Straight Edge Life

My lists are so long. I have so much crap to do all the time. I’ve managed to put myself in a position where I have to work at light speed simply in order to keep up. It’s my fault. It’s totally, completely my fault. But it’s not because I’m trying to avoid something or hide something. This is stuff I want to do. How cool is that? It’s rare anyways. Rare for me, especially.

I don’t know if I’m just wired or what but I feel like million bucks tonight. I got so much done today. I felt productive today. Head above water. Yeah, it’s Saturday and I was working, but it felt good to get so much done. I just got on a roll and kept going, for 11 hours.

I know I’m probably over working. I know most Americans are overworked and underpaid. It’s a shitty trait of our collective culture. And for many people it’s indistinguishable from death. We get out of shape and a cycle of depression hits us that’s nearly impossible to break. We hate what we do, so we eat, we work too much so we don’t exercise, we drive too much, we watch too much tv. It’s a bad situation. We’ve lost sight of what life is. And for the most part I’m part of this tragedy. But I really do love what I do. Even if my body is a bit out of balance. Even if my social life is pretty tame. Even if I’m not outside enough.

I guess I’m just working to change one thing at a time and the first step was to do something that I love. So I am. And it feels good. And for as much as I love what I’m doing for work, it actually makes me want to go out and play. It makes me want to keep my tv unplugged. It’s a slow transition. And maybe as I’m growing up I’m realizing that a methodical plan and a bit of patience goes a hell of a long ways towards getting you what you want. What I want is simple. To be independent, and to climb and shoot. That’s it.

Tonight I feel like I’m half-way there. Big smiles.

Dude, so the coolest thing. Skittles in a little plastic cup. I’d love to hug the genius who thought this up. Now I can snack and drive at the same time. Fits in the cup holder like a champ. Hell yeah.

I can’t believe I haven’t linked to Dan’s site yet. I’m such a butt. I thought I had. I was wrong. No disrespect meant Dan. I just spaced it.

EVERYONE: GO TO DAN’S SITE. READ HIS EXCELLENT BLOG. HE DOES AN GREAT JOB OF KEEPING IT FRESH AND INTERESTING.

Please, please, please don’t help Bush get elected this year. Make an informed decision. Use good resources that indicate sources for their material. And ignore the BS that Bush’s campaign is spewing out it’s foul snout

In my humble opinion there are three things you can do to help keep Bush out of office. 1. Don’t vote Nader. That’s one less vote for Kerry and acts to help Bush. Vote with your conscience and do the pragmatic thing for the greatest good of the greatest number of people (rather than your personal idealism; which is admirable, but misguided). 2. Vote. Not voting means that Bush needs fewer votes to win. 3. Encourage others to vote for Kerry.

Kerry D’ Bunks Bush’s Negative Ads.

I thought this was funny, and entirely too accturate.

Set your iTunes import preferences to 320kb, this is easily Steel Pulse’s best album since Earth Crisis (1984). African Holocaust is a solid album. It sounds and feels like Steel Pulse again. David Hinds’ rich voice mixing perfectly with Alvin Ewen’s deep bass, damn. Their backbeat is so tight it’s hypnotic. They’re doing real roots music, and tackling more global and contemporary issues.

Two decades is a long time to wait. They released 7 compilation albums (live or otherwise) and 6 original albums in that time; all of which were a bit of a disappointment. I’m always on the lookout for good roots reggae music, and I had almost given up on Steel Pulse. I’m glad they’re at it again.

You know, as much as I hate consumerism I feel this weird obligation to spew my opinion on it with great regularity. Take today for instance. I just got off the phone with Associated Camera Repair in Portland. I sent a brand new lens to them to have it repaired / replaced because of a funky wobble in the focusing system. ACR is an authorized nikon repair shop. And they rock. They’re fast, professional, and efficient. I sent them the lens with a little note saying what’s wrong with it and they took care of the rest. It’s already on it’s way back to me.

Take that and compare it to my experience with Shutterbug and their affiliated non-authorized repair program. They sucked. I brought a different lens in a few months ago to have them send it to Nikon (and they did say they were sending it to Nikon) for repair and it sat in their store for a week or so before they shipped it off to some random repair shop in Seattle. I found this out only after I waited patiently for 3 weeks and finally called Nikon for a status report. They told me they didn’t have the lens and never received the lens. I went down to Shutterbug and they tell me that it didn’t go to Nikon at all, it was up in their shop in Seattle. So I ask for a status report and it takes another week to get the estimate. Nevermind that I specified very clearly in writing that I wanted to have the lens repaired WITHOUT an estimate. I didn’t need a friggin’ estimate, I needed the lens back as soon as possible. So after I finally get them to do the repair it takes another two weeks to finally get the lens back into my hands. I didn’t get to take the lens on my trip even though I brought the lens in for repair 8 (yes EIGHT) weeks before my departure date.

