A Mild Distraction — “I've made no arrangement with the powers that be as of yet, but last weekend took me places I did not intend, and the results were, well, momentous, if nothing else.“
Too Long in Beta — A falling ocean, a waterfall of plumes and sprays, with murderous roars muffled by the thick glass of the airplane windows.
A Shadow Lurking — A call to action. An honest-to-god initiative by the left, something not seen since Vietnam, and even that might be a little naíve to consider.
Imminent Retreat — Unless I'm much mistaken it will be lauded as a success at bipartisan health reform.
Maybe Nothing Should Be Serious — If healthcare, a deeply important issue that is central to the self-preservation of just about every living person is struggling to keep that attention, I wouldn't give much hope to anything less ridiculous than Scrubs...
A Little Bit of Noise in the Night — The Italian man in the seat in front of me was singing on about what must have been futbol to the pretty blond next to him. A dude, I think, but Italians are all very pretty.
Sunshine Speaking — So swirl it in your mouth just enough to coat the interior of your oral cavity with the liquid gold and then open your lips and take another slight breath, stopping just before it burns to the point where your cough instinct takes over. Don't let that happen -- that's bad form and you'll look like a freshman jackass, so avoid it at all costs.
Cognitive Dissonance — You'd think cognitive dissonance would be unpleasant enough to be a deterrent, or obvious enough to be a detergent, but no. The evolutionary abilities of men with power based in the establishment to rise above that most basic and inconvenient of human traits is quite incredible.
The Green Light Café — “I'd heard you went from an air-conditioned Marriott -- with a pool, which you swam in quite enjoyably, to hear you tell it -- to a beach-side restaurants to smoke and watch the sunset and then the next day you took a drive to the sandy penninsula to search for a boat and ended up meeting a bunch of Dutch guys on the docks...“
Nothing But Evil and Fear — The nighttime is still full of dark things, as always. All is well, in a way.
A Dutch Philosophy — Days like this, with flowers and people and football out in the open and lots of beer and laughter on the narrow streets; a talk of some elusive purpose in the air, and semantics between professions.
The Oldest Cast-Iron Building — In a half-mad fury of head-turning craziness, Chris Matthews, of all the spinning, talking faces, refused to let that god-damned waterhead, Tom DeLay, get away with smooth talking nonsense.
One for Red, Two for White — In New York people bend to the will of public transit. I knew I was already late when I got to the bus stop, but I wasn't worried; my friends could stand to have another beer. And besides, they understand that in this city people need to be lenient when it comes to punctuality.
Mad View From Up High — Nothing worth describing because it doesn't matter in this dream. It was just a flat expanse of grey and brown, with that weird hint of blue that happens when it's slightly overcast
Caught in the Rain of the Night — We'd left the lights off, the candles still burning in the dark. Cleaning things always makes me pensive and puts me in a philosophical mood. My mind drifts, and in that soft darkness, it was really going places.
Purpose Beyond Reason — Oh, sure, all the stimulus in the world comes in when you're a professional consultant for a major software company, but you never have time to jot it down.
There Are No Jokes — When I said 'comedian', I certainly wasn't thinking of the House of Representatives as a Monday night comedy club.
Ugly Notions of The Grid — It used to be that you could tell how much a person travels for work by their mileage accounts, or their hotel points, or if all else failed, the wrinkles and bags under their red, sloppy eyes.
How Long, oh Lord? — Even when growth is steady and prosperity seems to lurk around every bend for anyone willing to take out a mortgage being given them, there is much amiss in the world. Imagine then, what things can be like in times like these?
Uncooped and Troubled — Cold realizations and musings of consequence in the heart of an epic nor'easterly
The First Hit — You'll have to delve into it sooner or later in your line of work, man.“ “Right. You might as well have a handle on it.“ Dylan chuckled. “I'm Oscar, by the way“ he said. “Oscar Bjørne.“ “Dylan Cormack,“ he said, turning towards the exit. “Good luck with your stories, Oscar.“
Wild Turkeys Over Holland — An epic gathering for a feast of weird ingestions, a Dutch turkey dies in Holland, and TG08 in Amsterdam.
When Children Flee to Africa — A desperate saga of lies and deceit on the furthest outskirts of Europe.
Post Election Stress — While it's refreshing to let the politics hang for a while, I'm happy to go back to something closer to home.
