What’s the Difference Between Me and You?

You didn’t use a jackhammer to break stuff this morning, sucka.*

*I am assuming this. I don’t know many people who work in jackhammer-related fields, and I certainly don’t think anyone who does bothers to read this. Not many people do. Probably because I update very irregularly.

Lists

I have started making lists much more frequently than I ever have before. There is no small amount of satisfaction when I know what I hope to accomplish during the span of the day and when I can firmly mark off the completion of the items one by one. It gives the acts a feeling of permanence if only for myself. And so I thought it would truly only be fitting to throw a list or two up for posterity. Since I’m aware of certain “editing” things I can do, I can even update this post by striking through the completed items as I finish them. How sweet is technology? Pretty sweet, sometimes.

Things I’m Reading

The Twisted Thing by Mickey Spillane
Shopclass as Soul Craft by Michael B. Crawford
The Reality Dysfunction by Peter F. Hamilton
Snow by Orhan Pamuk
A History of the Arab Peoples by Albert Hourani

Things To Do Around The Apartment

Mop all the floors
Wash the windows over the door
Dust
Re-hammer the nails working their ways loose from the floorboards
Trim back the bushes by the front steps
Plant in windowboxes

Long Term Goals/What You Could Call Potential Resolutions For 2010

Finish the story I’ve been working on
Run on a regular basis – can I enter myself into some races?
Get a job
Be a better person
Look into getting things published
Frame the poster I’ve been meaning to frame for three years

Suggestions as to what I should add to any of those categories? Suggestions for new categories?

Taking Stock

I have to get this out of the way before I write anything else: the tarragon in my homemade chicken stock smells amazing. Furthermore, the internets tell me that it is a delightful herb with the additional health benefits of heart disease prevention, the fighting of fatigue, and promotion of bile production in my liver, thus clearing toxic waste from my system. Holla back atcha, young ‘un.

The cat from my apartment complex was roaming around listlessly today and strangely enough the encounter ended with it on my lap as I sat on the couch. I think we were both purring. It has been really nice to have the stupid cat around, no matter how irritating it can be as it cries with more angst than a heartbroken Jonas brother.

I applied for a few more jobs last night, bringing my total to somewhere in the mid twenties, I believe. Probably should be keeping track of exactly how many resumes and applications and cover letters I have either dropped off or sent out over the connections of the internet. I can, however, say off the top of my head that I know exactly how many I have heard back from. Zero. Woot. That’s why it’s nice to have the cat around some days.

And through all of it, you would think that with the bounty of free time that I have incurred, I would be able to struggle past the roadblocks my writing has been stalled at. Every time I get some words out, though, they fall flat on the page. Perseverance will be the key and I keep telling myself to just finish something so that I can start over again, and maybe the next iteration will be better.

Local Pride

Ginger Ellingson, your voice is incredible.

01/22/2010

I’ve been battling a never-ending stream of ants ever since moving into this apartment, and the more I think about it, the more parallels I can find between the ants and the rest of my life. Today, though, I think I have made real progress in the war. Usually, they come creeping out from various cracks and gaps in the walls and floor; the crevices around poorly-fit window casings and the nooks and crannies that begin to yaw and grow as any building ages. My plan of deterrence had been, up until now, that of a rather passive node. I would put the poison down where they liked to travel, and in return the ants would sometimes eat the poison and die off in large quantities. However, I’ve never been able to fully “solve” the problem and it would only be a matter of time before I saw next one crawling along the cupboard or skulking near the bathroom door.

Introducing my new best friend (hopefully):

Spent a good portion of my morning filling gaps in the facade of this apartment and as I did so, I spent some time thinking about how much I enjoy the process of reclaiming injured space. I use the term injured in the sense that it is not as pristine as it once might have been, but not to imply that it is less than. This work pleases me because of the tangible results I can produce; the immediate gratification that follows my actions.

I would rather live in a disheveled place of character and unending work, than in a hermetically sealed cocoon that asks nothing of me. By giving to the apartment, I feel that it is a better environment to live in. But that’s just me.

As I told my friends the other night,

…….my skills might not be that marketable………….

…………….but I’m a pretty good catch………….

Pot roast with homemade mustard sauce; thinly sliced baguette; salad of mixed greens, mango, and dried cranberries with a house dressing. All from my kitchen.

Theo

Ten months I’ve lived here and not a day goes by without Theo in the doorway. I asked the Sorrows sisters who live across the hall from me what his story is, but even they aren’t sure.

And they’ve been able to answer most nearly all of my other questions.

A rippled puddle lay under Theo’s feet as he leaned in the doorway and watched me come up the street. As I neared, he tapped it with the heel of his shoe and sent another flurry of rings crawling across the oily water.

Ten months.

Just as I walked past him, my sleeve barely brushing his, I heard him whisper.

“And I hope, to shake the world.”

I can only imagine a day in the future when Iran announces that they have nuclear weapons and everyone is like, yeah, we know. And Iran is all like, see, we totally hid them from you and said that we were making energy, and everyone is like, no, we knew the whole time. And then Iran is all, and we built these tunnels so you couldn’t find them. And we’ll all be like, yeah, except we knew and the New York Times wrote an article about your stupid tunnels. And Iran will be all like, ahahahaha, bitches, we got you real good like. And we’ll all be like, no, you didn’t.

On a completely related note, there is also this:

Libyans, Marty. Angry, angry Libyans. With a box of pinball parts.

The End of an Era

How will we remember the first decade of the twenty-first century? Will it be through the global political events? The sweeping art and social movements? The pinnacles of culture and the nadir of isolation?

Or will this time be remembered best as the years in which everyone wore those ridiculous novelty glasses on New Years Eve?

A boy can always hope…

Renewal

I remember having lengthy conversations with multiple people this year on the concepts of growth and evolution. I had challenged them to find significant life experiences that helped form part of their worldviews, and was attempting to discern the nature of self-growth. To believe that we are the accumulated sums of history and cannot, therefore, be static individuals in that we are always being shaped by the force of the world implies a sense of differentiation between growth, evolution, and change.

I believe we can grow as people – both individually and collectively, but evolution occurs as a process of growth. A byproduct, if you will.

And now, to look at growth through two different lenses aimed at the same constant, I give you the Rust Belt. First, the sorrow of size. Second, the hope of the past. Only by looking back, can we sometimes make progress.