As I write this, I'm on the second leg of a plane ride back to DC. We had to layover in St. Louis. Which meant two take-offs and two landings. Double the pleasure. I'm not the biggest fan of flying, and tonight's game has been a turbulent one. Lots of choppy skies. Apparently, somebody threw up in the back row on the first leg. Thankfully, I wasn't witness (in site or smell) to this unfortunate event.

There was also a woman on the first leg who was transporting a parrot in a cage covered with a blue towel. She put the cage under the seat for takeoff and landing, but the rest of the time, it stayed in her lap while she read Atlas Shrugged. I briefly considered the irony of a bird taking a plane ride. If I were a bird on a plane, I suppose I'd spend most of the flight criticizing the pilot's skills. And how pissed would I be if the plane crashed - talk about adding insult to injury.

The trip to Dallas was awesome - some pics here. Good weather. Good food. Good conversations. And since it was also my birthday, good gifts! I got Keith Jarrett and Bill Evans CDs from my dad, a nice jacket from my sis, some books, and a menacing fish-gutter knife from Jeff, who is helping me get prepared for this spring's fishing trip. And I was successful on all aspects of my to do list, even the things I had no control over, like watching the Broncos defeat Dallas in overtime on Thanksgiving day. To be fair, the Cowboys actually deserved to win the game, and if it weren't for a botched field goal attempt they probably would have. But that didn't make the victory any less sweet.

A couple of bonus things I was able to add to my list in Dallas town:

1. A rigourous, sleep-deprived game of Cranium at J&A's
2. A visit to J&Y's
3. Martha Burks and The Band at Brooklyn. They were missing the drummer I liked from last time, but they had a kick-ass fill-in bass player, who really drove the band, despite it being his first time to play with them.
4. Shots of Jagermeister at The Londoner.

It was an all-around good time and it was great seeing everybody!

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I listened to some of this the other day on the radio. I've never heard McCain quite so mad.

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Some things I plan to do while in Dallas:

1. Get a hair cut (I'm a bit shaggy these days.)
2. Shop (If you don't shop when you're in Dallas, then something is wrong.)
3. Pet Pita (the wonder dog)
4. Drink beer with Dallas buds
5. Have dinner with my dad and his new girlfriend
6. Hang with my bro
7. Hang with my mom and sister and help my mom unpack some more stuff in her new place
8. Eat turkey
9. Watch the Broncos kill the Cowboys
10. See a movie
11. Watch my dad play piano at Brooklyn's
12. Turn 32 (holy shit, I'm old) and . . .
13. Play with my new birthday present

link to this | comments (8) | File:  Dallas  Family  Friends  Photography  Travel 

"Is she there?"

I thought it was a strange way to start a conversation. Rather abrupt. No hi. No how are you?.

I had just finished my swim and was changing in the locker room at the Y. The man who had a locker a couple down from me was talking on his cell phone, loud enough to frighten elderly people, small children, or anybody else who happened to have the faculty of hearing.

This man obviously never learned how to use his 'inside voice.'

"Is she around?" repeated the man.

Around . . . around . . . around . . .

The echo made the lockers tremble nervously and left an uncomfortable silence in its place.

The person on the other end said something. Probably something like, "Sir if you just speak up a little, I'm sure she'll hear you."

"No, no, no," he said. "Can you see if you can find her?"

While he was talking, the man decided he needed to take his shorts off, right then, mid-conversation. Holding the phone to his ear with one hand, he shimmied his shorts and underwear down to his ankles with the other and nearly fell over as he pulled them off first one leg, then the next, catching them on one of his shoes. That's right: his shoes. He still had his shoes on. Buck naked. Phone to ear. Shoes on.

I have to stop here a second and say that, while I don't consider myself to be overly modest or prude when it comes to nudity, my own or anybody elses, I do find the extreme immodesty exhibited in men's locker rooms somewhat disturbing. For instance, if you're heading to the showers, and you're 80 years old, hung like an elephant, and your testicles swing low between your legs like some obscene grandfather clock, then wrap a friggin' towel around your torso, man! I don't need to be confronted with that shit! I suppose one could argue that I don't have to look. Trust me, I'm not trying. But it's kind of like a car crash: even though you're holding your hands over your eyes, you can't help but peer through cracked fingers, despairing, and wonder . . . why? Why did this unfortunate thing have to happen? And some guys seem to be so proud about how shockingly ugly their bodies are, that they really WANT you to have a look, perhaps hoping that you'll actually faint with fear.

But I digress. I'll just leave it at this: exhibitionist old men are a pet peave of mine. But not as much as what I'm about to describe. I'll warn you, if you're eating right now, you may want to put the food away.