Where Birds Go to Die — This will be a very good week for ugly things to come out of the closet. From illegitimate babies aborted right on the supreme court bench to corrupt senators being ousted from their states like feculent rats...
Death By The Fear — Things are happening - crazy, bad things - and some of them have very much to do with the 6th district of Minnesota.
On Some Trails I Weep Soggy Tears — People will forget about the sparks and remember the embers. People will forget the facts and remember the feelings, the angst, the confusion, the fear, the uncertainty... and they will vote accordingly.
The Funk of Forty Thousand Years... — The American public doesn't have time for remembering the things their government broke last year and haven't fixed yet. They're too focused on what their government is breaking THIS year.
I'm Not a Superhero, Just a Man Who Realized his Ideas. — I don't know how well their rhetoric reflects that of the American Mass, or the Global one for that matter. It suits me, however, just fine.
Boogie Chil'en — Could this nation be filled with people too simple to grasp more than two options for an issue?
Still Screaming — stranded on Marathon Island with the Wolf...dark Constantinople...blurred visions in the smoke of foreign places...sleight of hand and black magic in a taxi...and speaking of thieves...
Elements of Hope — Abortion, National Security, Health Care, Foreign Policy, Economy, Iraq, Global Warming, The End, and other presidential debate topics...
Later We'll All be Dancin', Screaming From the Minarets — Ben Franklin was right, and I hold this truth to be self-evident: the American Public cannot be trusted with reason.
Pre-Scotish Ponderings — Not the first time the leaders were caught jacking off when they should've been working.
Animals in the Dark — What was taking a toll on my body was a combination of stiffled desires and high levels of stress induced by the rigors of social mores in Saudi Arabia and a very serious lack of fun.
West of the East, East of the West — So I'd spent a day sailing by myself, eating ham & cheese croissant sandwiches and drinking enough red bull to keep a corpse on its toes.
In a Time... — I had to blasphemy in three different religions - which took effort, seeing as that I never really studied any of them.
I Grow Old Where the Bottoms of My Trousers Roll — Look: this is not a case of misunderstanding. This is a case of at-odds-values.
The Bridge on the River IJ — Late in the evening I put on a coat and went out, looking for something that would catch my attention for a bit, make me think of something other than an unreachable horizon.
I Been Everywhere, Man — The weather goes from gloriously sunny to dark and furious, the wind sweeping the hail from the streets. And speaking of flipping out...
The newsmen know what they know — I want to make sure you know what you're getting into if you're serious about this madness of moving to New York City.
Kicking Edgar Allan Poe — Nothing is injured, health abounds, and I still have a full fridge and a roof over my head.
If We All Were to Die Now, Well, it Wouldn't be That Bad — The question is never answered, Mukasey is given reign to spit talking points, and the ever-shrinking size of Arlen Specter's balls.
I'd Sell You More But They Ain't None of Mine... — If the networks have the results, maybe they'll go away and bring us back some useful reporting. Or maybe they'll just go away, which is fine with me too.
Treat Her Like a Lady, and She'll Always Bring You Home — America's issue with voters isn't just the indifference caused by a large middle class that is too comfortable and therefore too complacent with the status quo. It's more complicated than that.
And Then There Was One — You'd think that for an apartment in the center and a decently normal flatmate with all of his teeth would attract good people so fast you'd wonder where they had all been living before.
Who Knows? Maybe He's Not Deranged — When the talking heads have been saying the same thing for 3 days on end and can still blot out a tragic actor's death, then people must be really yearning for the promise that maybe today CNN will give them some meat.
Don't Look Now — Seemingly pointless scenes, some creepy shots of blind old ladies, a ridiculous meat cleaver, and a half hour of Donald Sutherland's hairy white ass.
Musings of a Return — After all, here I am, sitting canal-side, watching boats go by with “Amsterdam“ written on their aft.
Another Teaser — There are tales in the works, real stories that have been my adventures and will soon be your fantasies.
The Mess in Madrid — I'm normally not a violent person but this morning I was pushed over some line for some reason; the worst part about the whole affair is how much I liked it.
Midnight Madrid Confusion — That was where we'd walked, had a Spanish tortilla --- where it had all ended for them and started for me.
Oktober Surprise — The beats were up-beat, the beer was flowing, and the sausages were wrapped in bacon.
