judge

Once my "travel oh god travel everywhere" time is done for the TYC this month, I will probably have a decent amount of downtime once again. I keep thinking that I need some sort of outlet where I go and regularly do shit with other people in some attempt to relax like a "real person" and even meet people who do not suck. Right now the only two things that have been considered and not immediately rejected are going back to a martial arts class... or... picking up L5R again. I am hesitant towards both for vastly different reasons, and then there's the issue of expenses to consider. But I'm really just sort of surprised that I'm giving the concept of playing cards again some real thought.

New Esquire is in, so there'll be a survey to mess around with soon. Probably tomorrow or next day on my lunch, if I get to actually not work through it. Work is picking up pretty hard - This month and next has me running around for the TYC all over the state, and the foreclosure counseling is starting to take off which is pretty good and all. The foreclosure cases have a particular interest for me because each is like a cross between a court case and a riddle. I have to figure out how to negotiate with the lenders, and I have to figure out what exactly is going to be best for each case. I've been told I've missed my calling as a lawyer... but then I've been told that about being a teacher, a priest, a soldier, a politician, and once someone told me I should look into being a "life coach". Whatever that is. I kinda wish I could have just been a pirate and been done with it.

Just for the sake of record, yesterday was really weird. I went out, biked some, and that was it. I had to fight to keep myself awake for the entire day. It was like someone slipped sleeping pills into my water or something.

Daniel might be coming to live with me in a week or so. I'm not sure exactly how I feel about this, but it's something I want to do, regardless. On one hand, the young man has decided he simply cannot fit in the little boxes us normal folk have, and though he's "tried so hard" (keep in mind he's 19 and has held one job), he just can't manage to do that nine to five thing. Sooo, his big plan was to head to a music festival, see if he could crash on someone's couch there, and pretty much just live the romantic and exciting lifestyle of a wandering vagabond. I think I'm pretty good with words, but I was unequal to the task of explaining to Daniel just how bad of an idea this was. But I understand wanting to leave Lone Jack. So I offered to let him stay here, and he said he'd take it under consideration. There's some sort of symmetry here, I suppose, since from about the time he was born till he went to school, I was his favorite right behind or equal to Mom. There are a great many ways this can end badly, but the gamble is worth it, I think. I just hope he comes back from Tenneessee to take me up on the offer.

This is about as close as I'm getting to having kids, though. I think if I voluntarily take in a teenager and try to get over the obstinante attitude and recklessness that comes along with it, I believe I have the right to opt out of actually having kids. The hardest part is going to be trying to keep the words "I used to be just like you" from coming out of my mouth, despite the horrific truth of it. How useless the truth is going to be here, but I guess that's not a particularly new situation for me. After all, as I've been told, I should have been a lawyer.


I need to let go of this pride,
Until this echo in my mind...
Until this echo can subside.

So I was in Dallas all this week for more housing training, which was sort've a mixed bag. A couple weeks ago I was in Phoenix, in a city I would have LIKED to explore but didn't have the time, taking a short class that I could have slept through. This week in Dallas, I didn't really care to poke around, but I was there for a week taking a class that turned out to be pretty enlightening. The class was on foreclosure intervention, which of course means 'stopping the foreclosure'. What most people don't recognize, though, is that it doesn't neccessarily mean 'keeping them in the house'. The class was also, supposedly, an advanced class which required a test to even get into. NeighborWorks (the education and certification body) doesn't understand that making people take a test online with no supervision might compromise the test's ability to accurately reflect someone's experience and knowledge, though.

There were points of the class where people were asking exceptionally basic questions, or asking for clarification on really basic subjects that the instructor (rightly) just mentioned and moved on from. If you were in an advanced level math course, you shouldn't be asking why there's a little superscript 2 next to a number and what it means, but that's about where we were. There were several points in the class where it almost felt like a one-on-one conversation between myself and the instructor, which apparently set me up for something that made me laugh at the time but is currently bugging me a little bit.

People are apparently surprised when they hear that I didn't really go to college. I say "really" because I don't think one semester at MU where your grades never crest over a C actually counts. When the class found out, the reaction was almost universally disbelief. You might imagine that several days into the class people had gotten the impression that I talk out of my ass a little bit, so some of them thought I was just joking.

I never really cared that people tend to look down their nose at me or assume I'm not that smart or that hard of a worker because I didn't graduate college. It's honestly an understandable attitude to me - graduating isn't the biggest hardship in the world but it does show a level of discipline (or at least proper connections) or ethic that others lack. But honestly now, here I am looking way more competent than 2/3rds of them, and suddenly it's unfathomable that I didn't go to school?

I guess I'm just bitching, here. It's a culmination of frustration that's been brewing for a bit - sure I don't have a degree, and that's something to definitely consider initially. But once I've proven that my experience and comprehension is just as good for the task at hand, maybe you can give me some fucking breathing room and regard rather than just mentally putting an asterisk next to my name in your head. "But he has a degree and you don't" should be something I hear less and less the more I bust my ass, not more and more as an excuse for why I'm still not being taken seriously.


We said we were going to conquer new frontiers,
Go stick your bloody head in the jaws of the beast.
We promised the world, we'd tame it,
What were we hoping for.

What I've Learned once again. Fun fact - Christopher Walken only refers to himself as Chris. The fact everyone else insists on Christopher means something that I'm sure isn't lost on him.

Morning is... lost on me. I can't sleep much past 8am even on the weekends anymore, even if I've been (for pure example) out drinking till 3am with people from out of town and then unable to turn my head off and sleep till 5. Like infernal clockwork, I'm staring at the ceiling at about 8 and out the window shortly after.

I remember once... looking at a farm animal exhibit at the zoo and wondering out loud why the hell that would be there. Everyone knows what cows and chickens look like, right? The idea that people were fascinated with stuff I grew up around confused the hell out of me.

When I was a kid... I was horrible at it. I took everything too seriously, I spent way too much time thinking about things before I did them, and I wasn't particularly rebellious or resentful of my elders. I mean sure, I'd get angry like anyone else, but I don't think I really meant it like some of my classmates did. There were days where they hated their parents, whereas I would get mad for a minute and then just blow it off. Now I just get pissed at everything, resent people for all manner of stupid and superficial things, and generally blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

My father was a lesson... in being human. He's flawed, and he knows it, and he rolled with what came due to it. Every now and again when I try to pretend I should be flawless, irreproachable and right all the time, I remember my Dad - for all his faults, he usually only got into real trouble when he tried to act like he didn't have any.

