Something Somewhere, One Time.

I like to write up what happened at the end of every year. I like to say, I remember this, I understood this, this was something special.

This year, I can only say the last thing. So much has happened. So much went by too fast to be understood in any meaningful way, mostly because I was so damn busy doing what I hoped was the right thing.

But frankly, things have been so far out on the curve that it’s hard to know what to think, much less what to say. So in lieu of unpossible understanding or careful synthesis, I’m just going to show you things. Vacation photos from my life, roughly in order, as I am now. I don’t even know how to thank all the people whose support I felt this year, and especially those that helped out after Minard collapsed and I was searching for work, sanity, and an escape, and still more during the crisis I had trying to help out my friends. Yeah, that means you, James, Margaret, Joe, Harry, Mako, Brian, Kate, Miche, Meg, Rob, Tox, Em, J, Kathrine, the Bakkums, and the hundreds upon hundreds of people I’m so sorry I’m not naming.

Given what I’m trying to accomplish, there’s no better place to start than here:

And with that we’ll just move. K and I on Coney Island.

My old basement.

Funny, the things you miss.

And the amazing people you meet.

And the things you’ll see.

And the darlings you’ll kill, to do good in the world.

And where other people’s work will take you.

Like Vancouver.

Yeah.

Vancouver.

Toronto.

Sioux Lookout.

Or Africa.

Or Oregon.

Crabbing.

Staring.

Wondering.

Wishing.

Calling.

To the nation’s fucking capitol, once because you care. Twice because your job demands it.

Always in the air.

Except when on land.

More on that.

Such a pretty house, and such a pretty garden.

Who’d have thought Tom would be first to go? Me.

Or what we’d find in the woods…

Or at Surplus.

Or at the bar.

In the rain. Rain like LA has never seen.

In the snow.

In Minneapolis.

In Haiti.

In the City of Angels.

At the firepit.

At the ocean.

Or in the truck.

Or at Google.

Or on Google.

On both sides of the objective.

And both sides of the country, the things you learn.

Like who is bought and sold.

And what the future holds.

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5 Responses to Something Somewhere, One Time.

  1. biche says:

    youre welcome dear. and.. happy birthday soon.

  2. Poodus says:

    great post. loved the poem. miss you lots.

  3. Sue says:

    Happy Birthday, Traveler.

  4. tox says:

    As one who always anxiously awaits your ‘year in review’ post, I was quite curious how in the hell you would tackle this year. Well done brother. I am ecstatic about all your excellent adventures.

    p.s. a bolt cutter is not hard to use, and if used properly, it should pay for itself, making a return unnecessary.

  5. danreetz says:

    True that, Tox man, it’s a testament to the bolt cutting community that they come back at all. As you and I know, a bolt cutter is practically a business in the palm of your hand. Which leads one to wonder: are these people

    A. Such pansies that they use it once on their own footlocker and expect to never use it again or

    B. So profoundly poor that the $25 is worth the opportunity cost of returning it?

    Maybe a bolt cutter is a business unto itself, but that means a bucket of bolt cutters is a rental house that can pay for itself many times over… Bolt Cutters Lenders? Angle Grinders Incorporated? Bolt cutter locator on twitter?

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