Rhythm and Gravy

After a good weekend of the Park City life, skiing and partying in the hardy fashion, I’ve retreated to Helena and the placidity of family and work. I’ve got a new project I’ve been working on, with encouragement from Bryan and Michaele, and it’s keeping me occupied during my days at the Morning Light (best coffee in town), while chasing the Booperman in circles distracts me until bedtime. The sibling unit is keeping her head up, and I’m proud of how good a mommy and strong a woman she is. I’ll be here until Thursday, then it’s off to see what I can make happen in Seattle. Wish me the luck.

Wyoming was supposed to be easy. So I slept a little late this morning, indulged in a nice long breakfast with my aunt and uncle, and took my time getting on the road.

Jake’s 48th law of the American West: Wyoming is a lot of wonderful things, but it is never easy.

North to Cheyenne, the Wyoming wind wagered Colorado that it could toss a Honda Civic back to Nebraska. Failing that, and insulted that I would turn west, it determined to beat me down to 45mph in third gear. The worst part was the nausea as blowing snow turned a road trip into a boat ride on a vertiginous white sea.

But perseverance earned me a beautiful western sunset, which turned the snow purple and sped me to Utah. I’ve shacked up in Park City and am going in search of freshies tomorrow.

Revisited my alma mater today. Ten years on, the area has grown tremendously but the town and campus are mostly the same. Foss Drug, the Ace Hi, Woody’s Pizza, the Buffalo Rose — all still there. Mostly, I was happy to find the Golden City Brewery still selling their Red Ale, so I’m stocked up on that. Seeing Mines again brought back memories… (cue wavy blur flashback effect)…

I wish I had a barrel of rum and sugar three hundred pounds, The college bell to mix it in and clapper to stir it round. Like every honest fellow, I take my whisky clear, I’m a rambling wreck from Golden Tech, a helluva engineer. A helluva, helluva, helluva, helluva, helluva engineer, A helluva, helluva, helluva, helluva, helluva engineer, Like every honest fellow, I take my whisky clear, I’m a rambling wreck from Golden Tech, a helluva engineer. And if I had a daughter, I’d dress her up in green, I’d send her up to Boulder to Coach the football team, But if I had a son, sir, I’ll tell you what he’d do, He’d yell “To hell with Boulder,” like his daddy used to do. He’d yell “To hell with Boulder,” like his daddy used to do. He’d yell “To hell with Boulder,” like his daddy used to do. But if I had a son, sir, I’ll tell you what he’d do, He’d yell “To hell with Boulder,” like his daddy used to do. Now here we have the mining man, in either hand a gun. He’s not afraid of anything, and he’s never known to run. He dearly loves his whisky, and he dearly loves his beer, He’s a shooting, fighting, dynamiting mining engineer. A shooting, fighting, dynamiting mining engineer. A shooting, fighting, dynamiting mining engineer. He dearly loves his whisky, and he dearly loves his beer. He’s a shooting, fighting, dynamiting mining engineer.

Had me some tasty free-range, organic, shot by Nate, cooked by Laura elk brats for dinner, and stole some of Laura’s books for the road. I’ll be staying with my Aunt & Uncle for another day, but it should be said that Laura and Nate’s hospitality was worth the 1,000 mile drive and then some. So thanks for putting me up with me.

The drive from Chicago to Denver includes such wonders as Des Moines, Omaha, and a whole lot of big, empty, cold. My wiper fluid, rated at -20°, kept freezing on my window. But only snow in Omaha slowed me down, and my good little car kept the needle on the ocho the rest of the way. Fifteen hours later I was drinking gin and tonic with Laura and Nate.

It’s cold here:

We went to The Egg and I; the Seahawks lost; we went up Coal Creek Canyon to see about the inspection on their home to be. Jack Bauer saved the day. I’m relaxed.

Turns out the weather sucks, everywhere, for the time being. Specifically, everywhere I want to drive (i.e. Denver). So I’m just a-hang in Chicago. Sabrina and I went to Second City to see the latest show called “War! Now in it’s 4th smash year!”, in which my contribution was to loudly proclaim that the acronym LM stood for “lefthanded masturbation.” Then we went to the Green Mill, which I was told was Al Capone’s old hangout. In truth, Al Capone equals Vince Vaughn, who monopolized the waiter while I was trying to get my Laphroig converted via strainer from rocks to neat. It was the waiter’s fault, not Vince’s, for the record. Celebrity interference aside, I managed to get drunk, and remain so as I post this. It was Tom’s birthday, and Tom turned out to be a nice dude, so I snapped a photo with him and and some random woman who I seemed to be friends with:

I like Chicago. It remains firmly connected to its roots. So I’m going to leave you with Carl Sandburg’s poem while I go sleep off the booze:

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people, Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

Posted for my friend, John G:

Hello all, I’m sorry to trouble you with this, but if you would happen to know of any good family that is looking to adopt a (big) dog and you think would make a good home, please let me know. I recently had to move to Boston and, on a graduate student’s salary, I haven’t been able to find an affordable apartment that allows dogs. I had found someone in Missouri to watch him while I was in Boston. It was great because she was raising Mastiffs and had a couple of Pugs. She, unfortunately, just told me that she is selling her house, giving her mastiffs to her family and can’t watch my dog anymore. I’m kind of at a loss as to what to do. I really love the big guy, but I unfortunately have to find another good home for Hamish and need to do so soon. He just turned two years old, has been fixed and is fairly well trained (”sit”, “down”, “leave-it”, “take-it”, about 50/50 with “drop,” and obviously house trained). I usually take him for two fairly long walks a day. Other than that, he sleeps most of the time. He’s an indoor dog and needs to be around people — no leaving him to be an outdoor dog. He gets along well with other dogs (I don’t know about cats, I haven’t tried). I have a host of collars and toys for him. He loves to play fetch and recently acquired a love of swimming. He’s big mound of affection, that’s for sure. I haven’t weighed him recently but would guess he is in the 150 lbs range. I adopted him from a rescue in Pittsburgh when he was 10-12 weeks old. I raised him in my one bedroom flat. It was tight, but honestly not that big of an issue. A back yard was key though. Standing upright, he’s about 31″ at the shoulder. Many people guess that he is a St Bernard or Newfie mix He’s up to date on all shots and has been microchiped.

Let me know if you’re interested & I’ll put you in touch with John.

A day late, I’m off to Seattle. Wrapping up your life always takes longer than expected, so I opted for one last day in Pittsburgh. After all the packing and organizing was over, I felt rather diminished to see my whole life fit into a 6ft. by 10ft room and a Honda Civic. Then I pulled my head of of my materialistic ass and felt gratified that I haven’t accumulated quite as much crap as I’d feared.

Here’s my route:

So far, I’ve made it to Chicago with fantastic success. Sabrina, in her infinite generosity, has put me up in her sweet pad, and treated me to lobster ravioli and swing dancing. I think it’s all a ploy to get me to concede that her nephew, Stephan-Luc, is cuter than mine. Nonetheless the hospitality is great. More on Chicago after the sleep…

I’ll post more photos to Flickr, so keep an eye on my photostream (if you’re friend or family, be sure to register and let me know).

Sometimes, I delight in the hatching of my latest evil plan. Other times, it’s sure nice when nice people do all the legwork for you and things just work out effortlessly.

Anne picked me up in DC after my red eye from Seattle (no airline snafus this time, and I even managed to get some decent sleep on the planes, although at one point I had a dream that Big Chris was pissing me off because he was going through my wallet and making snide comments on my photos, and for some reason this made me so mad I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn’t get the breath to come out. I finally managed a deep breath and woke myself up yelling “you don’t know shit about me!” but luckily in real life I think I only muttered it because the five year old girl sitting next to me and her grandmother were studiously ignoring me) and we drove down to central VA for her friends’ wedding, at which for the price of a little bit of arm candy duty I was treated to a great hotel room, some nice conversation with Virginia society types, and a relaxing day at the coffee shops of Staunton, which is about as cute as they make little towns these days.

2007 minus a day, we slept in just the right amount, spent the perfect amount of time at the coffee shop getting caffeinated, and made good time up to Baltimore, where Nick had procured us second row tickets to the Bills-Ravens game, at face value no less. We made it to our seats about ten seconds before kickoff. Anne’s first NFL game was a victory for the home team. Go (Seahawks, Steelers, Broncos, and then) Ravens!

Conveniently, Nick’s dad Nick has an office right downtown, so we dropped our cars off there and changed into our duds and headed down to the harbor for a nice, relaxed Italian dinner with Nick, Kate, and their old pals Amy, Ian, Kate, and Andy. After-dinner coffee left brought us to 11:15, just enough time to walk down and secure a spot on the boardwalk to watch the fireworks over the harbor.

Then, we got drunk. Nothing happened, and Nick did not rub his ass in anyone’s face.

Ian and Amy put us up for the night, and fed us egg bake and Dunkin’ Donuts coffee for our first meal of 2007. I couldn’t have asked for a more relaxing, fun time if I had planned it myself, so thanks guys.