Most of the jobs... I've had basically boil down to dealing with people. I've never had a job where I just sat and worked on something and handed it off to someone. Writing sounds like that on the surface, but eventually you have to learn you're dealing with two people - your audience and your editor. Writing is a long negotiation process with the both of them.

I always figured... I'd leave Kansas City. I always figured I'd go back some day, but I'm less certain of that as the time goes by.

Professional dancers... make me wonder about that old saying, "The problem with making a job out of your hobby is now your hobby is a job." Dance seems like something you have to be passionate about to really excel at, but it also strikes me as impossible to maintain a level of enthusiasm about something you're doing over and over for hours on end, demystifying it completely.

When you're onstage... no one knows that you're messing up until you make it obvious. When you're losing the audience, you have two choices - either push ahead and make it look like you're doing what you should but the material sucks, or you say the material sucks and start talking off the cuff. Or I guess you can fake some bad material and then start pretending to switch to something less planned. I've done that a few times, and it's kinda funny how well people react to that.

It all happened... when I wasn't looking. Alot of things are detective work anymore in my life. I go back to things that went on years ago and I just now realize the significance of something or figure out some detail or relationship I didn't notice before.

Sometimes I look... at my scars and wonder what it would be like if they weren't there. It's really interesting to me that a split second can make such an eternal impact. We all think that the important, life-altering things will give us due time to consider and deal with fairly, but sometimes it's just a pothole you missed throwing you into the pavement at 60mph.

I like to listen... to people geek about about the technical aspects of something they like. I don't care what it is, really, but I've always been a fan of people who really try to understand the things they're fascinated with.

They say that... a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. But no one wants avian hybrid flu.

There's something dangerous... about eschewing definition. It feels enlightened to say "labels are bad" and that we're all free form people who defy being categorized. I can agree with not wanting to be constrained, but a total lack of definition is as dangerous as using it like a straightjacket. When you're at the end of your rope, sometimes all you need to pick yourself back up is to say "This is who I am. This shaped and named thing is what I make of myself." 


I'd said what I'd said that I'd tell ya,
And that you'd killed the better part of me.
If you could just milk it for everything.
I've said what I'd said and you know what I mean,
But I still can't focus on anything.

You know, I'm not trying for the martyr thing here, but every now and again I just wanna rub my temples and ask "don't you fuckers get it?" I don't wake up in the morning and say to myself, "Self, this will be a fantastic day to be an asshole to everyone you talk to today. For no reason at all. Hopefully, you will have a chance to jump all up and down someone for no reason at all. Self, you should make sure to do it, too, because there will never ever be a reason to say something to anyone, because everyone is acting rational and intelligent at all times. They have done nothing wrong!"

I don't like doing it, but I like what happens if I don't even less. Who else is going to be the asshole that snaps his fingers in your face and goes "Hey fucker wake up"? On one hand we like to sit back and make fun of the guilds where everyone is all hippie happy hugging motherfuckers that never get anyone done and everyone wallows in their stupid. But on the other, everyone seems to forget exactly how we avoid that. Who else is going to be the asshole? No one, and that's cool. We've settled into our different positions, which is completely fine. So the irony is I wish everyone would eventually get used to the fact I'm being an ass on purpose to keep things moving, whereas I have yet to get used to the inevitable backlash and "Seth is just being an asshole to be an asshole" sort of response.

People have asked me from time to time how "into" biking I am now. I go on weekends, and would do so on weekdays if I ever got the energy up, and usually for a couple hours at a time. However, I couldn't really answer the question until yesterday when I walked into a bike shop and started looking at some riding sunglasses (to keep leaves and stray bugs out of my eyes) and maybe some bags and a rack for the bike. After looking at the price tags, the answer is now "I am not enough into biking to spend that kind of money." I think I may buy a better seat, but that's pretty much it for the tricking out of my bike.

Ben is here from Alabama, and we spent last night roving around 6th street. He and his girlfriend are moving here shortly which is sort've funny to me. Austin is like some sort of kharmic center of the world. A weird number of people I know are either here, on their way, or have independently expressed an interest in moving here eventually.


You're trying my shoes on for a change
They look so good but fit so strange

Saturday morning I had to get up early to do a thing down at the Palmer Center that got dropped on me last minute. I don't mind this sort of thing overall, but the weather here in Austin has been that oppressive hot humidity that almost feels like you're being blasted with a low level of steam all day. Another of the volunteers there remarked, after a kid went up to a stranger and said "I like your shooooes", "why can't adults be like that?"

Such oversimplified "wisdom" annoys the crap out of me. I was in a mood, and so I just said "Because we know better. Despite what everyone likes to coo about, kids usually do things out of complete ignorance, not some sort of unsullied enlightenment. We, as adults, generally understand that the guy with nice shoes may or may not be a serial rapist, insurance salesman, or worse." And then I turned to a couple who had walked up and explained our educational material, hoping to holy hell that they didn't hear me. I'm pretty sure they didn't.

I have recently purchased a hand saw. I've explained the possibly hellspawned properties of this tool to several people already, but I want to share it with a wider audience for emphasis. I had several planks of wood and a rotting pine tree to cut up, so I went to Breed's to pick up something that might handle the task a little better than, say, really big scissors and a plucky attitude (which was currently all I owned for the job). I describe my problem to a nice elderly woman behind the counter and she leads me to, I swear to God, a back room as she informs me she has "Juuuust the thing," as if I had just described my problem as something vaguely more human and less legal to dismember.

She hands me this... weapon. Here is the most accurate way I can come up with to describe it - it a perfect replica of the jawbone from the primal beast of the Netherworld, from which all other hellhounds are pale descendents. It has jagged teeth at opposite angles that seem to form a pattern at first glance, but upon further inspection actually jut this way and that as if they seek only the escape from whatever madness they have been cobbled into. I'm glancing at this thing, contemplating with my excessively overactive imagination just what was going on here, and the woman adds a perfectly timed "You'd be surprised at just what that could cut through."

"Uh, just wood, ma'm," was all I could think to say. I named it Abbadon, the Reaper of Wooden Souls, and it went through that tree like wet paper that was simply wishing for the end.