More Vegetables — Benazir Bhutto's return to Pakistan, Ahmadinejad vs. Cheney, General Petreus, Trevor's Blog, a couple of retards on CNN and a shirt debacle --- it was quite a week.
Glad to Be Home — Too many beers that some Australian kid bought, zee Germans were not coming through, and the ladies from Seattle simply didn't have that kind of zazz.
Holy Wonderings — All I ask for are some steaming hot coeds and a vodka martini - is that really too much to ask?
Darkness With a Butterfly Knife — The darkness was so empty it held no memories - it was cold and smelled of fiends and... enemies. My chest was soaked but my skin was dry. I checked for gashes and other wounds.
Dear God, No — I know that for every twinkling star in my telescope's view there is a huge ball of fire light years away, melting gas into plasma and in general turning out a mess of things in the universe.
A Spanish Hand in the Mix — It's naar impossible to find a hotel in this city. But you know me, readers - I'm unstoppable.
Simply, to Sleep — When I was a kid I was the last to fall asleep and the first to get up. In college it was quite the hangover that would keep me in bed past 9 on a Saturday.
That's Me in the Corner — I'm so glad that captain cuckoo bananas didn't make any decisions concerning Iraq while drinking, eh? That could've impaired his judgment and wouldn't that have been disastrous?
Rainbow Connection — It's a question I hate to even have to address, so let's just get this over with, shall we?
I Am the White Powder Disolving in Your Drink — Scarlet was the kind of girl that you loved because there was no way to NOT love her.
A Dawning in Brussels — Even after driving through Gouda and about a dozen other little Dutch towns, we had no idea what kind of strange we were dealing with.
Know Your Enemy — How long will you let it go unchallenged? How long before you hate? How long before you say something?
I (Miss) America — Everywhere I go, people seem to hate you. And it's not a mild dislike either - they really hate you.
Committed to Leaving You — I gaze at the boats that drift by on the canal outside my window and I dream up the possibilities.
Livin' for Real — There are only so many power point slides from June '03 I can scroll through alone in my room before my eyes start disintegrating from ennui, pouring out of my face like the sand in a broken hourglass.
Don't Make Fun of Packaging Majors — There must be some kind of down-syndromey condition relating specifically to packaging. There just must be. And if there is, I have it.
Gone Going — The thought of spending a week in a stone-walled monastery speaking Dutch with sexless women dressed in black robes and strange hats with a long ruler in one hand and a stern readiness in the other was enough to make me both pale with fear and giddy with anticipation.
Kissing in Haarlem — There has been a lot of controversy regarding my recent departure from the place that has been my homeland for some time now.
Familiar Times on Unfamiliar Roads — A narrative of fast times and long days on the roads between Amsterdam and Madrid.
Memorial Day Massacre — I was biking out in the back roads of the hills between Moraga and Hayward, where the strange folk of the redwoods live.
The Waitomo Underground — A tale of desperate observation and the struggles against time, weather and the overcoming of prissiness in the wet dark of the largest caves in New Zealand.
The Red Tape is Stained With Blood — An accident on interstate 880 at the MacArthur Maze; a chance for the local channels to show their merit, to report what happened and to give us information alongside a captivating story. You know - journalism.
Farting Around — Ed Meese and Ollie North are still running amok but with any luck, the GOP will wither into a feculent mass of shit before they finish destroying every ounce of faith Americans ever had in this country.
The Lost Boys of Queenstown — An account of the post-college experience of three boys flying through the heart of the adrenaline capital of New Zealand.
I Believe in So Many Things That it's Worthless — They say nature abhors a vacuum but I'm still trying to figure out what this place is filled with besides empty hotel lots and corporate parks.
Letter to My Editor — I've tried all the usual tricks of the writing trade --- profuse amounts of alcohol, wandering around on public transportation and sleep deprivation.
You Don't Know the Power of the Dark Side — A windless quiet and complete solitude over the mighty Pacific and the California coastline - there are worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon.
It's Just an Action Junkie's Lullaby — We conquered our past and resolved never to go back again, though we may one day do just that.
The Edge — Was I in LA still? Houston? Columbus? Kansas City? Orlando? Dallas? I travel so much that if I don't pay attention it all becomes a blur, especially if I drink too much - which I do.
