Back to the Jelly Bean Mines

Vacation time is coming to an end, finally.

Before leaving for Texas to see Family and Friend, I had an interview across town on the West Side. They were calling me in for a position that, honestly, did not interest me at all; especially since a more interesting show is starting right down the hall.

On the drive over, since I was already on the way, they called and said another show wanted to talk to me; the show I really wanted to be on. Short story short, I got the job painting the red jelly beans - which is what I was hoping for - instead of painting the green ones; work is work, but some jelly beans are obviously way better than others. Way better.

This is sort of a big deal. The more California work I get, the more contacts I make, and the more legit I become. I came out here for a reason and getting a position at another big shop is a big deal towards vindicating decisions at brought me here in the first place.

Tomorrow I test drive the commute.

Oil and Water

I was going to sit with the passing of Coach Michael for a few days and then write more on it, but can't frame my thoughts the way they need to be on this. This is all I got.

As a player, starting at age seven, I went through a handful of coaches that each knowingly, or unknowingly in his case, helped create the foundation for the evolving set of rules by which I chose to live my life; led by example, by what to do, or not to do, these men were mentors - whether they, or I, chose to acknowledge that fact or not. At a time when I was closing the soccer chapter, rather ungracefully at times (burn Beaumont, burn!) and displacing one passion for another, he was there; bearing witness to the pinnacle of my skill, and sometimes, the valley of my maturity. He complimented me once in those four years, at the end, when I had mentally lockered the cleats for the last time and was just going through the motions. It was too little, too late, and not enough to bring me back from where I was going, but that one compliment will always stick with me. Thanks Ted.



*A quote from a friend*

"The news that ol' Ted had died shocked me this morning... we were fun loving drunkards who could be lousy soccer players and jack ass kids. We were the perfect dysfunctional fit as coach and players in a beautifully dysfunctional time period. It all worked so well. Ted even unknowingly sponsoring every Helen St. party as we stole everything out of his garage fridge at least once every two months. the secret ingredient to beaver juice was whatever Ted had."

Six Two Stack Beaver

SHSU Mid-90s BearKats

RIP - Coach Ted Michael

Trash Truck Hill

One of the things I do to occupy myself while I'm not working is exercise. I don't need much to be full filled, anymore, but I still need it to properly function as myself. It's easy to forget the more I sink into an end-of-show-crunch, or the more I get dependent on this computer for my daily activities. Damn you computer, damn you! Only if I could instantaneously blog from my mind, bypassing the keyboard. No, no. Haha, what a horrible idea that would be. Filtration is my friend.

I've been invited to play Ultimate Frisbee with some of the Disney folk twice a week and it's proven to be a godsend. It's funny how getting back to the basics can be settling. Running. Who would have thought. I just needed a reminder.

I am opposed to running. I have had plenty of that by way of soccer training the majority of my young life and can't stand the thought of jogging for the sake of jogging; especially without attaching a loftier objective to the process. Without the game it's just pointless circle making; bores my mind. Although I still do it out of habit.

Back to nostalgic comfort zones. Frisbee is just like soccer for the most part. Which I do, did, pretty well, and the transition was not difficult. I can't throw for horse hockey, but the fields are small and my noodle arms rarely betray me as long as I play within myself. Competition does wonders for my level of motivation. Something about it stirs my core, and it's always been a force that'll put me in motion.

Sweat in my eyes; snot on my sleeve; mud on my knees. It feels good to let the exertion take over an over processed mind. The days following Thanksgiving kind of sucked in that way they do when metaphorically you stub your toe; repeatedly, over and over again; when you can no longer tell if you're just unlucky and clumsy, or if the Universe has it out for you. Those situations tend to landslide, and each misstep renders a little spilled milk to be a bigger deal than it needs to be.

I rode to the top of Trash Truck Hill with my friend Andrew today; a ride around an hour up and fifteen down. I feel like I've turned the corner on that funk. Take that Universe.

Tomorrow, more frisbee.

And there it was.

Thunder. Faint, but I heard it.

Now The Darjeeling Limited.

And again! It's my luck night.

Jello.

I just opened my window to confirm what I thought I heard: Rain. It's especially appropriate on a day that had me thinking about Vancouver. For something that ran me out of town, it is very nice to hear again; now only for a clap of thunder. Wait for it... and..... nothing.....

I'm especially tired this evening. Had a mountain bike ride yesterday and then played Ultimate frisbee with the Disney peeps today; after that, I spent the afternoon wrenching on the bridge of a song that I just can't get right. It's a puzzle where I know the needed piece is on the table, probably upside down, but I just... can't... quiet... make... it... work. Body and mind are Jello.

Ya know, if I could sing it would be much easier; but that's one thing I was not blessed with. It's irriating that I have to depend on someone else in that regard; it's just another obstacle, and unfortunatley, a necessary part of the process.

Now it's time to open that little red envelope I get every few days. Biking, song, Netflix. I hope retirement is this good.

Saturday morning. Coffee. Tron. Blogging. 9:15.

My apartment is upstairs between two families with little children; each apartment is on the other extreme of my side, and I'm smack in the middle. Every early evening, the kids get together in the courtyard that gates my building to run around and scream in little sing-songy voices. As they sprint back and forth, back and forth, repeatedly, between their apartments, my whole side of the building shakes in that non-private way that apartments do. Shaking walkway right by my windows, screaming childern, oh the fun; but whatever, kids having fun - that's all it is. Have at it.

(I was always bummed out when RAM rezzed; always thought he was a good sidekick to Flynn and Tron. Dang it, come on weak signal give me some love... )

The carnival outside my window intensivified when they discovered Simon; all of a sudden my apartment became some sort of haunted petting zoo. They would run up to the window, see my cat, and then run off screaming louder than I previously thought possible.

Yesterday they poked him through the window screen where he, predictably, popped the screen in return and let out a warning hiss. Mayhem. Children scattered.

"Good boy," I said, then wondered if I'm turning into the "get off my lawn!" guy.

#And now my affinity for spilling water on, or near, computers is starting to piss me off.

End of line.

Moonlight Drive

In my world, time is a funny thing. Either there is not enough, or too much; am currently close to redlining on too much. I have not been able to transform my sleeping patterns to the nocturnal sort, so it's usually up early, just like I am going to work; and then in bed as usual, reading, at the end of the evening. One is certainly not going to be channel the soul of Jim Morrison doing it that way; perhaps if I start working on the West Side and moved to Venice beach...

But I wander this morning in unorganized thought. It's early.

So I fill my time with self improvement projects during the day and the organization of my material possessions during breaks. It's more like OCD "straightening," but it passes the time. It's a self sufficiency thing that I can't really explain; plus compulsive organization doesn't spend any of my savings.

But back to what I've really been doing; the important stuff.. I'm taking this time to reconnect with all my stray hobbies. The ones you lose track of when living too much in one direction; when you're not allowed to wander for the sake of it. Drawing, instructional reading, strumming, jogging, etc. Those are the things worth getting up early for; and apparently, this morning, blogging.

I've been having spiders in the apartment.

Finally! The Green Tea must have fired an extra neuron. Holga.

It's a camera I just bought; one of those self improvement things I was talking about. The Holga is a cheaply manufactured, very lo-fi, camera whose imperfections can make for really great imagery. I took some photography in college but my lowly attention to technical detail and overall lack of focus produced some promising shots, but mostly trash. The manual settings on this camera are very limited, and even if all circumstances, technically and artistically, come together in one moment, this camera has an unpredictability that will disregard what I think I am seeing; which is exactly what I need at a time when the rigors of routine, even self-imposed improvement, get stale.

10:02.