Man do I feel like a fool and

now is the time to remember some happy things.
(This is not an exhaustive list.)
Like:
*bird tracks in the snow
*belly laughs
*sunday nights at Rebar
*bench naps after lunch

It's funny how 3 of the 4 start with "b."

The blur

I'm no fan of cliche, unless, of course, it's intentional and ironic (effing plaid-shirting hipsters).
Like cell phone photos--I mean, come on, we've all seen a zillion too many blurry amateurish pictures of night-time neon and rainy pavement, snapped by effing photo-bombing hipsters.
GUILTY!
Okay now I'm shouting.
Anyway I posted some blurry amateurish blackberry photos (like this one of EMP) to BusySmartyPants:Tumblr.
Does this make me a cliche?
Wait, don't answer that. Just take a look.
PS don't miss the Punk Rock Flea Market this Saturday, I will be there fsho.

Snomg

It snowed a little Sunday and and some more on Monday.
Temperatures dropped. It got windy.
Seattle freaked out.
It's what we do.
A half inch of the white stuff and it's instant gridlock on I-5. A ten minute drive slows into a six hour nightmare commute. Schools close down. Metro chains up. Jim Forman suits up in enough Gore-Tex to outfit a division of Army Rangers.
Me, I stayed calm. Worse comes to worst, I can walk home from work. I stuck around, had drinks with a friend. Caught a bus to the Fortress of Solitude. Wrote for awhile. Waited around for the 30. Walked past a huge sledding party at the bottom of Queen Anne hill. Stopped in for hot toddies at the bar near my place and talked with another pal about art and sex and music. Shivered my way home around 1.30 and fired up the electric blanket. Talked to a tipsy friend on the phone at two a.m. until we were both too sleepy to continue.
A chill, yet cozy evening.
------------
Snomg ht

Writing haps of late

So, one of my stories, "Death, Blood and the Resurrection," was published in Portland Review over the summer.
I only found out last week, and being that Summer 2010 is receding roadkill in our collective rearview mirror, this means that Issue 57 is no longer available at your local newsstand.
But you can click here and read a scanned copy.
I hope you like it.

180 minutes chez Charles de Gaulle

I had a 3-hour layover at Charles de Gaulle airport on my journey home recently. After breakfasting on croissant and cafe au lait, I hit duty free for vodka and limoncello, scored biscuits from Fauchon and some calissons de provence, and had time to wander around snapping pictures.
There are worse ways to spend 180 minutes.
Peep my photos on busysmartypants:tumblr.

Remain calm

Today I ask myself, what have I learned?
The answer is, not much.
I wish I wasn't such a slow learner.
Why do I keep doing stupid shit? Why can't I be chill and generous, always?
What might it feel like if someone carved their declaration of love for me, passionate German cut into a railing at Victoria Falls?
Nina, ich liebe dich, bebi.
There is much to be gained by remaining calm.

Seen. Felt.

From Metro the other night.
A bright smeary rainy blur.
I snapped the image with my phone.
A couple of days later, I sent it to a friend.
This photograph has a story, an arc.
It is more emotional than I, but I, I have more texture.
Re: depth, the jury is still out.