Dear Home

To the Canby House, the Canby Community, Multnomah Village, and everyone else that has been a big part of my life here in Portland the last few years -

Hey guys. As many of you know, I will be “moving” semi-permanently to Southern California to be starting a crazy job in Hollywood. I say “moving” because I kind of already live there. I say “semi-permanently” because God knows I do not want to stay down there forever, and if I ever decide to man up and start a family, there is no way in HEEEELLLEEEECK that my kids will be raised near or in Hollywood. I know I have technically been “gone” the last year and a half at school, but I still have been beyond blessed to have found myself home here in Portland frequently and have still felt very connected with all of you. I am writing this because all of you have been a monumentally important and supportive part of my existence for some time now, even (and especially) as I’ve been in school.

So I wanted to thank YOU GUYS, partly because I won’t be coming home as frequently, but mostly because I feel compelled to thank you – as this new chapter in my life begins. When I think of what it means to be in a right relationship with your fellow (wo)man, I think of YOU. When I think of what it means to be wholly accepted and blessed beyond all recognition (B-BAR) through my community I think of YOU. When I think of adventure, of wit, of creativity, of meaning, and of purpose, I think of YOU. Thank you for valuing these things as I have, and I hope you know how unfortunately rare it is for people to be united in understanding that in these intangible things real joy and lasting fulfillment can ACTUALLY be found. And if there is any culture that has a tendency to value the opposite : fulfillment through personal gain, through personal feelings, through personal property, and through personal entertainment; it is where I am going. This is not something I fear or dread, this is simply a fact that even more strengthens my utmost gratitude that I got to be so regularly connected with friends like you on a daily basis.

So keep up it up. Keep in touch. Keep remembering what matters. And keep loving each other. And me please. If you visit you have a free place to stay and I’ll take you to Disneyland!!!

John

The Best of L.A. – Text Message Edition

Folks, 3 semesters, 18 months, 27 credits, countless hundreds of hours of homework later, I have done it.  I have completed my graduate studies and OFFICIALLY have a master’s degree.  Please now refer to me as Master Englund.  Actually, please don’t.  Looking back, I am left with but one thought, one deep and vital cognition of the utmost significance, whose wisdom must be heard far and wide, from the east to the west, and across the vast oceans of the world :

Do not, for all that is sacred, holy, and just, go to grad school under any circumstances.

I am going to leave it right there.  If taking my word for it does not convince you to not go to grad school, please contact me immediately.

Now, if I could be so bold as to change subjects, I would like to begin a series of small and pithy reflections on the best of everything that happened to me in L.A.  This week*, we have the Text Message Edition. As many of your know or figured out from reading this blog, the neighborhood around the University of Southern California leaves something to be desired when it comes to neighborhoods that lack things such as frequent muggings, violent gang activity, inappropriate sexual advances from strangers, and homicides.  Fortunately, the USC Department of Public Safety is so kind as to alert us via text as these infractions happen.  The following is a series of text messages I received in a 3 hour period the night of Wednesday, March 11th, 2009.

8:33 pm – “Trojans Alert: Shots fired @ Budlong and Adams. 1 suspect & weapon in custody.  3 suspects @ large.  LAPD perimeter north of UPC.  Stay inside until further notice.”

Yup, there are now 3 gunman running lose in my neighborhood.  Thanks USC, I think I will stay inside.  I would also like to point out that Budlong and Adams is a mere 4 blocks from my house.

9:47 pm – “Trojans Alert: Search narrowed to Adams-30th-Vermont-Ellendale***.  Stay inside & call 911 for anything suspicious.  1 more suspect in custody, 2 at large.”

Man, those streets look curiously familiar.  Oh yeah, its because I live at 36th and Vermont, and when I’m not at home, I’m at my friends apartment right next to Adams and Ellendale.  What they DIDN’T tell us at this point and then explained further in an email, was that these 3 suspects, one of whom already had a gunshot wound, preceded to STEAL A CAR and then CRASH it into a USC tram, at which point they escaped the car and ran on foot.  Only, the guy who had been shot couldn’t run very fast – hence the ‘1 more suspect in custody’ part.

11:01 pm – “Trojans Alert: LAPD incident cleared.  1 suspect dead, 3 in custody.  Detectives in area.  No injury to USC students occurred.”

Yup, they shot and killed a gunman in my neighborhood.  Crazy.