The locker room has these white plastic stools that are there for your convenience, so you can sit down to take off your shoes, etc. Now I've got nothing against taking off shoes. And I've certainly got nothing against sitting down. But what does bother me is when you take off all your clothes before taking off your shoes, then proceed to sit your bare ass on one of those white plastic stools. No towel. No buffer. Just bare ass crack against plastic stool. A plastic stool that I might unknowingly come into the locker room one day and, oh I don't know, put my hat on, let's say.

What are you thinking, man? You just got through working out. Have some respect! This isn't your bedroom!

As the guy took his shoes off, and I struggled to keep from turning on this guy and asking what the hell was wrong with him, putting his ass on the stool like that, the person he had been speaking to came back on the line.

"Not there, huh?" he crossed his legs casually, like he was at the office or something. "Alright, can you tell her that I was calling to check if the bond came through for Such and Such construction company."

nee, nee, nee . . . . The echo. The hair on my neck stood on end.

I wondered if the women in the adjacent locker room, separated by a foot of concrete, could here this conversation.

Something spoken on the other end.

"No, no, no," he said with an annoyed tone. He stood up. "I'm not leaving a voicemail. Just give her the message, please."

He hung up, put the phone in his locker, and slammed the door shut. As he walked by me toward the shower he muttered something angrily about leaving a message and damnit she could just tell her herself.

Clearly, this was a man who couldn't be bothered with things like voicemail.

I finished changing and left the locker room, but I have to say that I will never look at those plastic stools the same way again.

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Some of these are awesome. The cool thing is that Vonnegut is 84 and I saw him recently on The Daily Show and he's still pretty sharp, though it takes him longer to get the words out.

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I think I may have missed a few rungs on the evolutionary ladder. C has probably suspected as much since we began co-habitating, but I've not made the realization until now. I noticed as I was swimming today that breathing came easier, movement came easier. Far easier in the water then out of it. Of course, you say, things are easier when you're weightless, when there is no gravity. Yes, yes. But this is different. When I'm swimming things don't hurt. Moving seems natural. All is well with the world in general and with my body specifically. As soon as I get back on land, things go horribly wrong. Various aches and pains commence. The pavement is hard and unnatural underneath me. A tense feeling in the back and hip. An inability to breath right. In short: It all goes to shit.

I yearn to devolve. I yearn to return to the primordial ooze. I yearn to be a fish. Tell that to the Kansas Board of Education. My design weren't so intelligent.

link to this | comments (4) | File:  Health  News 

Here are the top 3 current reasons I hate driving, or even owning a car. There are many other reasons, but most tend to involve paying out large sums of money.

Reason #1:
Our car recently failed to pass a safety inspection because the airbag light was on. After investigating why the airbag light was on, it was determined that our driver's side seat airbag was malfunctioning and it would cost $600 to have it replaced. We got the repair because we really had no choice, even though there are other cars out on the road that don't even have seat airbags. This stung a little bit.

Reason #2:
I took the car back to the DMV after the repair and finally got approved to drive on DC's wonderfully paved roads for another two years. (By the way, when do DC's roadways get to have their 'safety inspection?') On my way back from the DMV, no kidding, I was rear-ended on 12th street by a guy in an SUV with Maryland plates. I mention the Maryland plates because it always seems to be people with Maryland plates that you see at the scene of collisions in the district. Friggin' impatient horn-happy Maryland drivers. There was no reason for this guy to have hit me. I was at a complete stop behind some other cars and was sitting there for a good second or two when I heard the loud bang. It took me completely by surprise because I didn't even hear a screech right before it. The force caused my hat to fall off my head. The guy who hit me was very nice, despite the fact that he was from Maryland. He gave me his info. Asked if I was ok. There wasn't too much damage to my car, surprisingly - just my bumper got smashed in. But I was pretty shook-up and tense the rest of the day.

As I was driving home, I thought of the opening scene from the movie Crash.

In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.

I don't live in LA. I live and work in DC. I walk or take public transport almost everywhere I go. I brush past people all the time, so I do not miss the 'touch' of other people and do not need to be rear-ended on the rare occasion that I drive, thank you.

Reason #3:
Two months ago I got a red-light camera ticket while driving my father-in-law's car in California. The annoying part is that I did not even 'run' the red light. I approached the intersection, slowed down, stopped (after the crosswalk, mind you), and proceeded to make a right turn on red while traffic from my right was making a left turn onto the street I was coming from. If I had even slowed down in this same situation in DC, I would have heard angry honking from behind me. In my view, I had a protected right turn on red. In California's view, I committed a criminal offense and my bail was $400. This is a huge money-making scheme in California. I have to say that these types of things really bother me. It's the fact that it's so impersonal that really does it: You don't even get to talk to a person about the 'infraction' and have a reasonable discussion about it. I have no doubt that if a cop had been in that intersection, he would not have pulled me over for what I did. Most cops (but not all) are more reasonable than that. But a camera only sees black and white. No shade of gray. Should traffic laws really be interpreted in that manner? I don't think so.

