westhaven

Just call me “Uncle Beefcake.”

It’s 80 degrees in Westhaven! Sort of a miracle even for summer. I’m going out to check out some potential local office spaces.

Things have been good. Work is a little harder when I’m not in the office. There are social dynamics I can’t keep spinning when I’m out of town. In the long run these plates need to spin themselves (with the aid of ye olde partners) but in the short term it looks like I’m the secret sauce.

Personally I’m still recovering from a hell of a weekend. Good, but left me feeling a bit dazed and behind on things. I had a real live date though — a fulfillment of my “power-dating” mandate, even — which went pretty well, although with schedules being what they are who knows when a second rendezvous might occur.

I have a shit-ton of photos from the party too. If you’re on facebook you can peep them there. I’ll try and get something up on Flickr too. Lots of excellent knuckle tats.

Anyway, apologies in advance to everything I’m behind on. I will be playing catch-up over the next week/end I’m sure, but you’re all in my heart and thoughts.

In brief. I’ve lived to see the ripe old age of 29. My mom has been having a lovely visit. The Country Soul Carmival Speakeasy was flawless victory (pictures a-plenty, for a change), and they have Jalapino Poppers on the menu at Larrupin, where I took the momster for her special day (poppers wrapped in bacon, natch).

Exhausted now, but in a very good and soul-satisfied way.

Flashing through the accumulated images of the past week, it’s a heady mixed bag. Trying to work my way from being a direct-actor to a manager. Trying to get ahead of the curve. Trying to continue my studious avoidance of all feminine diversions. Trying not to get boring as I get old. Trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Trying to communicate. Trying to love. Trying to speak correctly. Trying to listen. Trying.

And a few things occur to me.

In the smear of pint-night down at Everett’s, veterans of the military and Gillman st telling stories early, Kelly and Zya creating interpretive dances to Neil Diamond, then the kids coming in as the evening sets in; there emerges a ray of light in shiny blue tights, sheer brilliance, such as to make me avert my eyes. She looks pretty good at the coffeeshop usually, but this is another level, enough to make a man reexamine his beliefs. It occurs to me that my “my head’s not in it” excuse for studious avoidance of such is a self-fulfilling prophecy with real limits in its utility. Something’s got to change, but for the moment, hey, at least you’ve got a collectable pint glass to duck into.

And from this, a potential remedy for my romantic listlessness, a possible self-concept, an avenue of habitual action. How does “power-dating” sound? It’s more applicable than my retired manslut persona non grata, and it could be useful to get me out there in some way. It ties in with ambition and other shadowy forces that need outlets. I don’t know how it squares with living half-n-half between here and the Bay — where exactly do I set my sites? both? — but it seems worth trying.

The general premise is that, hey, I’m a single successful guy. I’m trying to make something of my life and managing some success. Why shouldn’t I be aiming high, perhaps absurdly and intentionally so, in my pursuit of companionship? Why shouldn’t I try to find someone who wants to be part of a power couple? It’s unlikely that my ambitions are going to cool off anytime soon, and I like powerful women, so why not make that my new thing?

I’m not sure yet, but this still seems like a halfway decent idea in the morning.

Finally, on another note, a chance for adventure. My great friend Julia has some free tickets to Coachella, and I’m going to try and pull off a little last-minute trip action. It’ll be good to get a change of scenery. I’ll take some photos or something.

In a New York City, and presumably other big cities, one builds a vital sense of community out of the people with whom you have regular pattern overlaps: fellow commuters, the workers at the coffeeshop when you like to go, the corner deli staff, one or two people in your building you see often. Otherwise, you’re awash in strangers, and points of familiarity tend to be a welcome surprise and a comfort, even when they’re discovered through the mediation of customer service.

In the HC, you’ve probably seen everyone before, several times, possibly even picking up enough information along the way to form opinions about these people even if you don’t know their names. Unfamiliar faces are rare and precious, and people often use the mediation of social roles — again customer service comes to mind, but there are other examples — as a means of creating pseudonymity where none actually exists, a way of escaping omnipresent social information or obligation.

Clearly these are generalizations, and deeply colored by my own bias. Still, kind of interesting.

It’s a fantabulous day here in the HC, going beyond the beauty of sping and offering a legitimate preview of what we enjoy come Summer. The sun is hot and the breeze is fresh. I spent the first half of the afternoon lazing about the plaza at the farmers market. I was hoping to score some organic cucumbers (for to make deliciously infused gin) but it’s too early. Most people are just selling plant sprouts, herbs and gourds and leeks and salad greens.