I'm ABOUT To — Here come the days in which almost everyone is culturally obligated to participate for they are the holy days, I suppose.
Too Close for Missiles — Back from a euro-escapade that made sense in a way things simply haven't for a while.
They All Went Along for the Ride — There's still the jazz in the background and I still have the desire to put thought to paper in defiance of the heavy eyelids that so fervently insist on closing.
This Too Has Been One of the Dark Places of the Earth — Cold, dark nights in London, despite the movement, the life of the city.
Up Front There Ought to Be a Man in Black — The absence of the familiar heat from the months past knocks over all notions of security and certainty about anything.
Nacht Deutschland — It seems pretty silly to call something a national secret if you guard it so well that the New York Times can get their hands on it.
BA Days — With Paraguay safely behind me and Argentina ahead, I had fewer things to deal with but I was still in a bad place. Eventually though, all clocks run down. All games end.
If I'm Not Back Again This Time Tomorrow — By the time we were done we would have traveled roughly 25,000 kilometers, more than half way around the world.
Beware the Touch of the Desert — I took I-80 for an hour or so, hoping to see a diner or some other wretched dive on the side of the road that I could duck into for some serious thinking and get away from the demons that so chase me these day.
Potpourri — Public transportation is the apex of culture. Here we're all going somewhere, being ourselves with no one to impress, with no act to deliver.
The Rising Cost of Water — So my question to you people becomes: What the hell are you complaining about? Quit your bitching.
Break the Pressure — Gas prices go up $0.50. Pandemonium. Radical change is demanded. Faulty the guilty, kill the sinners. It's judgment time.
Until You Get to the Promised Land — I try to just sit there and not turn violent. That's all you can reasonably ask of me in Texas.
All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here — In heavy traffic I crossed the Beast, found the places, got my wares and made it back alive, successfully.
Where Have All the Monkeys Gone? — We spoke in vague terms, uncommitted and agreeable, but I left it all in the backseat.
Left and Right in the Heart of Darkness — Tucked away beyond the thickest of jungles of the Mata Atlantica on a nice beach town with few people and plenty of surf. With few exceptions, in a place like this I'm pretty much anti-people.
A Grey Stone Fixed in Memory — With the news came more rain, soft and slow as I can ever remember in this Beast of a City.
Nowhere to Go, it's Not Constantinople — A surface storm stirs me from slumber and I cannot help but stay awake and watch. But decent people are not awake at this kind of hour. It's a dangerous time for me.
Stuck in the Thoughts of the Elite — Wholly uninspired by the affluence of this place, I am forced to explain how blasé it can be.
Wiping Clean the Slate —
If nature were to one day be fed up with man for the obscene amounts of pollutants we toss into the mix, Cubatão would be the first place to be removed from the surface like picking a scab.
Driving to Futility — Questions abound over the nature of this trip, its purpose, if any exists. Is this really just another business trip that happened to be to a familiar place?
Conquests in the Backseat — A compilation of a few hundred years of colonial history shows in the architecture but contemporary times have begun to take over the concrete jungle.
Reach Into My Pocket — I stick with what I see because there is nothing within those walls that I can know
Leaning Into the Afternoon — The City offers little in the sense of direction or horizon, less so at night.
A Road to Conquer — For the first time, though, the city doesn't seem so ugly, so hopelessly destroyed.
Dragon Eyes — There is a dense air over the creek, slapping any urge to leave in the face...laying on me a smack-down to stay in today.
Fly Me To the Moon — This life of stability, of contentment, of perfect bliss will someday change. It may fall apart, or it may find its way to a better one.
A Foe, Smitten — I find the demons lurking in my rapid eye movement, sinister and dark like the confusion they come to instill.
Everybody Hurts — The oppressive chains of routine, of monotony, of normality and the gray existence to which so many people resign themselves after they get married.
Calm Like a Bomb — And the fear is all around us today. The air is rank with it. I hate you all and I'm moving to Rapanui.
A Brief Interruption of the Jetstream — The Beautiful and Talented Planning Committee of the Winter Ball at the Japra Mahal are ready.
Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay — In other words, there is no half-assing it. There is no try. You go in, you better do it ruthlessly.
Stuttering in the Dark — It's time we consider the possibilities looming on the horizon because we know they will drop below it like a sinking ship if enough time goes by.