Sunday I flew out to Phoenix, which I hear is a pretty nice place to visit. I saw there were mountains on the flight/cab in, but I was there for just over 48 hours. So really to me, Phoenix looks suspiciously like the inside of a convention center and hotel. And a mexican restaraunt that sells extremely potent and cheap pitchers of margaritas. I went to one of the housing counseling training events, which I'm usually somewhat leery of. I don't like being stuck in a place where I can't get out and around to explore, and I doubly hate facing the eventualy judgment of my "peers" - people who see me as some white asshole who cannot understand nor has ever experienced "real problems". This was, fortunately, the first time I was only there for two days rather than a full week, so I was able to keep to myself relatively well.

Kristin, who heads our Utah office, was there, too. So it was nice to hang out with her a bit since we get along really well but hardly get to work face-to-face. War stories were exchanged over alcohol, which I believe is really the only way my people can effectively bond with others. She and I are extremely different people, but it was somewhat amusing/concerning to see how similar our work ethic and outlook seemed to be.

I also got a chance to see Laura, which was... not odd, oddly. I was pretty well convinced that given our conflicting schedules, we wouldn't even be able to passingly say "hi" at all, but that turned out not to be the case. I had wondered now and again what it would be like to actually sit down and talk after 10 years - all of the scenarios in my head ended with "uncomfortable". however, it was as if we somehow became grownups with jobs over the course of a week and just sat at a restaraunt and had a decent time being rained on by a Mesquite tree's leaves. At this rate, I guess I should try and figure out what I'll be doing in 2019 and schedule accordingly with her.

After sitting through the worst classes ever, I flew out Tuesday evening, got home about midnight Austin time - I was in Phoenix just long enough to somewhat adjust to the two hour time difference and then get fucked with again upon my arrival in Austin. I love travelling for work, but this was almost every single thing I don't enjoy about it wrapped up into one trip.

And now a little bit of a breather before Ben shows up with his family next week in Austin, and then I'm off to Dallas for a week for more training.


And we were laughing at the stars
While our feet clung tight to the ground.
So pleased with ourselves
For using so many verbs and nouns.

One of these days I'll get back to posting shit about my life but for now, another Esquire What I've Learned hackjob. This month, the American Man, as seen in snippets from several interviews of men over the past few years, with me taking over after a few words.

Fear is... the greatest motivator. Someone can truly want something but may never actually make a move on it until they think they'll lose the chance.

My father is... unlike me in alot of ways, but like me in a few very important ones. I don't drink beer, and I'm never going to be comfortable sitting around in just my shorts when company is over. However, after a few hours on the road, I imagine our minds wander the same way. He also taught me everything important I know about politics and humility.

My mother is... the Great American Mother so many writers try to capture. She is a fury, a force of nature, a nurturer, and possesses the sort of intellect that looks clean through bullshit. I got alot of my perspective from her, which gets me in more trouble than some who know her might think.

Tuesday is... a day of prophecy. With Monday behind us, we take stock of if the week is going to be worthwhile or not.

It's people... not the economy. I try to impress this fact on the people I speak with, but most of the time I'm sure it doesn't sink in. We live in an age where we treat people like the soulless, inhuman heralds of a faceless, heartless machine... and then wonder why they act like soulless inhumans when we ask for a loan or deferment.

Don't waste... a bad day. Capitalize on the bad day - seize the shitty day by not fighting it. If you know your day is about to go to hell and there's nothing to do about it, lean into the curve. Embrace the bad day.

After four hours... at a computer, I feel less than human.

Sex in a car... isn't good. But the idea of sex in a car is good. (This is the original line, untampered with because it is perfect)

I became a man... when I realized my parents weren't the safety net under my tightrope. They were under their own spotlights, doing their own balancing acts. And I had been jumping up and down on their tightrope for several years.

I had a client... ask me how to get her husband more involved in solving their financial issues. I nearly told her "I'm not a marriage counselor," but I realized at this point I may as well be. The situation we're in now is easily counted by debt and houses lost, but even those who manage to come out alive end up scarred.

I've learned... that overtipping the sandwich guy gets you excellent subs.

It is enough... to be amused by your own jokes. Don't waste your time trying to teach everyone the punchline if they didn't get it the first time around.

If a man... attempts to sympathize or analyze the sexism and discrimination women go through, he is patted on the hand for his effort like a three year old trying to help balance the checkbook. A woman can be accepted as an authority on men's issues.

Here's the one thing... I don't get, still: How did someone (or a group of someones) convince a major food chain that "flavor-dipped" did not sound completely disgusting?

To succeed as a father... you have to know that someday your kids are going to realize the things you said and did might have been overprotective or just plain incorrect, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

The bass player is... the guy I always try and be. I want to be in the back, inscrutable and keeping time. For the past few years, though, people have insisted I stand up front and sing.

If the neighborman... asks what I do, I tell him. I learned that saying you're from "around" and you do "all sorts of things" gets less funny and more worrisome the older you get.

My friends... probably wonder.

I am a man... and I can tell you this: it was an awful fucking lot of rivers to cross, ladies.

I gotta lose... my inhibition when it comes to going shirtless in public. If I can't beat that down, I'm going to probably have a heat stroke on my bike at some point this summer.

The worst part... of my day are those few points in the day where I need to stop working and get my mind off of it for a second, but no one is being interesting on the forums.

There's that line... that everyone says you shouldn't cross. I have a hard time seeing it, and everyone is in the habit of only pointing said line out after you've gotten a few miles past it.

We are all here... for each other's amusement to some degree.

The good guy... isn't wearing a nametag or cape, but I think you can tell it on his face. It's proper and nice to say you can't judge a book by its cover, but we all know a right bastard as soon as we lay eyes on him.

Survival has... a bad habit of becoming an acceptable standard of living once you've had to "just survive" for a little while.

It's been ten years... since I've lived in Liberty, but I miss it sometimes. It was always interesting to have an open door through which any number of people might wander at any given time of the day.

I should have... realized when I'm being flirted with more often. My inability to notice when this goes on has caused all sorts of uncomfortable situations.

We will reach... a moment when we're oversaturated with ourselves. We've all gotten our fifteen minutes, and now we're intent on seeing ourselves and everyone else under a 24 hour microscope. Our casual disregard for each other - our acceptance of the idea that other people aren't really people - is at a high, but it will get worse. Eventually, we'll grow bored with ourselves as a race, and then... someone will step in to make entertainment that only our lack of appreciation for each other will really allow. And I'm not talking about the crassness of watching aged rockers hit on strippers. It will be disgusting on a level we haven't seen, and there will be very few of us around who saw what came before to make a comparison.

I've been drinkin away
The part of the day
That I can't sleep away.