But it’s still a good place to hang out, to see and be seen. For instance, I ran into Aaron from Green Wheels, who’s sort of a socially entrepreneurial peer for me here. He put a quote from me into his quarterly newsletter. I may try and help them out with the Drups on their website, etc. It’s all part of putting down my own roots locally.

Farmers market is also a nice place to people-watch; solar power demos and pretty ladies. Nothing much happening there, just some hippy guy catching paper on fire and me lurking around, watching for beauty. Pretty cool though, and important for me to get out in the world. It’s gotten to the point where people in #drupal tell me to “go meet real girls” (I’d said I had “a date with some javascript this weekend”), and it feels a bit like I’ve entered into a situation comedy based on how often people seem to want to fix me up. Not that I mind that, but it’s definitely a new phenomena. New can be good though.

Anyway, I’m not stressing it. Someday I’ll find a nice girl who’ll talk nerdy to me and things will just click. The flutter will return. I feel pretty confident in that, even if the meantime is a tad lonely.

Well, I’d better get back to that javascript date, and my taxes. I want to wrap it all up and go see a play!

(Photo by Hamed Saber)

After a late-night drive I’ve returned to the HC, home of struggles over code enforcement and many other great things. I got out to a late start, but it was allright since there isn’t any traffic in Santa Rosa at 8pm and I got a tip to check out Radio Lab, which provided great entertainment for the first four hours of the trip.

I woke up this morning and noticed how quiet it was. Contrast is nice.

Lots of goings on around here. Always more to do. It looks like I’ll be burning the candle at both ends and also melting into it from various points in the middle between now and my 29th birthday (May 10th, also the date for the Country Soul Carnival!).

I’m hoping to have the time and energy to get my writing back into gear also. It may not happen, but I’m hoping my high-functioning nature continues kicking and I just operate at more RPMs rather than getting burned out and overwhelmed.

We’ll see.

(Photo by Lynda True)

Not much going on ‘round here. I have become infested with the Humboldt County Crud, which will hopefully pass soon. On the upside its a winter wonderland here (rare snow) and we replaced our broken dishwasher, raising the Westhaven standard of living by 3.35 points in a single afternoon.

Since I’ve been sleeping and laying in bed more, I’ve been thinking about what kind of life I want to lead, trying to let my mind wander, entice the possibilities. It’s been a year and a half since I relocated to this little slice of earth. Time flies.

After a busy-as-all-hell week in SF (note to self: this is what happens when I don’t set foot in the office for two months) I’ve returned to the welcoming arms of Westhaven. It’s nice to be back in the land of hot tubs and bonfires and cookouts and such. We also have some old and new friends from Portland and New Zealand visiting this weekend, so it’s been a fun-time party.

Yesterday we hit up the shooting club and fired off a few rounds w/Capn. Frank’s shotgun. It was just my second time shooting and the first for some of the girls we brought, which was fun. By the third round of traps I was actually correctly aiming (or as our elderly sweat-pants and tie-dye range guide called it “pointing”) and able to hit two out of three targets. It’s nice to know how to safely handle guns; makes them less alien and frightening.

I hit the skate ramp too. Our 6-year-old former roommate Wiley has been working his skills and just learned to drop in, and was egging me on to do it with him. I have yet to put in the hours to even learn basic side-to-side balance, but for Wiley’s sake I made four or five attempts. Two of them were actually correct to form — putting the nose down; not what your instincts want you to do — but all resulted in total wipeouts, which is part of the whole thing after all. It’s a lot of fun to have kids use the ramp because A) it’s very cute and B) our neighbors really really hate the thing, and having a bunch of kids and toddlers playing on it makes it sort of invincible to criticism.

It’s High Autumn in the HC. The weather is perfect and people are flush with cash. Starlets are biting our styles, and football is delivering constant entertainment. So now it’s back to work, and maybe getting back into yoga class or at least the Gym. I feel the need to re-awaken my body, start digging into some projects.

A mishmash of things this fine Friday morning:

• Congratulations Al Gore. If it was good enough for Kissinger, I supposed it’s an ok second-prize. Shoulda been da president.
• I happened to watch The Daily Show last night, and John Stewart took Washington Post media critic Howard Klein to the MF woodshed. The interview itself is Stewart at his sharpest, but what you miss in the web-replay is that he preceded the actual one-on-one with a whole segment devoted to skewering Klein’s central assertion that “media coverage has turned Americans against the war.” Devastating.
• I also went out last night to the Redwood Tech Consortium mixer, both because I’m curious about the recent internet outage and what can be done about it, and as part of my ongoing program of getting out on the scene. Last week, theater; this week tech. It was a good little crowd at a mexican joint in Eureka where the margaritas packed a punch, and I finally met up with Aaron from Green Wheels, who’d contacted me before about Drupal stuff.
• Next week I’ll be hitting up SF, spending a week in teh office, doing a bunch of meetings, and hanging out with LGD and the Girth I imagine. I’ve been back here long enough that I think I’ll enjoy a little outing to the citay.

