Update

Ebay sales: Tipping $3,000
Motorcyle sold: $4,700
Truck: No takers
Element purchase: Pending
Soul: Crushed

Life beats down and crushes the soul, and Art reminds you that you have one.

- Stella Adler

Clay Retreat Last Weekend

Had a great time in Podunk Egypt last weekend. Here is a pic of the crib we rented:

It was awesome, needless to say, and we hung out and did spiritual looking stuff, like have Bible studies and heard sermons. It's sort of funny when you're cracking jokes with someone and five minutes later, he's preaching a sermon from his lawn chair right in front of you, but that was the format, and, as usual, I wasn't in charge.

There wasn't much going on around our cabin, but it didn't matter. Between eating, talking, playing games and enjoying sermons, there wasn't much time for anything else, like art. I brought my new set of oil paints, intending to try my hand at a medium I've been scared to try for years, but the opportunity never came. Instead, we went around the room drawing M&M's from a cup and telling stories based on their colors.

Funny, if you look around at other blogs, many people are blogging now, suddenly, after long hiatuses (hiati? No, that would be too close to Haiti), long periods of not writing. I guess it's time to chime in for everybody.

Ebay

So I sold like $1,000 worth of junk on eBay this week and it's all going away, including my awesome subwoofer and my killer backpack, which my mom paid $300 for 8 years ago on my birthday. Sorry, mom, it's gotta go. I'm also selling my V-Amp II for pennies on the dollar. Now there's a gadget! Hundreds of sounds for your guitar so you can sound real cool when you're playing in a band, which I don't do anymore. Plus it looks cool. (By the way, you're welcome to check out any of my auctions and bid) I had so much junk that people wanted, alarm crap from the last 7 years piled up in boxes. I arranged it all in groups and took pictures and people bid like thirty, forty bucks for them. eBay rules! I've tried to buy off eBay, but I always lose in the last second.

Review of First Chapter of How the Irish Saved Civilization, by Thomas Cahill

This is a book I've been afraid of since 1995, when I first tried to read it. Any book that begins by quoting Aristophiclesamayaphus in Latin first, then English for us dummies; any book that names dozens of rivers, valleys, cities and people of history, who are all dead, renamed, forgotten or built on by people who don't care, have never heard of, or just haven't studied that far into it; any book that takes two to three readings of each paragraph before you can swallow that the author is just trying to say that the Irish are forgotten, neglected, picked on, and underappreciated; any book that uses words like pussillanimity; I avoid.

But, years later, I have had a few history classes, read a bit, and know that Charlamagne was a tall guy, and the Roman Empire fell, slowly, for many different reasons. I'm a little more prepared, but still lost, and the paragraphs still look like Chinese the first and second readings through. However, on the third and fourth readings, there are some powerful revelations from Cahill. He says, quoting Edward Gibbon, that the decline of the Roman Empire was the natural and inevitable effect of immoderate greatness. They were so great, they stopped being great. Poets and artists grew in fame as their writing declined to bland, predictability. The government was top-heavy and existed for self-preservation. The old ideals of what it meant to be Roman were no longer clear, and fewer outsiders wanted to be Roman. The military no longer attracted high nobility, but anyone willing to live the hard life for a pittance. Rich landowners ruled politicians and the poor. And, because of all this, the Barbari, the barbarians, and their bands of raiders, stood at the gates.

Sound like a country we know?

Can't wait to swim through chapter 2, even though it feels like drying concrete.

I Don't Want to Do Anything Today

This is one of those days where you wish it would start raining or something so at least there's a reason not to go outside, but as of right now, there's no reason not to go outside and do something, I just don't want to. It would be good for me. But I don't want to. What's wrong with being genuinely happy, without having to "do" something? I can do something to feel happy and useful, but I just don't want to. I don't want to do anything. People know this about me. They say have you figured out what you want to do? And I say no. Most people, if I ask them, don't know what they want to do either. Can't we just do nothing? Why do we have to do something? Why do we need a title? I'm a lawyer. I'm a doctor. I'm a pastor. I'm a mechanic. I repair commercial espresso makers for Starbucks and I've got it made. I'm a baker, and I sell my pasties directly to delis all over Colorado. I'm a barrista. I'm a writer. I'm an artist. Those careers are usually questioned, unlike doctor and lawyer. We all know what doctor and lawyer mean, but when you say I'm a writer, I'm an artist, the natural progression is, have you had anything published? Are you actually successful, or did your mom tell you your writing was good and you call yourself a writer based solely on that?

Sixty Bucks

Today I got to work and realized, after unpacking my truck and moving everything into the house, that I had left tools in Arizona. This bugged me because they are perfectly good tools. The reality of my chances of ever seeing them again rushed into my head and showed on my face. I was enraged. I called the people in Arizona who said they hadn’t seen them, which was a waste of cellular minutes. I looked through my truck, which was also a waste of time. I told “Sparky” I’ll be back after I go and buy tools that I already own so watch my stuff, and if anyone tries to load it in their truck go ahead and help them, and we always tell each other that, jokingly, see ya in a few, bye.

I drove to my house, where I usually live, but I rented my room out to some girl, so I have to sneak around when I go there because I actually don’t live there. On my way, I yelled at God several times, my main point being that He is kicking me when I am down because I am down right now for several reasons, but won’t go into that now. I got to my house and I knew going in that the bag and toolbox I left there this morning didn’t contain my missing tools, but I stomped into the garage anyway, checked for my missing tools, then stomped out.

Next stop, Home Depot. I bought my tools all over again. The hammer was twenty and the stapler was thirty. I picked up some staples and a diet coke. Sixty bucks.