*And by this week, I don’t mean to imply weekly, I mean beginning now and then whenever I feel like it

A letter to the City of Los Angeles, Tax and Permit Division

So I recently got a letter from the City of Los Angeles (since filing my first non-Oregon tax return) claiming that based on their records, “myself or my spouse reported business expenses or received income from a business related activity” and that I am potentially violating the requirement that all individuals obtain a registration certificate and pay the appropriate business taxes.  In addition, they warned me that a Criminal or Civil complaint may be filed by the City Attorney’s office if I choose not to respond.  For those who should not be subject to a business tax, like me, they directed me the reverse side of the application where I could fill out my response.

However, there was no reverse side to the application.  So I wrote this letter instead.

To whom it may concern at the Los Angeles Office of Finance/Tax and Permit Division -

There was no reverse side of this application as described so I am writing this letter on the back instead.  I DO NOT have a business.  I am a grad student.  Any business income reported on my taxes was income generated from playing piano gigs in Portland, OR prior to moving here in August 2008.  I have never, ever played a gig in Los Angeles.  I wish I have.  Do you guys have any parties coming up where you would like to hire a young talented jazz piano player?  If so, let me know.  I would be more than happy to provide entertainment at your event for a modest fee.  A fee that I would surely report on my taxes next year as business income.

I repeat, since moving to Los Angeles in August 2008, I have never made any money doing any kind of business here.  Ever.

John

One year in L.A. – My four celebrity sightings (so far)

Faithful readers, one year ago (plus a few months) I unintelligibly ditched my proud homeland of Portland, OR, replacing it with ugly brown hills, smog, an indescribably absurd amount of traffic, a distinctive lack of good coffee* or beer, and lots of stoic blond girls with enhanced……sunglasses.  But fret not, the word on the street is that if you can make it a year in Los Angeles, you are going to be alright.  And I have made it a year in Los Angeles, and I think I’m going to be alright.  I even, more frequently than not, ENJOY MYSELF.  However, that is definitely not to say that I don’t dream nightly of tall evergreen trees, clean air, old friends, Trail Blazer championships, and shredding powder of the highest quality.  No doubt I will return and settle there someday – and dare I say – some day soon.

To commemorate my sesquicentennial-divided-by-150 of moving here, I would like to do a very SoCal thing and share something with you……All the celebrities I have run into so far.  Aren’t you excited?  Yup, one of the positives or negatives (depending on who you are) of living in L.A. is the inevitable run in with someone either famous, or most probably, infamous.  Here they are, in no particular order.  Wait, it is in a a particular order.  And that order, my good friends, is chronological according to day of sighting.  Oh, and in case you were wondering, celebrities DO NOT get ShoutOut© Points.  Which means you, my esteemed reader, are cooler then them.

*There is one exception to this – Rick Weiche’s clover machine at Cafe Corsa on Figueroa. As good as any coffee I’ve had, pacific northwest or otherwise. If you live here in L.A., tell me and I’ll buy you coffee there. I’m serious. Rick, you rule. Please get better soon!

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ShoutOut Count – | MA : 3 | GA : 10 | BB : 14 | CC : 1 | ACa : 1 | GCa : 1 | MCa : 1 | JCa : 1 | JCu : 2 | Dad : 12 | Mom : 10 | Sister : 2 | JF : 3 | JH : 2 | KH : 2 | RH: 1 | SJ : 1 | JM : 1 | LO : 1 | DR : 2 | LR : 1 | CT : 3 | SS : 2 | BW : 3 | TJW : 6 | RW : 2

Dakota Fanning. The story - I was playing softball on the weekend at her high school in Studio City. Turns out, she is on the cheer-leading squad there, who came outside to run on the track around us. In case you were wondering, she is way faster then the other girls. Turns out actresses are FAST.

Jermaine from Flight of the Conchords. The story - I was at the coolest German bar ever, the Lion and the Rose, where you can order beer in a huge glass boot. The rest of the story is history. He walked in and I saw him. End of story.

James Hong. He's the guy that plays the wise old Asian sage in every movie that has a wise and old Asian sage. The story - he was in the audience of a play I went to, "The Scarlet Pimpernel", in which a family friend's niece was starring. It was awesome.

