Tuesday, June 29, 2010

The List

I have a list of things I need to do more of, and that list looks like this:

1.) photography walk-abouts
2.) read novels
3.) exercise
4.) write short stories
5.) remember birthdays
6.) be happier
7.) save money
8.) drink more water
9.) drink less liquor
10.) finish watching Battlestar Galactica
11.) build dvd shelves

There is nothing wrong with this list, it's easily achievable. All I gotta do is focus on #9 and the rest is easy! Haha, speaking of which.. I bought a 7 dollar bottle of Mojito mixer to accompany my fifth of Monopolowa Vodka and let me tell you... yum! I like 'em. I've been knocking back Gin & Tonics for so long I forgot how tasty other drinks can be.

Now, let's discuss #2 on the list. I recently started reading a book that I think is going to be eye opening. I'm only on chapter 2 and already I'm discovering some very intriguing things about the many varying factors of what creates successful people. The book I'm reading is:
I'm gonna go ahead and make a premature recommendation and say READ THIS BOOK. If it's this fascinating already I can only imagine what more I will learn.

#1 on the list has been going miserably. I definitely don't get out enough with my camera, there's no question about that, so I shouldn't be disappointed or surprised when I do go out and snap a bunch of shots and none of them turn out very well. I've already learned from reading Outliers that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to master something. If I had to guess I'd say I have about 9,991 hours of photography sessions to go. Haha, you laugh, but it's no joke!

I've been shooting a lot of pool at Ringo's lately. I'm getting decent, but still have miles of green felt to go. Or should I say, I have about 9,982 hours of practice to go? Can you tell that book is on my mind? Yep, I'm telling ya. The above pic was taken with my shitty cell phone, and I'm a little pissed because I was supposed to have my new Google Droid Incredible by now, but the Verizon guy never called me back to let me know when the new shipment came in. I have a feeling I'll be waiting another couple weeks now, grr... When I finally do get it I'll be snapping some pretty sweet blog pics and maybe even blogging from my phone frequently. I imagine with a smart phone blogging is a breeze, we'll see. All I hafta do is get one and find out, huh.

Well that's a wrap, I'm going to work on #10 right now and call it a night. Frackin' A!

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Love Letter

"I'm so hungry right now I could eat my right arm and possibly part of the left." Edgar thought as he staggered along the sidewalk that joined Center Street. It was a typical Saturday night in Salem, wet and unyielding, a displeasure to the senses. The entire consciousness of the planet spoke to him as he walked on, buzzed by a local home brew offered to him earlier that night. Just ahead a cat darted out from behind a dumpster and tore off across the street, nearly flattened by oncoming traffic. Edgar watched as a blue Nissan skidded slightly in response to the instinctive (but wrong) brake tapping on wet roads. The driver, unaware of the proper actions associated with safe driving, freaked out from the sudden loss of control and over-corrected by steering sharply to the right, which sent the sedan bouncing onto the sidewalk and into a United States Post Office mailbox. You know, one of those big blue ones, sturdy steel bolted four inches into the concrete.

"Jesus lord and mercy" Edgar said as the driver's door opened and a lady stepped out to inspect damage. The day's rain had turned into a simple drizzle, and now the mixture of fog and mist that hung overhead created a noir effect in the streetlamps that illuminated the scene. She wore a white tube skirt that she didn't bother adjusting as she exited her car. She walked to the front and stood there looking down as the left headlight shone brightly, reflecting off the metallic blue of the mailbox, creating a lovely silhouette of her body on the brick wall next to her.

"Jesus lord and mercy" he thought again, while noticing the wrinkles in her skirt that needed patted down and the sideways shift of her blouse that revealed the disorder of her given situation. She was magnificent and bewildered, an angel hovering above the tragedy. God sent the cat across the street and now Edgar was enamored by this creation of chaos. She didn't even know he was there, as he fished a smoke from a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket and put one to his lips. He tilted his head to the left and cupped his hand over it as he thumbed the flint wheel of his lighter.