So my advice for the day is to use only Nikon Authorized Repair Shops when getting your nikon gear repaired or replaced.

Went north to P-town this weekend. Holy crap it was hot. It was in the 105-110 degree range in the sun. Hotter inside. Oregon, if you don’t know this already, isn’t a place where you buy an air conditioner. We get about 5 days a year where it’s unbearably hot and that’s about it. Nobody has air conditioning in their home. You would likely be considered a sissy if you did. Many places of business don’t have it in their buildings. So on those few days when it is hot, people get the hell out of town and get out to the coast where an erupting volcano could coat the earth with searing hot pyroclastic ash and it would not get above 54 degrees. It’s never warm on the Oregon coast.

We, of course, headed straight up to a bigger, hotter town to hang out with Ann’s brother, Mike and his girlfriend, Dorothy. I was also heading up to catch up with an old friend from College, Donia. And, of course, to stop in and see Steve, who’s been glued to the TV for the last 23 days watching the Tour De France with his biker roomates. We all got together for dinner at Abou Karim, so tasty.

Whew. Anyway. Here’s the deal. I hung out with Donia on Friday night. Donia’s an artist. A painter for the most part, but she works with a lot of different stuff. As unpretentious and honest as they get, her work has come a long way from shared days in our school’s art studio in Illinois. It was really good to see her again but it was strangely disappointing. When you meet up with someone you haven’t seen in some time, someone you have respect for especially, it’s a mirror onto your own soul. You see, you compare, you toss and turn in the differences.

And I am here at 3:25 in the morning looking at these differences and reflecting on how many decisions I could have made differently in my life. To be more like Donia? No. To be more like the man I used to be. It’s sent me into a tailspin that I can hardly bring into words fit for you to read.

I looked into her deep blue eyes, faded and rich from struggle and passion, and mused upon a beautiful world that I coldly turned my back on years ago. I don’t draw any more. I don’t paint. I don’t set up a sketchbook in my room and dirty my floors with graphite, pastel, and oils. I don’t sketch in an 8 by 8 inch book.

Today, I manipulate data. Not data in the pixels of a digital image kind of way; but data as in a huge set of records in a database, data. Tomorrow I may shoot a photo or two. Perhaps even today. But gone is the world of art that once surrounded me. One language replaced for another. And I miss it, because Donia and I barely had a thing to say to each other on Friday night. I just listened. Shocked by the acuity of the moment. I feel longing for that language lost. To once again speak in those words and connect in so many irrational ways to an irrational world of beauty and imagination.

Tonight is an extraordinarily sad night. At the exact moment where much of my hard work and sacrifice is coming together to better my life, I’m realizing how many things I’ve lost along the way. Wondering if all of it, any of it, was worth it. I could go back. I could go back to who I was and what I did. I could do it in an instant.

Abou Karim - Authentic Lebanese Cuisine in Portland is fast becoming my favorite restaurant. I put it to the test this weekend by sending myself and two parties on two separate nights to give it a run for the money.

The verdict; in short, perfection. The food is delicious, served promptly, well-prepared and presented. The service is astonishingly friendly and warm. You’ll feel like family the second you walk through the door. It’s small, comfortable, entertaining (live music certain nights of the week) and refreshing to dine here.

They serve a solid range of Lebanese dishes along side a number of Mediterranean standards done in Lebanese style. And with the diversity of dishes I sampled this weekend, there isn’t an item on the menu that I wouldn’t have again. In fact, your biggest disagreement with this restaurant might be your own fit on indecision while wrestling between kabobs, a meal made of appetizers, the daily special (whatever it may be), or one of their delicious lamb entrees. And I’m not a coffee drinker, but my father, who introduced me to Abou Karim, and is an authority in these matters, says their turkish coffee is quite fine indeed.

This place gets the stamp of approval from my immediate friends, friends of friends and family: Ann, Mike, Dorothy, Donia, Paul, Steve, and Daniel. I give it a hearty 10 out of 10.

You can find Abou Karim at 221 SW Pine in Portland. They’re not open on Sundays (if I remember correctly), and they sell some of their food here in Eugene at Wild Oats and PC Market of Choice. They cater. They satisfy the tummy. They rock. 503-223-5058