Andrew Robinson. You guys probably don't know who this is, but I sure did. Why? Because I am a huge nerd. He was very surprised I recognized him, and turns out he was one of the friendliest, most gracious guys I've ever met. And if you don't know who this is, he played...

...This guy. On Star Trek - Deep Space 9. He was also the best actor on the show. And he now heads up the Master's in Acting program at USC. Beeeoooooom.

Post-Texas Reflections, Vol. 2 – A Summer of Firsts

As some of you know, I am (disturbingly) now 25 years old – and therefore half way to being mega-old (sorry mom and dad, you are undoubtedly now taking offense to that term – so enjoy these ShoutOut points as consolation).  25 years is a long time, and by now, one would think that I would have seen and done it all – traveled to the far side of the world, commandeered my own galley, hacked into the CIA, built a robot, cloned a dinosaur, built a dinosaur-robot cyborg, you know, awesome things like that.  Things that people simply need to do.  However, as it turned out this summer, there was plenty of adventure opportunity I had simply not experienced.  Even in Texas.

And as you may expect, I met these said adventures head on with extreme prejudice.

Here are a list of some of my “firsts” from summer oh-nine :

TOOL, live at the AT&T Center. They remembered to bring their instruments and laser weapons. In fact, the guy to my left was K.I.A. by that big green death-ray, currently shown carving a hole into the roof of the arena. I was lucky to survive.

1. My First Heavy Metal Concert – It was totally righteous.  Just look at those crazy green lasers.  You know you are at a solid event when hundreds of retina-scorching green lasers are involved.  Just remember – it is all fun and games until someone gets tagged by a laser in the cornea.

2.  My First (and second) Production of Roadkill – R.I.P. foolish gopher and raccoon, whose utter stupidity alone makes a valid case against the Theory of Evolution (of any animal).

Case 1 – Wyoming, middle of the day.  No doubt 2, maybe 3 hours go by on Wyoming highways with ZERO traffic.  Why oh why, Mr. Gophie, did you chose the 0.07 seconds when I (actually, Gregory) was flying by to cross the road?  I imagine, just like the chicken, it was to get to the other side.  Except replace the “other side” with the act of being pathetically, utterly, and almost undetectably pancaked under my Subi’s left-front wheel.  In the car, we felt nothing more then the most minor of bumps.  I will morbidly admit that it was worth the 30 minutes of juvenile giggling that followed.

Case 2 – Oregon, I-84, 3:03am.  Let me tell you, hitting raccoons is not nearly as quick, clean, or cynically enjoyable as running over little gophers.  Why oh why, Mr. Coonie, did you stop and STAND UP in front of my 2 tons of imminent death that was traveling 80 mph?  Didn’t you know that my license plate connecting with your face at that speed would turn your small 13-inch stature into 10 square feet of guts, gore, and fur?  Were you and your raccoon buddies filming a raccoon edition of Final Destination?  If so, do I get credit as an actor?  If so, will I get royalties?  If not, we have a problem.  I have contributed to a feature film against my will, without credit or compensation.  My dad is a lawyer and you will be hearing from him soon.

3.  My First (AND LAST) Chicken-Fried Chicken Sandwich – Three words.  Dis, Gust, Ting.  Even if I thought it tasted good, which a small part of me admittedly did, the layers upon layers of fried and re-fried batter on a piece of a very pathetic excuse for “chicken” ruined it for my mouth, my stomach, my kidneys, my liver, and my cardio-vascular system.  It also ruined it for my chances of not having a massive coronary before the age of 30.

And for some absurd, illogical, and decisively anti-humanitarian reason, the CFC sandwich has now been completely trumped by KFC (who else?).

4.  My First Trip Down a 80-mph Limit Freeway

No doubt the posted speed on I-10 was to prevent anyone from dying from boredom.  Man, no offense El Paso and everything else until you get to San Antonio, but there was sure a whole lotta nothing out there.  Good thing I was legally permitted to attempt to break the sound barrier.  Okay that was an gross exaggeration.

5.  My First Game of Ultimate Frisbee in 110 Degree Weather

Every time I ran 30 yards or threw the frisbee 5 times (or any combination of a total of 5 Frisbee throws or 6-yard dashes) I had to drink 2.4 gallons of water.  Unreal.  It is a crazy sensation gorging yourself mercilessly with Gatorade only to have sweat it all out by the time you get back on the field.  It is like your body itself is evaporating.