The sound startled the girl and she turned around. The swoosh of intermittent wipers across a semi-dry windshield created a squeaky dragging sound that startled her yet again, causing her to jump just a little. She was a glorious mess, aggravation and uncertainty clung to her face as she stared into Edgar's eyes. Her car was still running and the cat had long since disappeared into the night. "Fuck I could use a smoke, I just hit a mailbox!" she blurted as Edgar exhaled and handed her his cigarette.

She eagerly accepted and put it to her mouth with a trembling hand. Her other arm curled across her belly and supported the elbow of her smoking arm as she stood there looking on, "Thanks for that, I mean really. I gotta get off the sidewalk, this is no place to park a car." Her eyes were searching for something, maybe a sign of acceptance or trust, or a glimpse of humor or complexion. Edgar remained unflinching for a few moments longer, then he suddenly let loose a roaring laugh that erased all sensibility. Time slowed down and watched as a girl and boy stood on a sidewalk together, two strangers meeting for the first time under uncommon circumstance. His laughter had triggered something inside of her, and she too began laughing.

"Why are these damn things even still around? It's twenty-ten for God's sake! Everyone uses email to send letters these days!" she managed to say between fits of uncontrollable laughter. "And look, it didn't even budge. The damn thing is really in there!"

The laughter continued for another minute and eventually Edgar was able to reply, "It's the one branch of government they swear works well, they wanna make sure they got 'em secured to the sidewalks to prove their theory." More laughter followed with the sharing of the cigarette between them. They smiled at each other as she tossed the spent butt onto the ground and Edgar smashed it out with the heel of his shoe. "My name's Edgar." He reached out his hand and she shook it. Her hand was no longer trembling, it was warm and polite and inviting.

"I'm Heather, thanks for making all of this more amusing. I needed that." she said as she turned back towards the wreck.

"Your car is okay, Heather, barely a dent. You basically gave it a kindergarten kiss with the mailbox." Edgar replied as he walked over and squatted down for a closer inspection. Her waist was next to his face as he dazed into the hazy headlights. The consciousness of her inner being whispered to him from within layers of tight fabric and woven advertisement. She was dressed to impress and all of the lustful thoughts from earlier in her night still followed her. She stood there with the stare of a dozen men still lurking, still waiting to be let in. Her body is a firework ready to explode in an array of dazzling colors, ready to light up the nighttime sky. She drives through life with power, persuasion and purpose, but is unsure of herself behind the wheel. She wants someone else to lead her, to take her by the hand, to drive for her so she doesn't end up crashed on sidewalks.

"Well I gotta get home still, this wasn't a planned stop. Do you need a lift somewhere, Edge?" she asked with a wink and a smile as he stood and straightened himself.

He stared at her for a moment before answering, "You are the most beautiful wreck I've ever seen. Tonight I learned about love and mailboxes, and how both are going to be around for a very long time. I saw a cat dance with death in a wet Oregon street, and time stand still for two strangers. I saw one man's journey intersect with another girl's beauty and I'll always remember tonight, and the way your lights brightened up this street for an evening, and how we laughed when we could have cried. I saw a friend on either end of a cigarette, smiling from their hearts. I saw a blue car parked sideways, begging to be rescued. I saw an angel exit and unfold her wings and a man simplified within her shadow. Go home now, Heather, be safe and remember tonight forever."

A tear formed in her eye and she began crying. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek and said, "You were wrong about one thing, dear.. the tears." She smiled lustrously and climbed back into her car. She put her hand up to the glass and through the foggy window she waved goodbye using just her fingertips as she reversed out onto the street and then sped away.

Edgar stood there for a moment taking in the brand new silence. Within minutes he could again hear the voice of the planet and the minds of a billion others getting busy with life. Satisfied, he turned and walked past the mailbox, continued down the sidewalk and disappeared into the night thinking, "Damn, I'm still pretty hungry."