Haven't done this in awhile. My Esquire came in and lo and behold, the What I've Learned this month is ... Sarah Palin. I used to take these and chop up the first bit of the sentence and finish the rest myself just because it was interesting to see what happened. As a side note, Sarah Palin sounds much more intelligent in text than out loud.

We had flutes... that vastly outnumbered pretty much any other single instrument in our band. One thing I remember about them was the fact I found out that if I read their sheet music and pretended it was on a bass clef, it sounded fine on my baritone. Guess that's a metaphor for something.

Everything... you're going to do in your work day is determined the first 30 minutes you're there. Everything worthwhile, anyway.

Bored... idle time has caused me more grief than any other single source of grief in my life.

I'll tell you, yesterday... I went into work feeling like a wreck because I had to drag my sick ass into the office two days in a row. I finally felt a bit better, but looking over the things I had done the two previous days made me realize that when your boss says "Go home, you're useless here sick," they're not just being nice.

You have to... wonder at the dichotomy of what's going on in regards to the economic situation here in America. On one hand, you have companies lining up for handouts because they believe their continued existence is integral to the identity and stability of the country, but then they turn around and balk at the terms of their rescue package because they believe that as captains of industry, they should somehow be insulated from the fallout and risk of heading a failed business. Let that soak in, guys - your business failed. You don't get to reap all the benefits of that risk when it goes well and then shrug it off when it doesn't work out for you - unless you're a Bush, I guess.

I would think... that Republicans would be less pissy about a formalization of the big business welfare system they've helped put in place over several decades.

If I were giving advice... to someone who is freaking out about their money (and I have often), it would be "stop freaking out about your money". The hot topic of the day is saying "in this economy" and "oh because of the economy" and "the economic crisis", but turning an eye to comedy and news for the past decade, the phrase "Well in this economy (insert negative assessment here)" has been alive and well for some time. Talking about it in order to seem like you're on top of current events is like saying you just figured out politicians may not be honest and going on about it without really doing anything. Yes it sucks, but sighing dejectedly about it in order to seem knowledgeable is annoying.

Maybe it's like... that year everyone was so certain Crane was going to dominate everything, and they went a good five or six months without winning anything major. Everyone kept squawking about it because they just wanted to be involved in the conversation.

I'd been a fan of SNL... since I saw some old Gilda Radner tapes my mom kept. When I heard that the person I was watching was dead, it was the first time I started to understand what real disappointment was.

My favorite place... is anywhere I can lean back, hear the breeze and feel the sun putting me to sleep while I read. When that's not available, the back row of a live show is a fine second place.

I eat, therefore I hunt... sort've. I think people underestimate the amount of effort and attention it takes to actually eat something even remotely fucking healthy anymore. We've gone from a tribal culture that has to learn which berries to avoid and how to kill boars without get gored, to a modern culture that has to sidestep all the shit everyone else is trying to kill us with that tastes good. It feels all the same to me in principle - hunting.

A courageous person... is the person who really knows what taking a hit for the team is. Fighting adversity or handicaps and whatnot isn't easy, but real courage comes from facing down that thing that's about to leave you maimed but alive to limp for the rest of your life. Sometimes it's stupidity, but sometimes you have to do it to get what you want or to stand up for what you think is important.

This is what... I do on Saturday mornings, now. Hungover or not, I get up at about 8, get some water, do my dailies on WoW, and clean up the house. If the weather is decent, I go bike riding down past Town Lake and do some reading. The rest of my day is up to the whims of my friends.

Fleece... is something I've been able to avoid entirely since moving to Texas. I'm pretty happy about that.

I know... that I probably won't have my current job forever, but it's the first job where if that's not true I wouldn't mind.

The secret to chili... is to make it as thick as possible. Excellent meat, vegetables, and spices are all important, but thin chili or even thick chili that seems watery is an abomination against man and God.

Carmex... is something that will always make me wary about a person. I don't know why (and I'm often wrong about this), but people who use Carmex all the time seem like insincere douchebags to me. It's irrational, and it bothers me because I like to think I'm a pretty fair and open minded person, but the instant I see someone unscrew that little yellow fucking cap...

The first place... I'm starting to feel my age is in my sock drawer. I have more black work socks than white whatever socks now.

Two meanings... is the minimum amount of interpretations you'll get when you tell two people the exact same thing.

Hot... food and I do not mix. At all. My palette has been described as terminally causasian, which has made my addiction to Mexican food pretty much an exercise in self-torture.

After a long day... I have a long evening. It might be the reason I'm so tense alot of the time, but I've never been the sort of person to have a tiring day, go home and unplug. I just move from one engaging activity to the next until I go to bed. I can't even relax in my sleep most of the time.


Hey get out of here
Nothing's measured and nothing's weighed
A dash of honesty in the recipe
And that's the first mistake you've made

So, the weekend.

I went to to talk with someone I had only talked to a few times before, but they were having a hard time and insisted he couldn't really talk to his closer friends. I'm a convenient near-stranger. I get down to the bar and he's already about three or four drinks in. I don't know the guy especially well, so I just assume his alcohol tolerance is shit - after all, the people who get good and pissed only when they're good and depressed usually don't drink in the between time. He's at his wit's end because he lost his job. Probably gonna have to move in with his parents. The tenuous relationship he had is gonna go to shit because he's positive no one is going to keep dating a loser of a 30-something. What do I tell this guy? The best I have really is that you shouldn't slam so many different mixed drinks in a row - the laws of physics will probably catch up with you sooner than the alcohol does. Too late. He goes to even out the tension in his stomach and head while I talk to his friend who just happened to call right before he took off to the bathroom. The first one isn't much of a drinker, the second one says. Obvious, I say. I can't really leave him here to end up face down on 6th street, so I agree to drive him over to the friend's, who lives in a little condo near downtown.

The person I barely know goes and makes himself comfortable in the bathroom of the man I don't know at all. I get offered a drink and I tell him there's been about enough of that for the evening and I didn't plan on staying long. At this point I'm only hanging around to make sure no one has to go to the hospital or anything. Friend's friend goes on small talking for about 10 minutes about how his drunken buddy is just staring down at rock bottom that was hidden under a rock-bottom mockup he had already hit. I know the feeling and I get really, really uncomfortable at that point, despite the fact the guy who owns the place I'm not making myself comfortable in seems pretty nice.

I excuse myself and go home. It's pretty rare that I get to see someone else tear themselves up on booze and frustration without me getting drunk right along with it. I still don't know what to make of the whole thing, but I keep trying to pull it apart like a huge ball of knots.

