Life has been so great lately that it’s hard to summarize or retell as a story, but it’s been full of things I want to write about.  I’ll jot down this purge of memories from the week and elaborate on them later, maybe.

The measurements marked by the door at Cumberland Farms so the employee can get an accurate description of the height of the person that just robbed the store blind.  I hit the 5 foot 7 inch mark when I walk out (and that’s an inch taller than I really am).

I watched a man get dressed after taking a shower and as he pulled on his white boxer shorts he told me “They gave these to me in jail.”  Rather than run away, I was very much intrigued.

I met the 1975 New Hampshire State bowling champion!  He has a mullet and is named after an animal.  Over the 6th beer he bought me, I eagerly listened to why his 5th marriage failed.

I like when my legs feel strong and my body is covered in mud as I pedal hard for hours on my bike.

Sitting in a bubble bath with my friend, we were discussing life in 10 years.  He commented when that time arrives he “hopes my robot is nice to me”.



August 22, 2008

The back of a frozen pizza says: “Do not eat without cooking”

No shit.  Though, if someone is dumb enough to take a bite out of a frozen pizza, they’re probably not going to be spending time reading the fine print on the back of the box anyway.

Really, do we need all of these reminders and tidbits of advice that I think are common sense, or at least should be.


August 20, 2008

The last few days of summer are closing in on me.  The air is already starting to feel cool in the evening and the darkness creeps in earlier.  Armed in knee-socks I hit the streets, on a mission.  I’ve discovered that inside my tightly pulled up socks I can stash my I.D., phone, some cash and my key.  Ah, the freedom of nothing to carry.  

Lately there is an urgency in the air and I approach the days as if there is not enough time.  Not enough time to fit it all in and no time for regret.  I fly around town on my bike, I try not to use my brakes but sometimes I get scared and slow down.  I wander through the woods or climb up the mountain with sweat pouring off of me.  I like the sting of mosquitos.  The glow of fireflies.  I make-out with men in the basement of bars.  I help the bartender re-stock and clean-up in exchange for free after hours drinks.  I met a beautiful trapeze artist with a bruise on her belly from the metal bar.  I often wake up in a downtown apartment with the morning sun streaming through the tall windows.  I help people bathe, throw-up and listen to them cry.  I dance with strangers to the juke-box.  I try to stay outside of my apartment because it gets lonely in here.  I find people to bowl with, and bowl a damn good game!  I will never get sick of Dance Dance Revolution.  I help with building a house.  I tickle my niece and wonder when I’ll have a kid of my own.  I climb on top of cop cars and pose for photos while the cop shakes his head and giggles.  I fall for people then I throw things at them.

marked, not with ink

August 12, 2008

We are not tattooed, but marked.  Marked by something much deeper than ink.

Ingestion of caffeine, alcohol and water transform themselves into sweat, tears and blood.

We are pure, poor souls trying to survive in a toxic rich world.

Food costs too much right now and slows us down, besides we’re hungry for something else.

I need something simple, but my mind is too complicated to be satisfied with simplicity.

slow down

August 5, 2008

ah, I can take a breath.

I’m house sitting right now and I need to be here.  Hidden away from the bars and fun people of Brattleboro.  Nestled in a cozy house, cut off from cell phone reception and late night knocks at my door.  Here I can sleep with the shades drawn until the sun is blazing outside, alone.  Here I can recharge. 

I’d been running on god knows what lately and spending every last waking (and sleeping) minute with people.  I need some Jen time, just to be alone.  I’m sick of people that don’t listen when I talk because they’re too drunk.  sick of hung-over people.  No!  I will not wait 10 minutes while you pick your lazy stoned ass up off the floor and get dressed at 5:00pm.  I don’t have time for this shit, it’s getting old and I’ve got better things to do…

ode to Kyle

August 3, 2008

I love my brother for many reasons; but one of them is his DRIVE.  He tackles projects that make other people tired by just thinking about them.  He doesn’t just tackle them either; he does so with such passion and perfection.  Right now he’s building a house in his spare time.  I don’t mean some cookie cutter stupid house with hired big contractors on a perfect lot or anything like that.  I mean he started at the bottom of the ladder in the carpentry business, working his ass off and saving his money until he could buy a chunk of land.  A beautiful, rugged, rocky, hilly piece of land off a dirt road.  No mortgage, he proudly paid in full. 

Most people would see this land and never imagine being able to build a house on it.  He saw it though, he had a vision, a hell of a plan and has followed it through.  Before this land could be a place for a family to live legally, lots had to be done.  Blasting of rock, digging for water, building a septic system, hooking up electricity, creating a driveable road, etc.  He cut trees from the land and had them milled there; they’ll be beams in the house.  He created and drew up the plans right down to every last detail.

Now, with all that in place the actual building of the house could occur.  My brother gets up early in the morning, slipping out of the warmth of the sheets and comfort of his wife and baby and into the dark woods.  Alone with the mosquitos, stress and pressure he works on his house before going to his job.  His job where he’s underpaid for building second homes for rich out-of-staters.  After a full day of sweating and busting ass for unappreciative assholes he returns to his piece of land.  He works until it’s too dark to see.  He doesn’t have time for anything else, he’s under a deadline.  The bank has him by the balls, if he screws up he looses it all.  He never complains that he’s tired, that his bad back hurts, that his bad knee is killing him, that he doesn’t see his daughter or wife as much as he wants to.  He just goes and goes, he knows it’ll pay off.  

The definition of drive is: to send, expel, or otherwise cause to move by force or compulsion.  Against all odds, he’s creating his dream.  The only way to do this is by sheer force; nose to the grindstone and blinders on, seeing nothing but the finished product in your mind.  Focusing, believing and always staying two steps ahead.

There’s also this very wholesome, community-type aspect to this as well.  Friends and family stop by and help out when they can.  My Aunt and her friend have put in countless hours cutting boards, sanding, and doing whatever they can.  Yesterday a whole crew of people got together and we raised two monsterous walls.  Big strong men, younger kids, and goofballs like myself that have never done this before all lined up along the wall.  Quickly, we all bent down to the ground and grabbed hold, careful to not puncture our hands on the nails that were poking out and my brother yelled “okay, ready, up!”.  We all mustered up our strength and lifted, lifted while walking our hands along the length of the huge wall until it stood straight up.  We held it there praying it wouldn’t crash over the other side or fall back and crush us, while my brother armed with a nail gun ran around like a madman securing it in place.  

It’s amazing what people can accomplish when they get together and help one another out.  The seemingly impossible gets done.