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Mercury Rising

It didn't take long for things to heat up in Salem, wow! And boy is it hot in my upstairs half of this old house. I'm telling ya, just sitting still produces sweat. It's miserable, like over 100 degrees of misery inside and around 82 degrees outside. I have quickly figured out that living here through the summer will be impossible without one of those portable AC units. I've already price checked them and I'm looking at 400 bucks for one that will properly fend off the invasive heat. My plan is to resell the sofa and love seat (hopefully over the weekend to a coworker) and use the money to buy the AC. It's so hot I'm falling asleep while typing this. I have a box fan situated about 8 feet away and it feels like a dog panting on me. There are zero shade trees here and the sun is baking this house from the outside in. I am being cooked.

Here's the furniture set that I bought and can't use:
Pretty nice, huh? It's gonna look great in someone else's living room, sigh.

I had planned on writing a much longer blog, but this heat truly is unbearable. I'm going to jump in the shower and head on down to Ringo's (my favorite bar) for trivia night. I will drink many beers, play trivia, shoot a few games of pool and enjoy the hell out of their AC the whole time I'm there. If any of you are locals, by all means come on down. The first and last pitcher is on my tab and I'll rack 'em, you crack 'em. See you there.

Friday, June 18, 2010

New Path

new path
by Mick Tomlinson

and so I wonder
as I sit there pounding out my feelings
ten syllables at a time,
elbows dug into armrests,
thoughts dropping like acid.
she is a nice lady,
she studied overseas where gold
kept a country out of war,
where Jung sought new areas
to explore.

these will be the days
these will be the days

the scent of a chemical toilet,
that's the smell of self discovery.
I'm diving in deep,
I am thin and filthy and full of secrets,
I'm trying to get clean.
across from me she listens intently,
constantly scribbling little mysteries
into her notebook.
she is thin and pretty and full of secrets-
I'm one of them.

I've got raisins in my pocket
for the dog next door,
the one that never bites, but looks stupidly
up at trees, waiting for birds to fly.
he prefers raisins over dog food,
which is good because I can't stand the smell
of dog food-flavored pockets.

the only thing worse, maybe, is
the smell of a chemical toilet.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

DT Baby!

I got pulled for a random U.A. at work today, balls. Now, before I tell you why this drug test turned into a big deal I'll begin by saying that once upon a time I used to sweat these kind of tests for real. Yes, ladies and gentlefuckers, I used to smoke weed. A lot. It seems like forever and a day ago since the last time I blazed up, but I used to smoke copious amounts of bud every single day. The heck, I used to buy so much that I'd sell bags to my friends. I guess that sort of means I used to be a drug dealer too, imagine that. I'm pretty sure this revelation would blow the minds of my current coworkers, I have a feeling none of them have even been into a fist fight, and here I come along, Mr. Rebel Without A Cause, here to disrupt their good senses with my hard elbow to the throat of society. Sometimes I wonder what they really think about me. Wow, how was that for a derail of thought?

Ok, back to my story. So I got selected to piss into a cup after work today. Hey, no problem, I can pass with flying colors this day and age. Here's where the story gets a lil funky town though. I had Taco Bell for lunch, and by the time I was clocking out from work my ass felt like a tambourine on fire, you know. Oh man I had to let it loose! But I also had to drive over to the piss shop and pee in a cup, this was a problem. I wasn't sure what to do, really. Everyone knows that when you do number 1 you always do number 2 simultaneously. And there's no way to do number 1 without doing number 2 if you have to do number 2, so basically I was in a shitty situation (heh).