6.  My First (and second, and third, and fourth) Dose of Tex-Mex

I will never, ever eat Mexican food in the Pacific Northwest again.

7.  My First (and second) Round of Golf

So I’m a little bit of a freak when it comes to my strong hand.  I am right handed, but I grew up playing baseball throwing right and batting left.  Anything with two hands I naturally do left-handed.  But only two hands.  I swing a bat left handed, I “play”* tennis right-handed.  Going by this formula, golf is a two-handed sport and thus I play it left-handed.  Problem – when I was taught golf this summer, there were no readily available left-handed clubs.  So I was coached, and was coached well, right-handed.  Then a month later, I played round 2 on my own left-handed.  Though it went pretty well, playing left-handed after learning right-handed unfortunately did some kind of reverse-voodoo on my new found skills, and when I hit the driving range in Boise on the way home I looked like a jerk trying to hit a parakeet with a broken bazooka.  This was after getting completely p-w-n-e-d at mini-golf by some fruit who never played golf in his life.

How embarrassing.

8.  My First Contribution to a Legitimate Hip-Hop Beat Production

Laid down the tracks, mixed and produced in under 2 hours in the fellow’s studio.  Awesome guy.  Hope to work with him again.  Listen to his stuff, he’s the real deal.  Hopefully he will be coming soon to a hip-hop record label near you.

Owned. It looks just as sexy in the snow, doesn't it?

9.  My First 2000+ mile Road Trip

Over the course of this summer I carved a SICK right triangle into the United States with my trusty Subaru (LA -> San Antonio -> Portland -> LA).  And let me tell you, driving the hypotenuse took a HELLA long time.  And while I’m on the subject of long road trips…

10.  The Triumphant Self-Aggrandizement of Uboomtu (Another First)

Location : Boise, ID.  Event : The long-time-coming brief union of yours truly and the author of this blog’s next of kin**.  More often than not, her blog qualitatively and quantitatively trumps even the mighty Uboomtu.  Hopefully that means I’m the one who actually has a life.  My gut tells me that this is somehow not true.

By the way, for those of you who have never been to Idaho, Boise is way cooler then you think it is.  But its not any cooler then you now think it might be, having just read the previous sentence.  Thanks for the beers, Jana Jana***.

*’Play’ is in quotes because calling what I do on a tennis court playing is a flagrant misuse of the word play, which implies me doing something skillfully for fun.  So let’s say ping pong instead, because I am proud of my ping-pong skills.

**As of right now, this behemoth of a blog has 7,441 hits.  Uboomtu has 2,867.  This discrepancy needs to end.  To all my readers : START CLICKING.  On my blog, that is.

***Yup, that’s a well-earned double ShoutOut.  One per beer.  In the words of Stuart Scott, “Booya!”

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ShoutOut Count – | MA : 3 | GA : 10 | BB : 14 | CC : 1 | ACa : 1 | GCa : 1 | MCa : 1 | JCa : 1 | JCu : 2 | Dad : 12 | Mom : 10 | Sister : 2 | JF : 3 | JH : 2 | KH : 2 | RH: 1 | SJ : 1 | JM : 1 | LO : 1 | DR : 2 | LR : 1 | CT : 3 | SS : 2 | BW : 3 | TJW : 6

Post-Texas Reflections, Vol. 1 : My Four Favorite Texas Bumper Stickers

“If you can read this, then you WEREN’T ABORTED – so go thank your mom!”

“Keep San Antonio Lame”

“You can’t spell Jerusalem without USA”

and finally…..

Please stop asking me how to score ShoutOut Points (©), I have already addressed this on purpose

Ever since the indisputably ingenious invention of the ShoutOut Point, I have had numerous requests for them.  If you are simply asking me to mention you in my blog, you neither understand the concept of the ShoutOut point, nor have you read this post, published intentionally to address the inevitable soliciting from my faithful readers and admirers for ShoutOut Points following the epic moment of their inception.  I would expect my readers to have some more dignity.  Therefore, Coby Cagle, stop asking me for them and start doing something awesome.  Begging is so unbecoming of someone of your creative wit and drive.  Consider the one I just gave you a freebie, and I encourage you to read my aforementioned post* and start your adventure full of blog-worthy feats of strength, wit, and courage right now.

