grip.

This was taken early in the morning after an all-nighter (which could have been any myriad of nights). It was actually very peaceful, I do remember the muffled quiet that comes with snow, but it was cold. We rented this apartment because we knew we wouldn't have to pay heat, but we didn't know that the radiators wouldn't work for winter's entire span. We were so cold that we fashioned skirts from fleece blankets, which became a constant fashion accessory. I think I can honestly say that this was physically the hardest winter Ana and I have ever spent together.

But this particular morning it was beautiful. Not that I would wish it back any time soon, but I realize that as I sit here in my birthday suit typing this, I could have always put on more clothing back then for warmth. Oh well, we do have really green grass this summer.

Kris

2004-06-13T00:01:00.000-05:00

OK, this is another picture from NYC (I promise I'll get to the Madison pictures soon enough). This is the painting that Ariana's fellow grad student bought on her honeymoon in Cannes, France. As the story goes, there was an abundance of street painters who were using the city's architechture as subject matter for their works of art, but one abstract soul fought this trend from his meager easle. His quote was something to the effect of "those other painters lack a soul or the inspiration to find it".

Of course they can't remember his name.

There's something about the painting which stirs an emotion in me, and after viewing it for the umpteenth time I still am unsure exactly what that feeling is. Whatever the case, it keeps me coming back for more, which I guess is the point of good artwork.

In other news, we had an impromtu fireworks display just down the street, and the cats freaked out. I couldn't help but be a little evil and enjoy the show.

The golden days...

2004-06-11T17:56:00.000-05:00

I thought this might be good for posterity, the only picture I have of my paternal grandfather "paw-paw". He's from the old school of thought, which is to say that his mind was incapable of changing to accomodate new thought. Sadly, I haven't spoken to him in years - so admittedly I don't know if he's changed or not...but I have to believe that living in Louisiana has done nothing to open his mind. That's not really why I posted this however, I wanted the world to know that at one time I was actually a kid. I sometimes forget myself. The other child is my sister Shannon. She and I, along with our cousin Kelly, are the last of the proud Robertson line. Ironically enough, none of us use that name anymore. Lineage is kind of like Latin, a dead language that has been bastardized throughout the centuries. We are all apes anyway. I'd also like to point out the Oshkosh B'Gosh overalls I'm sporting. They never go out of style.

2004-06-10T00:37:00.000-05:00

OK, strangely enough the first picture isn't from Madison, it's from NYC. This is apparently one of the "University Rows" that upper-eschelon professors get to live in at NYU. This is about two blocks from Washington Square and roughly five from where Ariana will be going to school.

The first post

2004-06-10T00:13:00.000-05:00

This all still feels somewhat strange, sharing my personal thoughts with anyone (not just intimate family and friends), but if it will get me to write more I am all for it. I plan on using this as a journal, and hopefully I can provide a glimpse of what my day-to-day life is like. Plan on photos...and lots of them...just as soon as I can figure out how to post them. I really do like Madison, indeed it is largely responsible for who I have become, and I want people to see why. So here's the metaphorical Champaign bottle over the bow, and may we encounter fair seas. Kris