And then there is the cost of the ticket itself: $400? That's not even reasonable. Let's say that, conservatively, one of those cameras can fine about 25 people a day for turning right on red. At $400 a pop, that's $10,000. It's pretty easy to see that this isn't about 'public safety.' This isn't about 'breaking the law.' This is about money, pure and simple, and a lot of people are getting screwed.

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I'll say it again:

I don't have a dishwasher.

It's primitive, I know. Almost obscene, isn't it? And yet, I'm not sad. Honestly. I've yet to shed a tear over my dishwasherless state. Call me sick, but there's something cathartic about doing the dishes by hand. It's the ritual of it. iPod clipped to my belt. Sennheiser earphones . . . silverware first, then glassware . . . this is not about washing dishes . . . bowls, then plates . . . it's the comfort of the ritual. It's about following a routine so that the mind can wander and improvise.

Another part of it is about procrastination. Cleaning usually means I'm putting off doing something else I either need to do, or want to do but don't know how to start. Like writing. Every really tough paper I had in college was written in a very clean room.

Ritual. All good art is usually based on it. It's a springboard for improvisation and innovation. Jazz, for example: an extension, a refinement of the blues ritual - Albert Murray teaches this. Breaking the rules means recognizing they are there to break. Blogs have become ritualistic. Most follow certain conventions in form. But it's the little variations and improvisations thrown in here and there that make them interesting. (That and engaging writing.)

Speaking of ritual . . . and blogs: I'm going to try posting little shorts in the Campfire Papers every day. That section started with best intentions, but has really fallen off it's mark. The musings of two separate people, rothko and ghost-faced healah, it was supposed to be a place to jot down quick little ideas. Little episodes. They could take the form of prose, or they could look more like poetry (though I'd caution against using that word.) Incomplete, yes. Underdeveloped, true. Simplistic, sometimes. But keep in mind - the meaning is in the ritual.

link to this | comments (4) | File:  Fiction  Chewing  Writing 

I've been swimming at the Y lately. Yes, the YMCA. Dig it. Joined last week because I was sick of Stairmasters and elliptical machines and muscle-bound body builders. I was sick of Gold's. Most of all, I was sick of not swimming.

There's a different vibe at the Y than at other gyms. People are a little more down to earth. A little more real. It's hard to put a finger on, but it's there. The Y is more than a gym. It really is a community center, a 'club.' People are nice. It's definitely worth the extra $20 I'll be paying in membership dues. You get little perks you don't get at a places like Gold's. Like big towels. And big lockers. And a pool.

Oh, the pool. Glorious pool. Six-lanes, kept at a perfect 80 degrees, slightly cool, but not cold. And there is a gutter around the perimeter to help absorb the rough water when a lot of people are swimming. Awesome. Did you know the smell of chlorine actually gets me excited? It makes my heart race a little. It's uncontrollable. A triggered reaction, like when a horse hears a gun shot. I've always had a strong reaction to smells, and chlorine . . . it makes me want to race. I even start to perspire a little bit.

Yeah. After a couple of months, after I get my feel for the water back, I think I may even join the master's league.

So the Y is my sanctity, my retreat. Owed in large part to the pool. But then there is racquetball and squash, as well. Two sports I haven't played since college, but which I will certainly start up again. There's nothing better to vent pent-up anxiety then to let loose on a tiny rubber ball for a good 45 minutes. My friend Matt H. says he's going to 'school me,' but I beg to differ. After the first couple of games, it'll be all over for him. Can't wait.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Health  Ho_Hum  Sports 

I got a Travelzoo Newsflash the other day that said: "Fly non-stop from Baltimore to Reykjavik for just $398 roundtrip."

Iceland?

I guess I never really thought visiting Iceland would be the kind of thing people would be clamoring to do. I certainly never thought of it as the kind of place to go for relaxation, spas, resorts. There's even a beach.

Did you know the slogan for Reykjavik is 'Pure Energy?' You can definitely tell from this site that they take their marketing very seriously.

I'm intrigued by you, Iceland. You seem fun, smart, sexy. I would like to visit you one day.

link to this | comments (3) | File:  Travel 

There are two new galleries up from a couple of weddings we attended in September and October. As always, there is a bit of a lag because I still mostly use film. However, there is a Pentax digital in my future . . . ah, yes.

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