Saturday morning I noticed that my hair was growing in enough that I need to get a cut in the back before I start rockin the mullet, and it's just about time to dye again before the grey gets obnoxious and/or noticeable. I didn't get around to doing the rest of the deck like I had wanted, but I went and biked up and down Shoal Creek, fed some birds, and managed to neither accost nor be accosted by hippies, yuppies, or the homeless. Saturday night - whisky, rum, and guitar hero along with the heart-wrenching revelation that John does not like SRV. Being the merciful and mature man I am, I decide not to end our friendship on the spot.

Sunday, get up, go biking, pass out reading outside again. Burn the shit out of my back. Get the Undying title in WoW, which is something of an accomplishment if you don't know. Do my workout and still fail to get any writing done. Viddy showed up at 11am with a stray dog she found in the lot behind where she works and left it with us for the day. Tiny little thing that just sort've oozed between my legs and hit the floor when I tried to put him in my lap. We'd set him on a blanket or pillow to sleep and he'd just roll with gravity until he was laying there in a heap and was okay with it. I don't think that dog had bones.

And that's all I have to say about that.


Shall I tell you a story?
Shall I tell you a dream?
They think I'm crazy.

Having a little more consistent free time from work and other obligations has made me turn my eye back to some of my writing projects I've let gather dust. Rich always told me that sometimes the best way to get things going again was just to sit down and start writing and writing and not care for exactly what was coming out as long as it was somehow related and appropriate. That isn't exactly working for me, probably because I've gone over the end result I want to see time and again and I'm just not getting there. So I did the equivalent of creative procrastination - I went back and started editing the first chapters. Hopefully that'll be productive since I haven't really looked at them in months.

Somewhat related: I paid for a new trumpet so I could start playing again, but I've taken that thing out of the case probably five times since I got it. Maybe I should just check to see how expensive it'd be to have my baritone shipped down here. I got the trumpet because I figured it'd be easier to actually move around and wall-to-wall easier to deal with. Also, blue.

It's been fun watching the outraged mobs moving back and forth for the past few weeks over the AIG thing. My blog might be late to the party, but mostly because I get to sit and talk about this kind of stuff all day so the last thing I really feel like doing is coming home and repeating what I've been writing and talking and reading and researching about all day. But I have to say at this point it's turned into a freaking Benny Hill sketch. Watching the American public and federal goverment chase AIG through one door, then the next door opens and the public is chasing the government (who are chasing AIG), then the next sequence is AIG chasing the government and the people are chasing AIG again. It's somewhat darkly amusing to see that the supposed end of the Bush era of no accountability has been stonewalled by the blame game being turned into the blame shell game. Who's responsible for the meltdown? Who's responsible for the flawed bailout? Who's responsible for the lack of oversight? Who's responsible for finding out who's responsible?

This, kids, is not the sexy party I was promised.

The sun was out for most of the weekend - the first really sunny and warm weekend here in Austin for the year. I think, anyway. Decided to take the bike and my pack for some quality time on Auditorium Shore with Sandman. It was pretty relaxing give or take the completely obnoxious asshats overruning my parks and city due to South by Southwest. I will rant about South by Southwest in a moment, but I will first mention 1) the rest of the weekend was taken up with working on the deck and 2) I got a sunburn because my people do not tan, we singe. I've come a pretty long way from getting a rash from direct content with the burning and jealous rays of the burning star nearby, though.

Okay, SXSW. In short, fuck you SXSW. This music festival irritates me to no end because it's hyped as such an "Austin experience" but I'll be damned if you couldn't just uproot the freaking thing and drop it wherever and it would have no impact on the actual event. Local bands are almost completely overlooked by the actual event - chances are if you saw a solid local show it was free and/or not actually part of the SXSW schedule. Posters, backboards and stages are put up just about everywhere, so looking at the press pictures and even passing by some of these venues it's pretty impossible to discern that this is happening in Austin. Finally, the endless crowd of yahoo music snobs provides me with enough rage to fuel a hipster-clubbing tangent that could last well into the fall or possibly through the winter. I think the next person in too tight jeans and too large sleeves I run into is going to catch the unfortunate (but highly refined and concentrated) rage spillover.

This is not to say I think the commercialism and whatnot is unexpected. I'm fine with the fact that Metallica comes to Austin and plays in a highly commercialized venue and everyone buys overpriced hoohah and then we all pour out into the streets to find the next overhyped act. That's fine, that's the music biz. I just hate the fact that I get to hear for weeks (before, during, and after) that the damn thing is "so Austin" and it's all about "giving a voice to up and coming bands!"

Die. Die in a fire. Choke on coal and jump onto a bonfire. I want my damn bars back.

For a second that room was on the moon,
Then everything went black.
I left that house on fire,
And I never looked back.

I signed up for a Facebook account out of more than a little curiosity. Unlike the MySpace, this place is apparently where everyone on the planet congregates without any restraint. Facebook is, apparently, a giant planet-wide chatroom and BBS rolled into one. A secondary effect of this is that I've been in contact with a good stack of people I had honestly figured I would never talk to again. There's some hesitation, because I think ten years ago I was a bit of a nicer, warmer person and these people haven't seen my gradual change so it might be a little more of a shock. Instead of being eased into it, it'll be "Wow, Seth is a douchebag now, weird."

Of course, I really might just be inflating how much of an asshole I am now, relatively. Or maybe I wasn't really that nice of a guy back in the day. Dwelling on this has led me to answer one of the questions I asked myself awhile back, staring out over Town Lake - what happened? Massive self-absorption incoming, as I sit down and write a letter addressed to myself ten years ago.

You made it to 29, so the bet is still on. By the way, try better this time to remember exactly who you made that bet with, because for the life of me I can't now. You wear a huge cellphone now, so don't get too comfortable with that Samsung flippy job. They're lighter now, though, so there's that. Too bad they don't make phones as sturdy as that anymroe, huh? Might save us a few hundred over the years.

You'll get that joke pretty soon.

Anyway, you were right about one thing - you're going to see too much. You were wrong about where you'd see it, though. Once you get your head out of those stories and books and think that you've started looking maybe a little too close at the ugly side of the human race, you're going to get a surprise left hook from the world. Not everyone is the Unibomber or Sadam (ps good work on betting that the Bushes were hardly done there), but they don't have to be. You're going to realize one day without even really acknowledging it that the day-to-day grind of people's little trespasses is more soul crushing than the stories, the cautionary tales, and the "oh Christ do you believe this" material you'll run into.