I drove over to the pee-in-cup-place and walked inside with papers in hand. The lady at the desk told me to wait over there ------> so I did. After a few minutes she walked me to the back where the business would get done. She went through her lengthy spiel (all-the-while I was squeezing back a Cleveland Steamer ready to shoot loose) and asked me if I had any questions. I answered by saying, "I have to take a gigantic shit. I've been holding this beast in for the past hour, unbeknownst to me that I was going to have to piss into your cup after work today. I don't know what to do. I know that when I begin pissing the shit will surely follow, any advice?"

The lady's eyes locked onto my own in a terrified manner, I could tell she was slightly uncomfortable with the words I just spoke to her. Struggling, she replied "Um, I have to look at the temperature of your urine right after you submit it, so I guess just hand it out to me as soon as you're through." I could tell she was dreading the impending exchange of bodily fluids, but I am not Jesus, I perform no miracles. I told her I'd hand my piss out the door as soon as I was done. Embarrassing for the both of us, I'm sure. Ugh, what a dreadful occurrence.

I sat down, I pissed, I shit, I cracked opened the door and handed her the piss-in-a-cup, and quickly closed the door again to block out the uncomfortable sadness.

Hey remember that furniture I was so excited about getting? Yeah, well I got it and brought it back to my apartment and it didn't fit through the doorway into my room. What a major disappointment. I feel like moving into a different place, a place with regular sized doorways. Or I feel like demolishing this ghetto fabulous house I live in. Either way, here are the many pillows and cushions from the sofa/love seat set piled high on my bed: And here is the sofa and love seat tetris'd together at my friend's spare room: Nice huh!

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Host With The Most

I'm a little disappointed that I wasn't able to get my new furniture moved in beforehand. I scored an amazing deal on a sofa and love seat off of Craigslist. A rich family in South Salem purchased a $3,600 living room set not too long ago and it just so happens their son is allergic to down, so they decided to sell the set dirt cheap: $600. I looked at the pictures and I couldn't believe they were really selling them for so little, so I emailed the guy and low-balled him to 550, lol. Yesterday I was supposed to meet him at noon with the money, but I ran into a problem- my bank ATM would only allow me to get 500 bucks out. After that I was denied withdraws from every bank ATM. So I showed up at his house and explained the situation. He was really nice about it and let me put a cash deposit down (with a written receipt) and is holding it until Monday. I'll take new pictures of my place once I get the new furniture moved in.

It's almost 1 o'clock and my friend will be here in 45 minutes. I feel like I should make kool-aid or something. Is that what you'd do? Here's what my fridge currently looks like:I'm thinking I should probably make some juice. I have beer in there, but she doesn't even drink. Now hang on, I already know what you're thinking and calm down, contrary to popular belief I can hang out with sober people. Everything's going to be fine, calm down.

Alright I'm back, I didn't make the juice because I don't have any, lol. Sheesh, I suddenly realize that I have nothing to offer her when she gets here. My kitchen has 'single dude lives here' written all over it. I could have planned that a little better, sigh. I went over to my co-worker's house last night and watched the UFC fight. That was fucking awesome! So many good fights, and the main event went exactly as I thought it would: Rich Franklin beat the hell out of Chuck Liddell, knocked his ass out cold... and he did it all with a broken arm! I'm serious, early in the fight he blocked a kick from Liddell and the impact fractured his arm. In an interview afterwards he said he could hear the bones clicking together, and yet he powered through it and won the fight. I am amazed at what the human body can endure, it's crazy.

Ok, I should stop writing and get ready for my friend. Oh and by-the-way, did I mention I started dating again? Oh man, talk about being out of practice! I have no idea what I'm doing, so wish me luck on that part of my life too. Adios amigos!

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Epsom Rescue 101

Last week was partly shitty with scattered fun throughout. My work week started off rather badly and gradually worsened, here's why. On Monday I was scheduled to do deliveries, and for those of you not in the bizz, that means I drove around in a pick-up truck with a trailer delivering (or bringing in) garbage cans (etc) to customers. On one of my stops I was supposed to bring in a 1 yard container that a customer no longer needed. Well the damn thing was completely full of garbage and it weighed more than John & Kate plus 8's entire family combined, including pets. Being the stubborn individual that I am, I attempted to wheel it onto the trailer fully loaded (instead of waiting for my co-worker to empty it first). Bad idea. During my second attempt I felt my lower back muscle tighten into a knot and frown. It was mad at me, but the feeling was mutual. It was all my fault though, I should definitely work out more.