And I will be there, writing about them with the same delicious pith and candor that the entire Internet itself has become so accustomed to being wholly enriched by, that the very absence of this blog would leave but a purposeless and splintered digital web of intellectual chaos, dementia, and half truths.

*I recommend #8.  For anyone else that would like to attempt #8, I am currently located at N 29 ° 27′ 50.2″, W 98 ° 29′ 21.9″.

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Shoutout Count – | MA : 3 | GA : 8 | BB : 14 | CC : 1 | ACa : 1 | GCa : 1 | MCa : 1 | JCa : 1 | JCu : 2 | Dad : 10 | Mom : 9 | Sister : 2 | JF : 1 | JH : 2 | KH : 2 | RH: 1 | SJ : 1 | JM : 1 | LO : 1 | DR : 2 | LR : 1 | CT : 3 | SS : 2 | BW : 3 | TJW : 6

Misfortune Cookies

So, I was at a Pei-Wei Asian restaurant in San Antonio having lunch with some friendly high schooler’s from the church I’m working at, and after eating something called “Thai Dynamite”, I joined everyone in the post-Chinese food chain dinner ritual of opening your fortune cookie.  And I got to thinking.  How funny would it be if a small percentage of the fortune cookies didn’t contain the usual cliche-ambiguously-uplifting-message, and instead contained something like these :

“The fate of the entire human race is now in your hands”

“You have become death, the destroyer of worlds”

“The eternal fate of your soul depends on what you eat tomorrow for breakfast”

“There is one person at your table that is currently planning your demise”

Now that would be rad.

Who do you keep in your buckets?

It is a sad and simple truth about human nature.

It is a problem of pride, of selfishness, of sin, and most people don’t even realize when they are doing it.  Myself included.  How do you categorize your fellow man?  Your friend?  Your family member?  The fact of the matter is this.  Chances are tragically good that you are putting the people you know in a bucket.  You may have lots of different buckets, but I bet there are two big ones that everyone falls into.  The first bucket has the label “People that are useful to me”. People whose relationship or association is good for your career, your image, or your fractured feeling of self-worth.  People who make you feel smart, people who make you feel justified, and people who make you look and feel good.  Chances are also good that you always treat these people well while they are supplying you with your product.  You show them respect, you show them grace, and you laugh at their jokes. You buy them coffee, you treat them to a beer, you let them into your life, you give them slots of your valuable time.

So what happens when these people disappoint you?  When they break your trust?  When they cease to fulfill their purpose that you have unconsciously given them?

They go in the other bucket, which, as you may guess, is labeled “People that are not useful to me”. What happens to those people?  They are suddenly absent from your thoughts, your prayers, and your time.  They get ignored.  They don’t get their calls returned.  Why?  Because suddenly, their absence in your life has suddenly become more convenient, more useful, or just plain makes you feel better.

This is not an easy thing to be aware of, and much less admit.  Or write about.  But we have done it to our best friend.  We have done it to strangers that we interact with.  We have done it to our roommate.

And we are probably doing it to someone right now.

This is not how God sees us, our friends, or our enemies.  How vital, how vast, how deep is the love of God?  And where would we be without it?  I argue that the answer to this is the situation that I have described.  It is a difficult and very uncomfortable thing to ponder – that perhaps we have deeply selfish reasons for ignoring those we chose to ignore, and far less than sincere reasons for loving the people we claim to love.  But the suffering and repercussions of our failure to treat others with the uncompromising love of God are rampent in our broken world and in our broken relationships.

So what bucket are the people you know in?  Where have you put your parents?  Your boss?  Your coworker?  The guy who serves your coffee?  The guy who sleeps on the park bench near your house?

Relationships are precious.  I believe they are the most precious thing we have here on earth.  Forget about your agenda and your goals and take care of them.  Sometimes that means being generous, and sometimes that means confrontation.  Sometimes it means awkwardness, difficulty, or pain.  It always means effort and deliberation.  Be gentle.  Our relationships are in our lives for a reason.  Your friends will hurt and disappoint you.  Over and over.  You will hurt them.  Over and over.  The answer is in God’s grace and love.  Ask and it will be given.  You’ll feel like a million bucks.  This is not a call to be tolerant.  It is a call to love.  Take care of your neighbor.  Maybe even the ones that hurt you.  Jesus loved those, and loved them passionately, who betrayed and killed them.  Take a minute and grasp how absolutely crazy that is.  Don’t acknowledge it, imagine it.

