Portland T-Chart

Dear Leah (haven't done that in a while),

It occurred to me that I never did a T-chart for moving to Portland, so here it is. I don't have graphics, so it will have to be pluses and minuses:

Pluses: Old houses with wood floors and squeaky doors, urban but cheap living, organic co-op gardens (I hope), walking distance to libraries and cafe's which has never been the case, Christian hippies, communal living, lots of cool churches in the area, okay to be myself and to have a dream instead of a good job with a title, married and rich (not that there's anything wrong with those things), maybe I'll meet a nice chick up there you never know; lot's of art, writers are not looked at as people who should get jobs, I can still snowboard, except now add to that salmon fishing, the ocean, Seattle is closer, Hood Canal, Uncle Wes, crabbing, oysters, all seafood, maybe I can get in shape; it will be my town because no family lives there, so it's my idea to live there. If I get licensed to wire houses, there'll be tons of work, right? Because it's so hard to get licensed? Rain, gotta love rain.

Minuses: Big pay cut, gotta face it; might take a month to get licensed to wire houses -- which maybe I'll just give that up altogether and write and shlep coffee somewhere, which will mean big pay cut, gotta face it; New, I hate being new, I have to sit quietly and hear stories of all the things people did before I was around and it takes about two years to be somewhere long enough to be in a story; hard to keep up with young, witty, smart people; Christian walk isn't what it used to be in seminary -- do I need to be perfect first, or can I grow while up there? Seattle is closer (where Dad lives) and I'll be obligated to see him, which might be good in the end; along those lines, I still have to face all my demons; Rain, who likes rain?

Portland might be a whole new epoch for me, and I'm open to it, heck, I'm excited. I feel like Ethan Hawke when he fanagled his way to Mars, except, like Ethan, I'm pretty much cheating my way along. I ain't the real thing. First educated one in my family. Come from working class, gentile-type, loggers and deli-owning immigrants. Everyone wonders about me, everyone has a suggestion about what I should be. "You should be a chef. You should move to Ireland. You should start an alarm company." Nope, I'm satisfied driving around, chasing work, writing my short stories, novels, scripts, plays, blog entries, etc. Some get published, most don't, and that's cool.

Hey, I've already met some cool people up there, namely Chad, who seems like that guy who comes over and drags your depressed ass out of bed, splashes water on you, and makes you go hit the town, and you feel better for it. He goes to Evergreen Life, which is a church that meets at the Luckly Lab brewery and consists of lots of community houses and what not -- all interesting things we tried doing years back but never got off the ground. I'll be checking in with Chad next week, then borrowing his room, while he's out of town, and scoping out the scene up there. At least I can see if it's for me and God can't steer a parked car, so I'll move around a little and see where He steers. So far my whole summer has gone as planned, I just haven't made near as much money as I thought. haha.

The road from Cool to Auburn...

...goes down three miles and back up three and has fifty billion curves, some 15mph, some 10, and so I see this log truck down at the bottom nudging his way up towards Auburn and he's totally full of huge, long logs, I count like 28, and he's in first gear because he can't go any faster than about one mile-per-hour all the way up the hill out of Auburn Ravine

...and in my CD rotation for about the last five years has been this CD, by lauryn hill, which I love (except that now it's starting to skip) and it's a double, and most of the songs reveal some kind of Christian transformation, just by her mention of God and so many Christian tag words and even some scriptures...

(by the way, instead of buying a new CD, I'll hold on to this one, like when my sister's record player batteries ran low and she wouldn't let anyone replace them, but instead, would hold on tightly and all you could hear was, "puuuuuufffff ttthhheeeeee maaaaggggiiiiccc Drrraaaaggggooooonnnnn..." in that slo-mo voice... that's how I am sometimes about things I should let go of.)

So I watch this truck, like he's huge, going one mile-an-hour with cars stacking up behind him, and start to think, "what are my logs? what am I hauling 28 of that I can let go and let roll down the hill because I'm going one mile-per-hour sometimes, but not to a logyard?" This is a stretch, but maybe it's Jesus' job to be a log truck and to haul our shit up the Ravine, three miles to Auburn, where dozens of banks competed with Placerville to store the most gold about 150 years ago, not that that's related, but a lot of gold must have been trudged up that same hill.

