A Month Too Far

~ My ambition is only handicapped by my laziness - Charles Bukowski ~

OK, I do not blog at the same rate as everyone else - once or twice a day - but I have been busy, and at times this blogging thing feels too much like thesis work. I just wrote 130 goddamn pages on golf courses, suburbia, and semiotics... leave me the fuck alone!

Ah rage, in its finest form. So I have many ideas of things I want to write. Many about my Father, who is deceased, and how his wisdom still impacts my life. Right now I feel these thoughts are too personal and too involved to get into this mass media industry. I have developed some interesting ideas about life and personal connection since 9/5/2007 - things that both haunt and inspire me.

My latest thoughts have delved into the world I am currently situated within - Prescott, AZ. This is a very cliquey town - either a redneck or a hippie. I, of course, lean left; but I can not conscientiously adopt a hippie persona (no matter how good those non-showering, vegan eaters look).

Tonight, after adapting a wonderful shelving system for my bar, I sauntered into the Prescott downtown. I stopped first at an overpriced wine bar to sample both the atmosphere and the Scotch menu. I had a wonderful 18 year old Talisker - very Earthy (as peat should be) - that carried a strong aromatic of a hot coal driven back country fire. With a renewed sense of vigor, I ended up at a familar stomping grounds of the local hipster/ new age/ crunchy hang out in Prescott. As I sat there isolated from the liberal/ alternative throngs my mind wander on many things.. the bar project, the need for testosterone injections to increase my facial hair capacity, the idea that a few tattoos may attract a more supple female companion (or at least a female companion), and, finally, that everyone in this place is capable of more bullshit - built upon an accepted mountain of B.S. - than most politicians. I have developed a theory called "three seconds" the heart of which is based upon three seconds of conversation one may hear in any social setting. There are great stories in this idea, imagine all the things you hear in passing that can be developed into compelling stories of the human soul. Well in this place - as much as I enjoy the beer selection - I am astounding by the amount of bullshit that spews forth from the patrons. Not that I am not capable of my own BS, indeed I would willingly thrown down with some indiscriminate conversation if it meant a few minutes to sell myself. I am just amazed on how so many people buy into bullshit. I mean in a car salesman (and under typical story lines - a used car salesman) fed you a load of crap, would you buy? What are the percentages of flattery? or intrigue? or positive story telling? My faith in humanity is constantly questioned that invariably pushes me farther into the philosophies of P.T. Barnum.

I know this diatribe sounds acerbic and vengeful, but, in reality, I am just intrigued in the ebb and flow of humanity - especially in the social microcosm of a bar. But it is late, and I should go to sleep before this intrigue - and, OK, angst - spirals deeper into a post not just about humanity, but about my cynicism towards humanity.

A Memorable Chill

Prescott Weather: Freezing Rain/ Snow mix accumulation between 6 - 12 inches.

A dreary, bitter day on this unofficial American Holiday (the Super Bowl). The biting winds, a broken truck, and a lack of imagination have brought me back to my terrarium on this sacrosanct day of food and football. The streets of Prescott are abnormally quiet, perhaps due to the weather, the stringent DUI laws - or the sanctuary of an inviting abode replete with a wide-screen high-def television, revelers of multi-million dollar commercials, and, of course, Jan's famous Guacamole dip (three kinds of peppers, people!). Me, I'm not so into the celebration this year; but I did enjoy the serene street scene today. The fierce wind and stinging sleet transported me into a blissful mood. Many of my acquaintances will tell you that I am no fan of the Winter weather, that I pray for global warming and beaches in the middle of Nebraska; however, I do enjoy the guilty pleasure of such foreboding days. The ominous overcasts, the molesting precipitation, and the welcomed - albeit - eerie silence associated with such days thrusts me into a nostalgic mood. I think back to when I would commence in my daily sojourn to high school, especially when the infamous wind chills and ice storms reigned over the East Coast. The students who bussed into school usually arrived late. The fortunate product of inclement weather and horrible road conditions. I, of course, was not so lucky - unless KWY 1060 called out our school number, my ass was going to school. Those days meant hanging in the cafeteria with the few kids who, like me, lived in the unfortunate geographic location of a walking distance radius to school - the brave, the few, the spatially disadvantaged. It almost held the same negative social connotation of being foreign or unathletic in gym class when teams were being chosen. Great extra time to further procrastinate a History assignment and to contemplate the skirt lengths of the ever chaste Catholic School Girl. The mind of teenage boy cannot fathom any deeper meaning than Mary Kelly's obvious disregard for the three inches above the knee absolute. There are many positives unseen in the career of a Catholic School kid, this, fortunately, was one of them. However the message of this post was my isolated wandering during snow-driven weather. When you walk in these storms, you walk alone. Your mind is abuzz, darting from things said and done which could have been played differently. While walking from the proverbial A to B my mind would roam in a multitude of directions and ideas, and to this day still does. I look back on those quiet days as a start to an established career as a moseying, self-reflector. When I walk I shut out the world, my thoughts become as crisp and clear as the wind or snow that hurls itself at me with kamikaze-like zeal. In this vacuum of inclement weather I find a small space for reflection.