You're also going to spend four years learning about how sometimes, the only way out is through. The only scar you've gotten between now and then is on your shin from an unfortunate run-in with a baggage carousel in Cinncinnatti. Don't worry, airport security will let you go eventually. You're going to pick up some really fucked up life lessons, and if you don't figure out how to learn from them, there are going to be bad times ahead. Try and remember that in the end, everything is a learning experience. Try really hard. Everything has a tendency to come full circle, which is one of the reasons I'm writing this to you.

You're not crazy. Everyone thinks things like what you have on your mind from time to time. That look you see every now and again is exactly what you think it is - someone wanting to say "yeah" when you spout off something random, but they instead decide to shrug and say they have no idea wtf you're on about. You know things other people don't, and it's just high school all over again after you graduate. People will want to make you think the cards you're holding are weak, the things you've learned are inconsequential, and that you just need to keep your head down and go along with whatever, cuz that's just how it is. Without the circus-like context of high school, though, it'll be hard to keep that perspective. It's all a farce, though. Still all a joke. Keep laughing about it, you're the last of a line of lasts.

Try not to get too pissed about X-Men 3 or the words "moral majority". One of those will be harder than the other, but honestly I can't recall which.

Is it bright where you are?
And have the people changed?
Does it make you happy you're so strange?
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secret's flame.

An attempt to re-familiarize myself with a project I haven't written on in months.

Arlen stood in front of the dinner chambers, trying like hell to remember what his father had told him over the years about what it was like to command. Bearing. Purpose. Consideration. From the first day the young Crown Prince was told he would be King someday, he wondered what it was going to be like. As he grew, his curiosity evolved into concern over embarrassing himself, his family, and his entire nation, but his father had always been there with a wise word or some self-deprecating story that made him feel better. He looked to his left, almost thinking for a second he could turn and ask his father for advice one last time...

"Sir?" Gareth, his assistant said quietly, returning his glance with a questioning stare. "Is everything alright?"

The younger man knew Gareth was far too perceptive to read his hesitation for anything other than what it really was. His assistant had already been a seasoned veteran of the mansion's politics before his father had taken the throne, and now he would continue to serve a different King. Despite this fact, Arlen replied with a reflexive, "It's nothing, Gareth," and then adjusted his tie. On the other side of that door sat several of the most powerful men in Cormagh, and one man who could completely topple his rule before it even began if he was allowed to do so.

"I wish like mad my sister was here," was the only bit of truth he allowed himself to voice quietly before drawing himself up again. Bearing. Purpose. Consideration. The new King pushed open the door...

----

Brenna sat next to the bed in her father's room, reading quietly from an old text she had found on the shelf. She hadn't even bothered to read the spine before selecting it - she had simply wanted something to distract herself during what she knew would be a vigil over her father's deathbed. The former King's breath was hardly a whisper now, and the young woman turned to look at her father for a moment.

The door opened, and her brother looked as if he was trying to sneak into the room. Amadan, her youngest sibling, gave her a guilty look as he shuffled in quietly. "How is he?" he asked as he walked to the opposite side of the bed.

Brenna smiled weakly as she regarded her brother. "He's peaceful," she said. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Amadan shrugged and sat on the floor, leaning his back and head against the wall. "I didn't know where else to go, honestly. Arlen and Dakkon are too busy to yell at me, Caelin is nowhere to pick a fight with... I'm only ever in this place when I'm in trouble."

"Well," the woman said, turning back to her book, "I suppose we have a fair amount of trouble coming our way soon enough."

Her brother nodded and reached into his shirt for a cigarette.Brenna gave him a frown and he snatched his hand out of his pocket as if he had been burned. "Sorry," he said, lowering his eyes. "I just... I'm so stupid, you know? Arlen and Dak, they tried to warn me that things like this would happen, but I never listened, and now..." his voice trailed off into a sigh. After a moment's pause, he asked, "What're you reading?"

Brenna turned the book to look at the cover. "One of father's old books. It says 'Rowing the Isle' as the title, but I'm not really reading it."

"I remember that one," her brother said, smirking to himself. "It's a good story."

"What's it about?"

"A guy gets exiled from his town because he didn't avenge a death in the family, so he gets in a small boat and rows off to find a place to live out his life. Eventually, he finds one island after another where he runs into all sorts of creatures and talking animals and things made of fire and whatnot. It's a spiritual journey sort of thing."

Brenna nodded, looking at the book. "I remember mother reading it to you...," she said and quickly stopped herself.

Amadan waved off the slip, "Yeah," he said, "the funny part is that it ends with him finally finding the killer and returning home, only to learn the rest of his family died while he was off in the spirit world. I don't really think you should be reading it."

His sister put the book down and looked directly at her father. "No, I think it's appropriate. The story is about how sometimes you have to lose one thing to gain another."

----

Dakkon brought his sword down in a wild arc, obviously meant to put his opponent on the defensive more than actually attempt to strike them. His brother, Caelin, simply sidestepped the attack and lunged at his side, where the blade connected with Dakkon's offhand dagger. The older brother found himself on the defensive as Caelin pressed the attack, taking a more elegant approach to the aggressive tactic that had just been used on him. With a flurry of strikes, Caelin forced his brother towards the edge of the mat.

"You've gotten faster," Dakkon said, binding his brother's sword with a cross of his two weapons, stepping inside his reach, and slamming his shoulder into his brother.

Caelin managed to hold his sword and dagger - but only barely - as the wind was knocked out of him and he staggered backwards. His eyes never left his brother, though, and Dakkon's attempt to exploit his advantage proved useless as the younger man rolled on the floor and rose to face him. All the while, Caelin didn't even grimace or narrow his eyes.

Dakkon knew that his brother's impassive demeanor was possibly the largest advantage Caelin brought to a match. Even after all of these years practicing together, the older sibling had trouble not getting unnerved by how unaffacted his brother would be from body blows or even the odd accident with a sword.

"I've been practicing, Dakkon, preparing," Caelin said in an even tone as he put his sword arm behind him and advanced with the dagger leading. He feinted twice, testing his brother's reach, and then swung his sword out from behind him in a quick motion. "Do you remember what father taught us?"

Dakkon blinked, taken aback by the callous way his brother invoked their father, and was rewarded with a slash across his arm. "Caelin, what..."