Maybe Jesus wants the job, which I often do myself, and just about the time the truck comes to the passing lane and lets all of us zippy, unburdened cars drive by, Lauryn says, "your will is a gift and everytime you submit your will to somebody else, a part of you dies." Which she's right when she puts it that way, and I think a lot of me had died many times.

***

Here's me and my FZ1, which I sold a month ago, but I long to ride her again, my baby, 135 mph up many curvy roads and long highways and pass many log trucks along the way. That's my riding buddy's Virago next to me. I'll try to scare up a picture of her, too...here's Debzers. I miss those days, especially Deb's homemade birthday card with "mathosaurus" stickers on it, 'cause she's a huge math genius/auditor for some outfit in Denver - props girl!

Writing and Jetskiing

I'm writing a new script. Details later, but I wrote 68 pages in two days, all of which have to be dumped already. It's a comedy and I put some funny, comedic scenes in, but that damned thing that all scripts require, Plot, crept in and ruined everything. Not that all movies today even have one. I see quickly why so many Adam Sandler movies have odd, out-of-place elements dropped into act I, one's where you already see the payoff, or it's so obvious that you're now looking for a payoff and can't focus on the plotless plot. It's writing, folks. You have to "give people what they expect in ways they never expected." So here's one big prob, I need my copy of Story, known as the screenwriter's bible, which is in a box in Colorado. Anyone wanna go by EJ's and ruffle through my boxes looking for it? Just kidding. I'll pick up a paperback somewhere.

My little brother and I went jetskiing last Sunday. Here's a few pics.


In case you're wondering, we rented the Seadoo RXT and the Yamaha VX110.

MTV Trivia Question

In honor of MTV's 25th anniversary, I'm posting my answer to the question "what was the 2nd video ever played on MTV?" Most people have heard the first video was "Video Killed the Radio Star" by the Buggles. According to this link, the second was Pat Benatar's "You Better Run." Do you remember your first time watching MTV? (and it'd better not be Real World!!!)

"Fifteen Men..."

Finished Treasure Island today, and here's a snippit from one of my favorite parts. Young Jim Hawkins mistakenly falls into the pirates' camp by night and here is defended by their captain, Long John Silver...

"That's your sort, is it?" he added, returning his pipe to his mouth. "Well, you're a gay lot to look at, anyway. Not much worth to fight, you ain't. P'r'aps you can understand King George's English. I'm cap'n here by 'lection. I'm cap'n here because I'm the best man by a long sea-mile. You won't fight as gentlemen o' fortune should; then, by thunder, you'll obey, and you may lay to it! I like that boy, now; I never seen a better boy than that. He's more a man than any pair of rats of you in this here house, and what I say is this: let me see him that'll lay a hand on him - that's what I say, and you may lay to it." p. 179

Burning Man Project 2006

Dear Princess Leah,
Okay, there it is. Burning Man, 2006. One week, 40,000 people, one desert, thousands of theme-camps, a thunderdome*, a full-size pirate ship, masses of painted people, no rules, and one giant wooden man to be set ablaze. And me? I'm 200 miles from where they have it. I have to go right? It's the rules. Tickets are $250. Hey, it's an experience. So, for the sake of this decision, your comments will sway me. Of course, all are invited to come join.

The thing is, some people think the Burning Man is a big pagan, pot smoking bash, and they're not entirely wrong. But then I came across this article, and it put things in better perspective. I emailed that guy and asked if I could meet and hang out with his group. The thing is, I'm not going to stand by and condemn the artistic expression, and hopefully, they'll understand that I want to help minister, but also to join in at some level, so long as I'm not joining in what I feel is sin.

*Thunderdome: right when I wrote that word, the girl behind the counter at It's A Grind said "Mad Maxx" while naming drinks off to a customer. A sign! Or not! How did she know to say Mad Maxx right when I was writing the word Thunderdome? Wow, is all I have to say. In case you don't know how the two are related, see here.

Recent movies: Miami Vice ***, Pirates ****, Cold Mountain ****
Currently reading: On Writing, Stephen King; Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson.