Tread Lightly in Lake O.

I was in Lake Oswego today. Dean sent me there in search of the answers to the many questions that my strange feet and their various deformities present to fitting me to a bike. (John at Lakeside Bicycles is the man if you want your wretched feet to fit on your bike properly. For real.)
Anyway, if you've been to Lake Oswego this may seem as odd to you as it did to me. When I was walking back to the car I stepped in dog shit. The poop was right next to a weird piece of chicken that was hardening and sweating away in the parking lot.

The Modern-Day Lynch Mob Comes Home to Roost

I listen to NPR a lot now as I deliver shit around the town. And mostly it just makes me mad. Recently, America forced Barack Obama, a mixed-race presidential candidate, to denounce words by his long-time pastor and life-long African-American Jeremiah Wright. Weeks earlier Obama had to double-denounce Louis Farrakhan, just in case you thought that the senator might enlist the support of such a beloved and unifying figure with whom his campaign had previously not had anything to do with. To his credit, Obama did not disassociate himself from Wright, and I'm sure you've heard him explain why. At any rate, most of Wright's words were taken out of context, and in some cases were just plain painfully right. Of course, a black man saying that the United States had it coming will not be tolerated by the white power structure or it's lap dog, the skittish white majority ('member what happened to that Malcolm X guy that said that thing about "the chickens come home to roost"?). As more things come out about Wright's words, the pundits ask "was it enough?"
This has to be the most hypocritical bullshit ever, and if you thought that America was "getting over the race issue," think again. Because, as usually happens in these times of hope for a new day, America shows just how racist it still is. I was starting to think otherwise, but I was wrong.

Say what you want about Obama and Wright, the real nuts are on the other side of the aisle--they just happen to be smiling white old men.

Old white man John McCain sought, received and accepted the endorsement of one John C. Hagee, a televangelist minister from San Antonio, Texas (read: a proud preacher's son from middle-America). Hagee's positions/beliefs include: Advocating a preemptive strike on Iran, which will serve as the catalyst for the Armagedon, the Rapture, the Second Coming, etc. Somehow this helps the Jews everywhere; God destroyed New Orleans with Hurricane Katrina. Yep, it was the queers--NOT global warming. They were going to have a parade of some sort, and as you know, God doesn't like it when gay people walk around all at once. I would say something about trailer parks, but that's a tornado thing. Other Hagee weirdness has him calling the Catholic church a whore (well...), blaming the Jews indirectly for their fate during the Holocaust, all "Islamists" want to kill you, and a host of other biases, blasphemes and flase prophesies. In his books he's predicted the end times, and when they don't happen, he just writes more books with the End Times ending differently and sells thousands more.

Alas, I digress. My point is, that while we're scared of Jeremiah Wright's political influence, we should be worrying about John Hagee, yet no one is horrified. Not even NPR (except Bill Moyers Journal--podcast it, dude. URL is below). Not to worry, though. He's not black, he's just crazy. Clarence Thomas' "modern-day lynch mob" is back.



Seriously, you should check this podcast out. Bill Moyers Journal, episode is "Christians United for Israel." Yikes. I highly recommend that you listen to this. It will scare the shit out of you.
http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?i=23660896&id=161038776)

Cupholders

Recently I've learned that cupholders are perhaps the most important component in a courier vehicle. Don't believe me? I never thought that a cupholder would be of much consequence, either, but here we are. While power windows and locks are mighty fine things to have, as are windows and folding arm-rests are splendiferous items that are just not seen in the world of delivery vehicles, none of it matters without a cupholder.

I recently had the white van taken in for servicing, and was handed the keys to a silver monstrosity with no windows in the back, no power windows, manual locks and no radio. Whatever, the thing rolls so I didn't care.
The next morning I slipped the loaner into the loading zone across the street from the Stump and got my Americano (seasonally hot, mind you). "Make it iced," I said. The baristas looked at me first with disbelief and then confusion. "No cup holder," I said. Most of these people are not licensed to drive, so the confusion lingered. Their interest soon waned, however, and they unexpectedly went back to work.

Back in the van, the day had taken a nasty turn. A delivery driver needs to be able to do at least three things at once. Say dispatch is trying to give you directions. You need to have your Thomas Guide out and open (splayed out on the steering wheel is your only real choice), because as dispatch is telling you where to go, you need to find the connecting roads that he forgot to mention or you didn't hear about (depending on who you ask). One hand holds the radio up to your ear to better discipher the mumbling as the other hand is turning the pages. Then there's the driving. Where does the coffee go? Where?!?

So there I was, driving into town, heater cranked, sucking the Americano out of a straw as I drove into town. No cupholder, no hot Americano. After that, nothing else matters.