Life is good. I sent out some snail-mail yesterday and caught up on some e-correspondence too, keeping up connections. I’m sort of digging my own existence again, feeling the potential.

Storm’s a’comin’. Flocks of geese headed down from Oregon signal a turning point in the season. This morning the wind kicked up from the South — not its usual direction — and knocked out the county’s fiber optic link, which kills the internet as well as most ATMs and credit card machines. Over at Bank of America they were only letting people in and out through the back door one at a time. All systems down. Torrential rain will no doubt follow soon.

Still, I’m feeling pretty good. The loamy smells of autumn and the sound of dry leaves skittering along the ground bring me a kind of nostalgic peace; crisp bittersweet memories of adolescence in Eugene, frozen breath and teenage heart-thobbery. Times of greater purity, back when there were all sorts of things to believe in, peace and prosperity, when cynicism was just a romantic pose.
the other week to describe times when you go out or stay out after your roommates go home.
My hand is still pink and tender (hurts to go into my pockets for stuff) but whole and presentable to the world. I no longer feel freakish about it, and I’m hoping I can regain that sense of momentum I had coming out of Burning Man: strong and sexy and free, walking tall and lithe, without those dark circles under my eyes. The El Sargento Propane Explosion certainly kneecapped that feeling, but I’m optimistic about getting it back now.

To that end, it was truly a Good Thing™ to get out on the scene this past weekend, jumping back into the world of art and theatre vis-a-vis a 24-hour/10-minute play festival in Eureka. These local avant-guardians have somehow occupied a historic movie theater, from the ’30s, and are renovating in into a hub of creativity. Much glory to them.

The festival, as the title suggests, was largely about a process, but the products were fairly good across the board — and some quite great — especially considering the logistical constraints. My script was good, my actors a bit nervous, and my own directorial skills rusty to say the least. It took me back to the opening night of Nitewerk, being stuck in the booth, white-knuckled, watching the hit-and-miss of the moments we worked come off (or not). Torturous for me. Still, the performance worked well enough, and the whole thing was entirely enjoyable and worthy as an artistic experience.

It was also important for me socially, finding an outlet for my creative side and taking a step into local life independent of Westhaven. Kellimundo coined the term “secret hour” We’re like a little family in a lot of ways, which is a huge part of what I love about living here, but it’s vital to have your own thing, especially when you’re like me and don’t tend to find romance among your first-degree social connections.

(And yes, I did discover that one of the other directors was attractive, articulate and talented. For all I know she may or may not be married, engaged, into girls, or just plain old not into me, but at least this is something to find out. Prospects! Bonus!)

Like most things, my love life tends to run in waves. The two most limiting factors are the waxing and waning of my own self-confidence, and the way in which I can be excessively picky when it comes to the ladies. It’s the ying to my sometime manslut yang. When things get to running cold, I go months and months without being legitimately attracted to anyone.

That’s been compounded since I moved here by the smallness of my social world, my self-imposed romantic exile and introversion. While it is slimmer pickin’s up in the HC as opposed to, say, trendy trendy Billzburg circa 2002-2003, it’s not as though there aren’t a lot of babes around. Why just now I looked out the coffeeshop window and saw that one tough-ass strawberry blond girl that I’ve seen around getting into her pickup truck through the window (ala Dukes of Hazard). That’s pretty hot.

No, the real question for me is getting beyond just seeing some cute girl out the window. Same as it ever was, meeting people is easy when my inner gyroscope is running strong, when I’m both feeling the present and riding through on a strong polished rail of future vision, when I have a reason d’friggin’etre.

Seems lately it’s been day to day, week to week, month to month, and now year to year. That’s no way to live — too much unspecified stress to be present, no real idea what the bigger picture is; the worst of both worlds; a crisis of meaning.

The upside is that this feels like how it was, not how it is. My friends told me when I decided to stick around at the end of last summer that the first test would be the winter, and that if I weathered that it could take up to a year to really find my groove.

I’m not all the way there yet, but like I said, I feel like the momentum is coming back. I realized when I looked myself in the eye after being out partying in the desert with virtually no sleep for a week, and I still looked and felt more alive than I have been on your average Thursday morning all year long — my life works best when it’s big and wild and full of adventure. It’s up to me to make that happen.