#204 king of stuff, perhaps limbs

Adventures with Jackie:





Afternoon. Almost evening. A good time (whenever I've written the word "good" this week, I think of Hemingway and how I think "good" was his favorite word: It was a good cafe where I could sit and write all morning and then George would bring a bottle of white wine. She had good strong legs for skiing. It was good beer/wine/whiskey. We went to the races... it was a good day. And so on. Also the word "nice," often applied to legs. Female legs.)

This is a good time for me to

- finish drinking a latte (double-shot) prepared for me by Lovely L. We've got ordering down to completely non-verbal all-action explosion: she raises one hand, thumb out, pointer finger up, forming a cup (not a loser sign...we discussed this), and I raise two fingers (behind the backs of people in line in front of me), signaling a double-shot and we're off sprinting. Result: I have my coffee by the time I make it through the line. It's good to be local... Lovely L and her crew lead very professional service-oriented coffee lives, catering to one and all, but some places in this town, you only get things promptly and with a smile because the bartender, etc knows you. It makes one feel quite smug sometimes.

- give the new Radiohead album a good listen. This is difficult for me. I hate new things because they're uncomfortable (like new jeans, new shoes, new people) and I fear change as if change is something with claws and anger-management issues. Yet I love Radiohead ever so passionately. So I'm just going to let it play on repeat for a couple of days before I start even thinking about how it makes me feel. Gonna let it ooze its way in, became a new normal.

- write a bit. Got some ideas I want to kick around.

- prepare to meet C. at a restaurant in Cannon Beach I've been resisting going to all week. Now I get to go. So excited. And so hungry.

Cleaned the apartment earlier while "It Might Get Loud" played on Netflix in the background. Kind of a rad documentary-type thing and I enjoyed it more than just putting on some music. The Edge, James Page and JACK WHITE would play music and sometimes they would talk and so it wasn't like I was alone in my apartment being...alone... listening to music from the CD player.

Best part: Jack White, being driven to the artsy fartsy abandoned warehouse in a black car, glances out the window and sees a guy walking by talking on a cellphone.

"That looks like an accident between a suit and a cell phone," he says to the camera. "He's probably in the middle of saying the words 'totally organic.'"

elk poop day

This was found on the photographer's desk. I took a picture. Emergency water! Water for your emergencies. It's like the juice packs of childhood camping trips field trips zoo trips and other lunches.

We've arrived at "Dollars & Cents" (Radiohead, "Amnesiac") when the last time I was conscious we were still on "We're All Mad Here" (Tom Waits, "Alice"), 13 tracks ago. I balance the lap top on my lap and stretch onto my back. Its always nice to feel your organs and spine realign after two hours of writing.

Oh the many days I've spent in low-lit rooms, just the computer, me and iTunes, battling away at sentences after a long day of being sure I could never get to this point of being done with whatever it was I had to write: paper, article, info hell extravaganza. But here I am again and wherever I begin, two hours later I'm always at a different point, something is either past or beginning. That's what I like about time.

Di told me that when she first came to the US, she would tell herself, "In two months it will be different" and she'd count down the days. Not in hopes of when she'd leave, but in hopes of the day when we all wake up and realize we are comfortable with where we have arrived.

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"Hunting Bears" is my favorite track.

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The elk poop story is done. I'm letting it air out for a bit then I'll edit it ruthlessly and travel to the newsroom and turn it in. I feel peaceful about it as of 8:29 p.m. Peaceful is good. It was a fun story to report and it turned out to be fun to write, which is rarely the case for me. I get so worried and I'm a perfectionist. I don't want to write a bad piece and then, crippled by my fear, I do. So I've mostly given up on good-writing. I'll settle for this peaceful feeling instead, some inward goon approves of what I've done.

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If you're not reading The New Yorker, you really should. Such interesting pieces and such good writing. We were talking about it in the break room this afternoon in a rare all-reporter break room rendezvous--always unplanned, always wonderful.

I recommend the Clint Eastwood article and the Paul Krugman one too.