His brother kept attacking, causing Dakkon to stumble backwards until Caelin's sword tip was resting gently against his heart. "Are you alright, Dakkon?" the younger brother asked, genuinely curious.

"I... damnit Caelin, you can't just bring father up like that and not expect a reaction out of me. We should be there."

"But we shouldn't, you even said so yourself. Arlen has practiced for the day he would take control of the family, and we have all prepared for the day father would pass on," his brother replied, as if the statement confused him. "And father is dying. Do you remember what he taught us?"

Dakkon took a deep breath; his brother's nearly inhuman demeanor was wearing on him. "No," he said darkly. "What."

"The difference between practicing and doing is when you pratice, it's just like doing..."

Dakkon looked at his shirt and poked at the newly-formed small hole. "But the doing is never like when you practice." He tossed his swords at his brother and went to get his military dress jacket. "I'm going to that dinner."

Caelin caught the weapons midair and watched his brother go, a rare, thin smile showing for only a moment.

I change my mind alot, which is a little weird given that my usual contribution to any sort of public inquiry tends to be as interesting as "I dun care". It's not that I don't have opinions, because I do: they're vast, shifting things not unlike the yawning faces of Those Who Lie Dreaming, beckoning you into madness. I have opinions on everything and they are as judgemental as they are mercurial. I just don't particular give my own opinions too much weight. Much like the alcohol swab before a lethal injection, they're there for the sake of completeness because while having them might seem odd, it's only more jarring for them not to be there.

To me, anyway.

I decided to shave the goatee today because I wanted to see about one of my opinions - do I really like it more than not having it? It's been awhile since I've seen my bare chin and skin-in-front-of-the-ears-with-no-particular-regional-distinction. Besides, dermatologists tell you it's good for your skin. I'm not about to argue, as I don't have alot of free time to test out theories about my skin, whereas they do. And I'm sure they have. The last time I trimmed my scrubland down to something more terraced, I got a little shock of dismay that I should have been expecting. This time I was expecting it, but it wasn't any less irritating. Around about November last year, the grey was coming back in my hair around the temples and upper hairline, so when I shaved for Christmas, I slashed and burned down the hiding place of evidence far more damning - hundreds of little white whiskers bowed under the curled and accomodating reds and browns in my chin.

I don't have the patience to really dye the face like I do the top, so I may need to get used to looking 20 years older than I am. Those hairs are not going anywhere, and I think they're bringing a colonization crew. I guess it's not all bad, though, I hear Eric Dane pulls it off relatively well.

We went and saw Watchmen, like the good little geeks with our marching orders that we are. It's odd how time and perspective can change another tightly-held (or so I thought) opinion. After reading the book for the first time, I always saw a sort of dark prophecy in the Comedian. I never thought I could ever be that depraved, but the words "once you realize what a joke everything is, being the Comedian is the only thing that makes sense" always rang with a particular sense of foreboding to me. Isn't that the way of everyone who learns too much, to either go nuts or become bitter and jaded over it? But in the movie, and I guess because of how it was in the movie, the character of Nite Owl tugged on the edge of my awareness a little. A man frowning at his old costume, at once relieved and disgusted by the dust settling on it. Maybe Dreiberg saw the Comedian as a flash forward, too, and was glad he never had to see if he was right... but regretted never knowing for sure.

Beyond that, the weekend was biking, buying cookies, and heading down to start Irish lessons at (what else) a pub. I've had this weird sensation in the back of my throat for days now, like I've been eating thing that burned. I can't really describe it any better than the raw feeling you get right before a bad cold or flu settles in, but it hasn't really progressed past that. I keep meaning to go to the doctor for all sorts of things. My teeth. My foot. My arm. My eyes. My wrist. I'm shaking and flaking and quaking apart, but at least I don't have any dust on me, I spose.


This memory, a moment frozen.
But it feels like I'm writing on the wind.
The test of time, the leaves are fading
These answers, like ashes, do descend.

Every day I get to fight with such an expansive, unrelenting force of apathy, bureaucracy, and uncaring victimization that sometimes it's a struggle just to comprehend exactly what I'm up against and not just lay my head down. Today was definitely one of those days.

Fortunately, it's a marathon, not a sprint. Tomorrow I'll have my feet under me again.

First off, shameless theft from espvivisection  - http://www.fuckyeahneilpatrickharris.com/

It is exactly what it sounds like - Neil Patrick Harris. Fuck yeah.

Nikki came over last night and we did what I had foretold to her voicemail - drink alot and play Guitar Hero. After spending most of the day making sure Kim was good and then cleaning the bajesus out of the upstairs, I was ready to just sit down and wail on the drums a bit. I got up this morning about 8 or so and decided to handle a hangover the only way I know how anymore - clean up a bit, throw the bike in the back of the truck, and do the Shoal Creek / Town Lake run again. I managed to get a few people to call me asshole as I zipped by them, which was cool, because while I enjoy gunning down hippies, I am fucking thrilled to annoy you yuppie pieces of shit in your $500 running outfit.

The batteries in the iPod died about 1/4th into the trip, so I was left alone with my thoughts and the sounds of Austin for a bit. I'll say it now - I'm not a fan of what goes on in my head. Given my own little time and absolutely no distraction, I tend to gravitate towards the morbid, the grim, and things that are otherwise uncheerful. The month where I was driving for 30 mins to get to work with no car radio was possibly the longest month in my whole life. When I got to the Town Lake bridge, though, I leaned the bike and tried to do some actual useful introspection instead of dwelling on things like how crazy I probably seem to people back home, how long it'll be before I lose the job I really like, and so on.

I realized that one of the problems I have is that my modest inability to take a compliment has eventually shifted to what is almost a reflex of distrust when someone says something nice to me. I've spent years around the phony and manipulative, so when someone says "Wow that was pretty smart," I don't think "thanks," I think "Why would you tell me that. Are you just trying to placate me or are you setting me up?" You can imagine the impact that such a mindset might have over the years. It made the trip to KC a little difficult for me, because whenever Matt would say shit like "I really appreciate it" or "hey thanks that means alot" I would think "oh shit he can't mean that, I need to step it up, I'm supposed to be his fucking best man."

My insecurities, ladies and gentlemen, are both vast and amazing. I might go into more detail, but eventually you may wonder at how I can get up and put my own shoes on from day to day.