Is Anyone Still Paying Attention? Where They Ever?

If you still bother to check this thing, then I owe you heartfelt thanks for your patience. You should really get out more. Go see "No Country For Old Men." Totally deserved the statues. If you can't, you could see "There Will Be Blood," but only if you've seen "No Country." "No Country" is stylistically a Coen bros movie, but it transcends their distinctive camera work and sheds the kooky characters of previous films and manages to give Cormac McCarthy's story it's proper due. What was I saying?
A segway...Yes--like the Coen brothers, hopefully I, too, can put produce something worthy of your attention, and that of the members of the academy... But where to start? So much has happened, and yet so much has stayed the same. Ah, the cliches. Always there when you need them. Waiting, really, for that awkward situation when you don't know what to say, or when you have too much to say and don't know where to start, or don't want to start. Or you don't know if you want to exert the time and energy into telling people something that really doesn't matter to them and they'll probably misconstrue and/or use against you in the future. These are only some of the reasons why "not much, you?" and the old chestnut "You know, just pluggin' along" have stayed in the mix for so long. Gah.
Well, that's all that I'll say for now, because, well, see above. I'll try to put some of my semi-amusing (but mostly not) escapades up here with more regularity.

Oh, yeah. You probably won't wanna go, but I'm going to do a century ride in the homeland on April 27. Anyone interested can get ahold of me through the proper channels. It's a fun ride through beautiful country. Dude, you should totally go.

Mike Stevens--You Are Missed

What is there to say? A lot, really, but for now, I'll keep it short and bittersweet. I didn't know Mike Stevens all that well. We exchanged pleasantries, 'sups and things in passing. As messengers, many of bonds that we forge are in passing, unless we drink at the same bars or work at the same company (which Mike and I did not). Somehow we know that the bond of friendship exists, though. It's unspoken, but it is a very real thing. That's how it was with Mike. You could tell in the way he asked how things were going with you. It was real, and the few words were always sincere and caring.
I always thought it was cool how he kind of got right up in your grill and inquired about your well-being in such an intense way. Like you needed to tell him. It was important for him to know that you were doing okay. One of a kind.


I'll miss you brother.

Life and Death in the Suburbs

On Thursday I found myself in one of the more exclusive suburbs. Beaverton or somewhere out that way. Up on a big hill. Overlooking everything, perfect and plain. You could eat your lunch off of the street.
As it usually goes with these residence drops, no one was home to sign for whatever crap I was delivering. In fact, I did not see any sign of any human beings anywhere. The silence was eerie. I knocked again. Nothing. I looked in the little window at the top of the door and all that I could see was a small cross hanging on a white wall. It was the only decoration that I could see through the little window.
I got the okay to leave the package on the doorstep. As I leaned over to set the envelope on the doormat I stepped on something. Whatever. Then I noticed a small, furry thing laying on the doormat. It was furry, the size of a small thumb, and it had a tail. I suddenly realized that the thing under my foot was once like the thing on the doormat, though after being stepped on and rained on, it had become just a damp wad of bone and flesh and tail. The only signs of life in that neighborhood were two dead mice.

A Yuletide Classic

Originally published last year on my myspace blog, so you probably didn't read it yet.

Observations made at the Lloyd Center Mall, 12/16/06
Current mood: savage
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping


Some observations from the Lloyd Center Mall:

1. It is okay to take your kids into the bathroom with you. However, I did not know that that rule has been expanded to include taking your children into the stall while you sit down for an extended dump session, as exhibited by the guy in the last stall of the bathrooms by the Mail Box and his daughter in the rather cute pink, fuzzy jumper sitting on the tile floor of said bathroom stall. I did not know that you could do this. The rearing of children seems a lot less complicated and a lot more convenient.

2. I did not know that plus-sized women were so fond of the colors red, black and purple. Nor did I know that they wore so much trashy lingerie. Is this a new development in plus-sized fashions? Do full-figured ladies give it up more or is this the new leisure wear for the house-bound?

3. There were no women (of any size) in the plus-size store.

4. You can buy a set of Metallica shot glasses and a "crunk" goblet at the same store. You can also get a pimp stick with a die-cast metal dragon's head on the handle at that store. Would you like a Slipknot or Guns 'n' Roses Christmas ornament for your tree? Do people who have Christmas trees want Slipknot Christmas ornaments? Do people who want Slipknot Christmas ornaments bother to have Christmas trees? Maybe I'm stereotyping here.

5. There are three pages of new Mac Dre images that they can put on a t-shirt, hat or Converse All-Star for you at the t-shirt kiosk. Almost as many as Tupac has.

This is merely an observation. If you have anything to add to this brief anthropological excercise, feel free.