What absolute freedom, peace, and purpose there is in asking God to help you grant yourself permission to truly love someone despite _____ . Fill in the blank accordingly.

God is Present. Are We Paying Attention?

How to judge a book by its cover

Ever wonder if some aspects of our destiny are completely locked in to what our name is?  Like how awesome, boring, or specific-sounding it is?

I’m serious.

For instance, one could almost guess that a man named “Butch Huskey” was going to play professional baseball, a man named “Leonidas” would rule Sparta and defeat thousands of Persians with only a few hundred men in the Battle of Thermopylae, someone with the last name “Rockefeller” would revolutionize and lead the petroleum industry (and make a billion dollars), and that a girl named “Britney Spears” would be the most obnoxious pop star of all time.  I could go on.  “George Washington” sounds pretty presidential.  “Thomas Edison” sounds pretty innovative.  “John Englund” certainly sounds like someone who would rule the world with both wisdom and malice.

But do they sound that way because of their names only, or because of what they accomplished?  What do you think?

The Eagle Has Landed : I don’t recommend driving 900 miles in one day

I'm also thinking about knocking on this fella's house while I'm here

Faithful readers, I have arrived in San Antonio, Texas.  And I did so by driving 1,356 miles.  Foolishly, I broke up the trip into one 456 mile leg to Tucson to chill with Robb with two b’s and one 900 mile leg to San Antonio, and let me tell you, driving 900 miles in one day by yourself is not the party it was cracked up to be.  Spending 12 hours alone in a box with wheels with only your thoughts is enough to make you grow quite sick of your own brain.  While this process can be sped up by setting the cruise to 95, I discovered that this is true only at the expense of getting only 20 mpg.  My wallet was not pleased that I had to stop for gas 4 times.

Needless to say, I have survived my first week in Texas and I have done so……(this is a multiple choice question, so think carefully)

A) Without gaining any weight despite being fed only brisket, ribs, steak, and vegetables….but only deep fried veggies of course (yes, deep fried mushrooms), served by the most hospitable people I’ve ever met

B) While only having to call the cops once

C) While enjoying a free posh apartment and an incredibly low cost of living

D) All of the above

As you might expect, the answer is “D”.  I did “B” when I witnessed a drunk guy pass out in the middle of a busy street in the middle of the night.  And I have witnessed “C” when I successfully bought a half pound of freshly sliced deli-quality turkey for only $1.60.  Unbelievable.  Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the place to buy your groceries. I wouldn’t even be surprised if you saved money if you flew here just to shop at Costco.  Also, for the price of renting my total shack in L.A., I’m pretty sure I could live in a mansion with a swimming pool, doric columns, and a butler named Jeeves.

Two other thoughts.  Everyone here flies the Texas flag, and just as high as the American flag.  If you have never seen the Texas flag, it is pretty much exactly what the United States flag would look like if you deleted 49 stars.  How fitting.  On another note, and to my delightful surprise, the phrase “Don’t Mess With Texas” originated as a highway anti-litter campaign.  No joke.  I can dig that.

Driving with the right hand, taking glamour shots of myself with the left. Safe and fun.

A view of my backyard. I know, its a rough life.

The United State of Texas

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Shoutout Count – | MA : 3 | GA : 8 | BB : 14 | ACa : 1 | GCa : 1 | MCa : 1 | JCa : 1 | JCu : 2 | Dad : 10 | Mom : 9 | Sister : 2 | JF : 1 | JH : 2 | KH : 2 | RH: 1 | SJ : 1 | JM : 1 | LO : 1 | DR : 2 | LR : 1 | CT : 3 | SS : 2 | BW : 3 | TJW : 6

If you don’t help me out, I’m taking your ride

Do you ever wonder if there is anyone out there as crazy as you are?  I sure do.  A partial and brief anecdote of a dream I had two nights ago that became just a little too lucid…

So I’m standing around this very dirty place, very desert-y, with worn out trucks and disheveled men wearing flannel everywhere (no, it wasn’t my backyard).  As I walked around and started exploring, I suddenly became extremely aware that I not only was I dreaming, but also that I should be awake getting ready for work.  However, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t wake myself back up*.  So I found this shaman/priest guy who was hanging out next to his truck, and pleaded with him to wake me up.  However, to my dismay, he refused to do so, as he was busy helping out some other jerk who didn’t exist either.  I pleaded and pleaded again, following him wherever he was went, imploring him to just take a second and wake me up really quick.  Then, with the simultaneous realization that this wasn’t going to work and that I was currently in a world without rules or consequences, I did the only logical thing I could (and I am NOT making this up).