I remarked the other day that I wanted to make a drinking game of my job - every time someone says "well you know, in this economy..." and doesn't actually have any clue what they're talking about, take a shot. A friend said that I would likely be shitfaced within 15 minutes of getting to work, and he was right. I offer you guys a warning now - stop that shit or I will perhaps write other, angrier sentences on the internet. Statements such as "Well I'm trying to lose weight, but in this economy..." make me want to crush your skull, melon style. If you don't feel confident in what you're saying about money, housing, finances, and the economy, don't fucking pretend to me, people. I'm a goddamned credit counselor. Not only will I know you're bullshitting, but it's my goddamned job to answer the questions you aren't asking and give you the information you clearly don't have. I swear to tapdancing Christ.

All and all, it was a nice bit of reflection, staring out over Town Lake. Town River. Whatever. I'm still convinced the fucking thing is a river and there's just an ongoing gag where Austin natives see how long they can make the new people call it a lake.

But I knew exactly where I was
And I knew the meaning of it all
And I knew the distance to the sun

I woke up at 7:30ish this morning after just crashing out last night. I felt hollowed out still from yesterday, but I also had that sort've weird energy you get when you're over feeling like shit and just need to do something animated. Unfortunately it was still pretty cold out, and I was up earlier than most stores - I had planned on picking up cleaning shit to finish scrubbing up the place this weekend, and I wanted to make it down to Goodwill to drop off the shit Kim and I were getting rid of.

So all I could really do was clean up a little - quietly, so as not to wake up Kim - and stare out the second story windows of my home. There were some people to the east setting up a garage sale. My neighbor was walking one of her multitude of pets. Yakuza hopped up on the window sill to watch some bird she probably thought I was stalking. I don't get alot of time to just sit and watch shit go by anymore, and it reminds me that just a few years ago I was pretty content doing that. Sitting and watching all of you people go about your shit. I might stop and wonder what was going through that guy's head, the guy who was dropping off his trash and took just a touch too long staring off before going back inside. Maybe he was looking at the house of someone on the street he was having an affair with. Maybe he was just staring off, not wanting to go back to the den of screaming kids he lived in. Maybe he was just taking a second to reflect and be thankful for everything he had.

Now when people stop and reflect, my first impulse is to roll my eyes, gun the gas, and pass them.

10-ish rolled around, and the clouds burned off, the air warmed a little, and I took my bike down to Shoal Creek. It was a pretty nice day to go biking, and I felt like doing a little exploring outside the bike trails, since I have a mountain bike and all I ever do with it is go on park lanes. Some of the shit I saw was a little bizarre - there was an area of the woods where they had cleared out all the "invasive trees", chipped them, and laid them down as mulch around the older trees. I get what they were doing but it seemed like feeding scrambled eggs to hens. I passed a guy who was built like a WWE wrestler digging ditches and sculpting dirt hills for a BMX track. After rounding a corner I-

hitahugerockandslammedsidewaysontothegravel.

Ow.

I spilled like that twice: once on my way south and then on my way back because I guess my legs were getting tired and I was just letting my head wander everywhere. I got all the way from the head of the Shoal Creek trail to the south side of Town Lake. For those of you not in Austin, that's a couple hours round trip, and I haven't done much more than 40 minutes or so in a single sitting for quite awhile. On my way back, some homeless guy sleeping under a bridge rolled over (I didn't even see him till he moved) and I nearly ran him over until I politely steered sideways and landed on my other side to avoid him. Her. Whomever.

By this point, I had now landed sideways on my handlebar twice, and it was shaking loose. I have those little horn curves on my handles - not the full ones like a mountain goat, but the short ones like little billy goat horns. Driving this shaking, rattling, threatening contraption (the gears were similarly loose by this point) was a faster way to get back than walking, so I tried it. I guess there's a metaphor to be had here about me balancing this thing that was threatening to shake apart the whole time. I took my mind off my impending doom by gripping the horns like gunstick triggers on some game and pretending I was dogging and gunning down hippies in the park. That was pretty goddamned fun.

I know you dont know what I mean, yet.
I get upset or happy - I go to sleep.
But I'm not tired. I'm not tired.

Getting sick from overpriced "valentine's day" desserts.

It'd be really funny if I didn't feel like my entire body was made of molten puke right now.

Friday morning I left for Kansas City and got in about two or so. I haven't been to KC in years, so I was a little interested in seeing if anything had changed with the people and the places. I knew my weekend's schedule was already filled the instant I managed to get the time off months ago, so I wasn't going to be able to see everyone I had hoped I would. I was in town for my brother's wedding, which meant that I was far from the only infrequent visitor in town that weekend. Because of this, and because I was supposed to serve as my brother's best man, my chunks of self-determined time were squashed down to about two hours total spread through the two days until I left at about 2 on Sunday.

All in all, the weekend was a bit of an overload. It was strange seeing people again for the first time in years. My dad I hadn't seen since my last trip to KC, and the majority if my extended family I hadn't seen for longer than that. I managed to help Matt through the whole wedding thing, though the boy didn't really need any assistance. Just someone to bullshit with while we put on our tuxes, and hey can you hold these rings until Monsignor Charles asks for them? My brother was ready to be married, but he would have been just fine if all the stress and pomp of the wedding itself could have been toned down some.

We're not eternal, of course. Bill wasn't there, grandma Garcia looked like the trip itself could have done her in, my Dad was tired in a way that indicated more than just a lack of sleep, and my Mom kept looking around keenly aware that the next time we all got together, some of us wouldn't be there. On the other end, my niece and nephews had spent the year since I had seen them last outgrowing shoes and learning to use forks. Isa had gone from the screaming, jumping, anything-for-attention kid to someone who just found everything funny. Two of my younger cousins both had been building their careers - one was on her second year teaching and another was actually looking forward to being a salaried manager at her job.

In the middle of it, Matt and I put on our tuxedos and stood where we were told, saying and doing the things we were told by an ordained man of the cloth. But, inevitably, as soon as that man turned his back, we gave each other a sidelong glance and started smirking at it all. They were nice suits, but at the end of the day we were just two scruffy Irish kids trying not to laugh in church. We were still brothers - incomplete as just the two of us were - and while some things may not be eternal, they might as well be.

So Matt's married. And Sunday I turned 29. I've never cared much for my own birthday - not hating it, either - but the closer I get to 30 and the feeling that I'm standing still, it does make me think some predictable things. I don't regret most of the things I've done in my life, but that feeling of the noose tightening rears its head every now and again.

Also - I bought myself a hat.


Confusion never stops.
Closing walls, ticking clocks.