Throughout the rest of the week I had to drive around in a rear loader picking up piles of various materials and sizes from customers. Under normal circumstances I don't mind so much, but my back was throbbing and aching from Monday's incident and I knew I was in for some trouble. Several of the piles were giant mounds of dirt and sod that had to be shoveled and/or pitchforked into the back of the truck. This is where I got into trouble. I was standing on a sidewalk doing the aforementioned motion when I unknowingly turned and stepped abruptly off the curb onto the street. DAMN THE PAIN! Oh it was bad, everything hurt. Luckily it was Friday so all I had to do was suffer through two more piles and I could clock out and get to my chiropractor. I managed to clock out at 1:30 and I went straight there, but as luck would have it he was out of his office until Monday.

Great, what now? I hobbled home, shaved and showered, and went to my 3:30 psychiatrist session in severe pain. She noticed I was in obvious pain the way I entered the room and sat down, and after I told her what happened she advised me to go to a massage therapist directly after our analysis. Hot damn, I love great advice! So I thanked her, hobbled out to my car, and began calling all of the local massage parlors. As luck would have it, they were all booked solid. DAMN THE PAIN! The last girl I talked to was sympathetic to my pain and was very apologetic that she couldn't see me immediately, but she gave me some great advice: go get some Epsom salt, draw a very hot bath, pour in the salt and soak in it, get out, do light stretching, put a Bengay muscle relief patch on and rest. Hot damn, I love great advice! But as luck would have it, the bathtub in my new apartment doesn't have a built in drain stopper, and of course there wasn't a tub plug anywhere to be found. Grrr! So I had to pull off some serious MacGyver shit in order to take my therapeutic bath: I got an unopened can of corn from the cupboard and a sandwich baggy and used them both to plug the drain. And it worked, lol.

Let me tell you something, fellow bloggers, Epsom salt baths and Bengay patches are an absolutely phenomenal way to recover from a muscle injury! Here it is only two days later and I'm feeling better than I would've had I gone to see my chiropractor. And I got out a helluva lot cheaper too! Three visits to him over the span of a week at 20 bucks a pop compared to 10 bucks for the salt and patches and instant recovery. I'm so thankful to that massage girl for her helpful advice. I'm going to make it a point to buy a massage from her in the future and support her business and thank her personally. Hot damn, I say!

New Place

new place
by Mick Tomlinson

I'm in this new place now
surrounded by clocks and bricks
and mortar and time,
all falling apart while looking good
in the process.
they built it up just so they could
watch it go down,
and in the meantime I will come here
like a puppy to the puddle to play
and all the others will come here too.

we will dance on fire center stage,
we will bastardize the microphone,
we will fuck the Wives of the Willamette (WOW!)
and sit very quietly afterwards.

all of this is meaningless
unless of course you're me
sitting here in this seamless dream
waiting for someone to shake you awake,
waiting for the table to crash
under the weight of two ancient elbows.

you see,
I'm in this new place now
wondering when it will happen.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010


in his world of crack, grey inside
the color of broken microphones-
everything has to be
shouted out and thinned to a
verbal veneer.
empty? empty? sort of stuck
and pushed to the rear.
he's just now getting started,
and the muscled arms of
four friends will join in brevity
beneath the bridge
his father built-
masculinity shrinking,
disarmed and tossed into the mud.
he stands there
with his poetry looking down,
while the others are noiseless rubber
stretched over false egos.
it is these four men
and all their missiles pointed upward
that makes this place so trying.

by Mick Tomlinson