He had those really long salt-and-pepper sideburns, the kind that hook under the ear just a bit, and a penchant for using "summamabitch" in one continuous southern drawl - but Jack was all right for the most part. An endless litany of complaints on the other drivers as we flew through the late winter landscape scarred by housing development and road construction. All the old neighborhoods I haunted as a teen were revisited during the couse of the delivery route. This was day four of my court-appointed penance.

"That little Asian girl on the third floor...in the Department of Housing...?

"Huh? Oh, you mean Tammy. She's Mexican.... Why?"

"Just, she's 'cute' is all..."

Jack jerked the wheel to the side, "Now look at this sad motherfucker here."

My elbow sat crooked on the door and I tapped my fingertips against the glass, staring across the road at a grove of ugly trees and the mess of brambles, an Oregon license plate flew by. It was 10:37am, I did the math and sighed. Jack swore some more as we pulled up to the next stop. The past few days he had said one of two things when climbing out, either "Let's take a walk." or "All right." I hung tight in the van and tried in vain (again) to figure out how to turn on the radio while he went in with a handful of inter-office mail. An animal control officer, woman, walked by and I imagined her without the pounds of fat on the back of her thighs and without that curious pole with the loop on the end, deciding that with some alterations, I'd probably fuck her. I rubbed my jeans on the top of my thighs to stretch the libido-energy away, Jack came back.

He kinda looked like the lovechild of Johnny Cash and Elvis, but in a flannel t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of shockingly plain New Balance. In guessing, I would assume that he was one of those old fellas who bought 10 pairs of the exact same shoe at once and that these tired sneaks were the last of a long line of Feet Emperors. I thought he was cool, but I certainly didn't want to be anything like him. We were off.

We stopped at Frank's Diner for lunch, sitting down at the counter with the other driver and trucker types. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger and Jack ordered creamed chip beef - it all made sense.

"You don't talk much, kid."

"Look who's talking."

A man fell from his stool and silverware clinked and clanked to rest, as a few of the Bubbas rushed to aid, I dropped my fork on the plate and looked up. I sighed. 

:doug @ 2:23 PM

the legend of drunken master

"A drunken man who falls out of a cart, though he may suffer, does not die. His bones are the same as other people's; but he meets the accident in a different way. His spirit is in a condition of security. He is not conscious of riding in the cart; neither is he conscious of falling out of it. Ideas of life, death, fear, etc., cannot penetrate his breast; and so he does not suffer from contact with objective existences. And if such security is to be got from wine, how much more is to be got from Spontaneity." : Chuang-tzu - H.A. Giles

amen! 

:doug @ 6:50 PM

smoking is a disease of the selfish.

if i think back on all the people i've known who smoked, like me, we're all so concerned with ourselves. there's an element in us that says "fuck you, i'll do what i like". and when we're questioned for a reason why we do, we can't say anything beyond it being our perrogative and that people should just leave us alone about it.

i've been thinking a lot about my life and my death lately, it's the natural by-product of a lot of reading on Buddhism and the Tao. in the past people have told me i'm an "old soul" and the more i discover about eastern philosophies, i don't think i could disagree more. i'm very connected to my ego. i like me just as much as i hate me. that kind of desperation that makes me cling to who i am and my body can't really be defended. it's a sign of weakness.

so i smoke and i read and i want more for myself just as much as i want for others. i need a breakthrough. 

:doug @ 1:22 PM

ya'll, dude, sir, baby

i was watching this reading of Maggie Balistreri's on her "The Evasion-English Dictionary" on BookTV and someone in the audience at Zinc Bar in NYC asked her about code-switching.

code-switching : changing from one language variety to another in discourse. speakers shifts dialects and registers, and writers switch register and style according to contexts and purposes. some speakers mix languages in their discourse in systematic ways; for example, chicano english speakers use spanish in systematic ways in their code switching.

i'd like to publicly apologize to my friend Hank for noticeably trying to talk more "Southern" around him. that said, we're all guilty of it. specifically trying to speak more erudite in job interviews, more professional and anti-septic during phone calls, more sweet and tender while talking to ladies. it's usually so subtle that it hardly gets noticed.

but the way it's talked about, you'd think it was a good thing right? is it dishonest to act/pretend through speech that you're something you're not? or maybe you are all these things and you're bringing them to light when they could serve you best. where's the harm in that? 

:doug @ 11:16 AM

hobo psychology

i've begun to get myself into the mindset where i can actually take this grand cross-country trip in the coming spring. there's going to be a lot of mental jujitsu involved - knowing when to block and knowing when to throw away, that i'm really looking forward to. admittedly, i've put a lot of this stuff off. i wasn't quite sure if i'd be able to afford it after a 2003 full of lay-offs, bad luck with the law, and intermitent bouts with depression. looking back objectively, the year goes down in the books as probably the second worse in my quarter-century history.

there was a brief period of yoga maybe two years back. i would go with Rebecca down to a large empty warehouse on S. Charles Street and pay 5 bones to have some old guy instruct a group of 60 or so people, mostly females. i would "breathe through the pose", the ones i could actually DO anyway, and i come out feeling great. that great feeling was often followed by acute soreness the following morning, but it was pretty much worth it to get such an awareness of my body. since i hadn't played sports in middle or high school, i had never really felt that way. and while the concept of "body awareness" sound entirely hokey and new-agey, it doesn't mean that it isn't a perfect description of the way yoga made me feel.

i'm hoping this grand back-and-forth journey across north america does the same thing for my mind. granted i've foregone college up until now, i seriously doubt a few well-taught classes would light the darkened corners of my brain. so there's pretty much only this, which i think will adequately test everything i've managed to become up until this point. i plan on working my charm to get temporary work, pushing my body to the limits of starvation and abuse, and challenging my mind to deal with the immense pain and beauty i'm bound to experience.

now let's just hope the money comes through on the website contracts i'm working on. 

:doug @ 6:48 AM

the 2004 backwardsromance tour rider

- one 1.75 liter bottle of Maker's Mark kentucky bourbon whisky
- one 12 pack of Coca-Cola cans
- one bucket of ice
- one carton of Camel Lights cigarettes (boxes, not soft packs)
- two new pairs of Levi's 505 straight-fit jeans (36 waist, 34 inseam)
- four small bath towels in assorted colors (NOT green)
- one life-sized Darth Vader statue
- six women of various shapes, sizes, and ethnicities. (no fat chicks)
- one box of 25 Cohiba Triangulo cigars 

:doug @ 4:27 AM

"so this is the new year.
and i don't feel any different.
the clanking of crystal
explosions off in the distance (in the distance).

so this is the new year
and I have no resolutions
the self-assigned penance
for problems with easy solutions

so everybody put your best suit or dress on
let's make believe that we are wealthy for just this once
lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn
as thirty dialogues bleed into one

i wish the world was flat like the old days
then i could travel just by folding a map
no more airplanes, or speedtrains, or freeways
there'd be no distance that can hold us back."

The New Year : Death Cab for Cutie 

:doug @ 6:35 PM