This is what I said to the priest.  “Fine.  Since you won’t help me, I’m going to steal your truck.”

And that’s what I did, leaving the man in the dust chasing after his ride.  Fully aware that there was nothing I could do to harm myself or anything else, I drove as fast as I could, as wrecklessly as I could, down the highway, going the wrong way, hitting just about everything in sight.  It was awesome.

Then I arrived at this cool outdoor seafood bazaar, did some window shopping for some shellfish, and then woke up.  It was nuts.

And so am I.

*Something I have learned to do pretty successfully when having a lucid dream.  I imagine myself back in my bed where I belong, and force my eyes to open.  It is a really weird sensation, and feels like you are two people at once, both the man who fell out of the boat into the raging water and the man reaching his arm out, trying to help the poor soul back in.  I promise I don’t do drugs.

Two down, Texas to go

Hello Texas, and hello bane of the Trail Blazer's 2009 playoff run. Fortunately, unlike Yao's, my ankle is not now broken.

Ladies and Gentleman, as you know (since you have been so astutely paying attention to this blog), 10 months ago I jumped ship to sunny SoCal to go back to school, leaving behind friends, family, Portland, hopes, dreams, sanity, a bright future, etc.  Well, believe it or not, I can happily report that not only are my first two semesters in the bag, but also that I am more than halfway done with my program.

To those of you who thought I shot myself in the foot by moving here, I can now safely say that while the gun did indeed go off, I missed my foot entirely and instead hit a delicious animal named “important life obstacle” that I then barbecued and sauteed in some delectable pineapple juice.

I am left with these thoughts.

LA is not so bad once you learn to tune out, laugh off, or solemnly accept the utter ridiculousness of this place. It is true, my neighborhood is basically Grand Theft Auto in real life, and just south of my neighborhood looks like the set of “28 Days Later”, complete with burnt out cars, heaps of trash, and zombies.  North of my neighborhood is mega-hanky-swanky, where people dress up their poodles, eat goat cheese, and read Vogue magazine.  But other parts have tons of culture, tons of diversity, tons of opportunity, the T-Virus vaccine, and things to learn.  And all parts have people to love.  

Grad School is for chumps. Crazy, masochistic, chumps.

Leaving home and going on your own adventure is awesome, despite the nostalgic hole left in your heart. Goodbye Portland, I hope to see you again soon.  Don’t worry, I have no plans to start a family down here.

So folks, it is on that note that I bid you adieu for now with the news that I decided that L.A. wasn’t humid enough for me, so I will be moving to Texas for the summer to work as a youth intern at a church in San Antonio.  Plus, I needed some more crazy fodder for my blog.

Yee-haw, yip yip yip!

Turns out, I AM that guy (To the girl behind the counter at the gym – I salute you)

A conversation with a girl working behind the counter at the gym today went something like this…

Me : “Hey, do you have any basketballs?”

Girl : “No, I’m afraid they are all checked out”

Me : “Well do you know if they fit in the day-use lockers? I just bought one but don’t want to bring it if I can’t stow it”

Girl : “I really don’t know. Do you want to try to see if a women’s basketball will fit and then estimate?”

Me : “Sure”

(After successfully fitting the basketball into a day-use locker) Me : “Well it totally fits but there is only like 1/4 of an inch room left…it would be close, do you happen to know the dimensions of a men’s basketball?”

Girl : “No, let me look it up on Google…..hmmmm…..29.5….????”

Me : “Oh, I think that is the circumference actually……”

Girl : “And a women’s is 28.5…yeah”

(Pausing to think if I should really go down this road in this situation, ahh what the heck)

Me : “………Hey……Would you do me a favor and divide 29.5 by pi?“

Girl : “Uhhh…sure…woah…ok 9.39″

Me : “…Ok could you divide 28.5 by pi?”

Girl : “Cool, 9.08″

Me : “Wow, that might actually fit!…sure gonna be close though”

Girl (Who was, to my delight, apparently just as excited as I was about our mastery and application of high-school geometry) : “….THIS….IS…SO……GREAT!!!”