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03/01 Direct Link
Max writes to say: Beware of sharing your goals, your real hopes and dreams, because those you share with will not be supportive, rather controlling. Neither guiding lights, nor pats on the butt, more like dictators with myopic game plans – for your Life. You should: that is their command. You will at first feel somewhat bad for feeling this way, they’re supposed to be supportive, right? It must be me, my reaction. Then you’ll kick yourself for sharing. Eventually you’ll end up hating the whole original idea itself and chuck it all, possibly along with your friends.
03/02 Direct Link
I lost my pants. My jeans I put on each night at 5  when I get rid of school clothes. The jeans I wake up in at least once a week cause I’ve fallen asleep on the couch. The jeans I wear starting Fri 5pm ending Mon 6am. They’re cheap – 13 bucks- so you can buy several pairs. I like the dark blue of the denim, the white stitching. THE LOOP? I wear these jeans all the time. Why not? I could have pairs for farm work, cubicle work, date night pair, a Sunday. Would anybody notice? 
03/03 Direct Link
A friend in Rancho Cordova writes: The Russians are taking over the Korean market. The take-out counter now is more perogis, less bimbambap. There's an entire aisle of roasted red peppers, eggplant paste. Lots of senior citizen Russians with odd hairstyles. In the corner, right when you walk in the door, there are tables of Korean television programs on VHS. Perhaps they’re each making concessions: one aisle each. Soon the store will have a border down the middle, each side with its separate carts, clerks, and check-out lines. How do you keep muzak to only one side?
03/04 Direct Link

The construction dumpster trailer will change his life, he says to me long distance. I'm looking at it now parked out in front – it's huge! Its my neighbor's, he just brought it up. Once I get rid of all this stuff, things will start happening – this junk has been holding me back! Two weeks later he calls again full of good spirits: it was good, hard work. It rained, I went about it all in my yellow rain suit, all that crap now soggy and 3x as heavy. Here's to Big Changes! Amen, I say.

03/05 Direct Link
Snow-kissed tops of unnamed mountains all around-- it looks like a postcard from the Rockies. There's snow to the west even, not 50 miles from the Pacific. Sitting here in the airport, the North Central Valley of California is as lovely as the natives, then the Mexicans, and all the waves of settlers claimed it to be. Too bad one needs to get out of the city to see any of it. Here high above rice fields now barren I look out across the valley seeing its boundary ranges to the left and right in the clear cold blue.
03/06 Direct Link

E just starts talking. We haven't talked in more than a year. I hear the ice rattle in her empty glass. She says nobody finds her attractive anymore. I ask her the last time somebody showed interest – at the bank, grocery store, gas station – she says never. I tell her she's not paying attention. She tells me of a guy she is interested in, but he is not available because… he's entering seminary. That's convenient. To be sure he's years older, salt-n-pepper hair, soft-spoken, wears heavy sweaters. Oh my god, she sighs. 

03/07 Direct Link
Here’s to The Graduate, both the movie and the novel. I saw the movie again recently, then found a used pb copy of the novel for $1 days later. The dialog in the novel is fucking fantastic- like Franny & Zooey in the bathroom fantastic.  And yet when The Graduate is mentioned all everyone ever thinks about is Simon & Garfunkel. Not Dustin Hoffman in a wetsuit, not Anne Bancroft’s tanlines, not the ever lovely Katherine Ross. And not him driving the wrong way on the Bay Bridge to get to Berkeley. I blame Mike Nichols. Poor Charles Webb.
03/08 Direct Link
The sun shines most the time and the feeling is laid back. Sunday afternoons with cider over ice and two big fat newspapers. Dawg lays down, cats come round. Champagne goes well on these days in April and May when its warm enough to relax, not yet hot enough to warm your glass before finishing it. Today, though, is just a tease from Mother Nature: sunny and I open the doors and windows, sit out in shirt-sleeves. I open the paper, then run in to get my sunglasses. Another moment I run back in to get a sweater. Bitch. 
03/09 Direct Link

Facebook is for people doing well, not for those of us who are not. I see old friends grouped around their spouses, children in matching bright white shirts and denim. A message from a girl who toiled as K teacher a few years in the mean streets of the Marina, before landing a husband, moving to Tiburon. Another has never married, no kids, but now has an amazing bf and a Brand. New. Puppy. Perhaps, if we were such good friends wouldn't we have been in contact these last 25 years.  

03/10 Direct Link

The sun came out just as he spied the singletrack trail. A quick u-turn, he hopped over the knee-high grasses and landed, the earth squishing out water, now saturated. He clipped along the slick clay bank sections, hopping over bare roots, rock gardens – looking at both footfall challenges and the lake reflecting the 330 sun.  One steep peak had to be walked both up and down for fear he'd slip off, into the water 30' below. He was excited – a new trail heavy with spring green right next to the shore. 

03/11 Direct Link
He mentions again a hippie girlfriend. I’ve grown to expect it, to bear it in conversation. I’ve grown to loathe it. Where did this idea come from? Where did this term hippie gf come from? WTF does it mean?!? He speaks of how fun it would be to have some young, free spirit up there on the mountaintop. I guess maybe he’s right – what other kind of girl would put up with no tv, only wood heat, spotty plumbing. And naked, she’s often naked.  And why does he think she will make it all better? 
03/12 Direct Link
She plies him with red wine. She bought a magnum, then called to invite him over. He had never seen a bottle like this before. She kept refilling his glass, before it was empty, so he really had no idea how much he had been drinking. He did not realize this, of course, she did. They smooched on the couch like highschoolers. She was wearing lipstick - red hair and red lips - which he saw smeared across his mouth in the bathroom. That’s the last thing he remembers. Waking up: big headache, chalky mouth, sheets he doesn’t recognize.  
03/13 Direct Link
Some girls: Looking back, Jill R really was the College Girlfriend. I was a freshman, at a fraternity party no less. Unlike the bleach blonde, frosted-lip gloss masses, Jill reminded of the European sexiness I saw in Nastassja Kinski in Cat People, that movie imprinting my pubescent mind for life. Auburn hair, she wore dark lipstick at night. We’d crawl into her big bed, with its cool sheets, after a night out, with our underwear on, only to take them off moments later. Shy, initially. She was lovely. We did not fall in love, were we even able? 
03/14 Direct Link
It was hot, even right at the Golden Gate. Pasty bodies lay out on the sand. She had smiled, hadn’t she, when she walked past with her boyfriend. She ran down to the water, her sundress on, seemingly too shy to take it off high up on the sand. She came back moments later in the floral print bikini she had on underneath. Quickly, she's off again, alone. I spied her walking the length of the beach- getting used to it all perhaps? There are not too many bikini opportunities in San Francisco – well, beach-wearing bikini opportunities. 
03/15 Direct Link
Jug wine makes me feel fine, jug wine most of the time. I admit the initial purchase, months ago, was the appealing squat bottle with handle – that was the 1.5l, now I’ve graduated to the big jug so many used to drink in the 70s. I leave the jug outside, on cool nights – chilled to front porch temperature, precisely. It works on nights like this full of reading. This Dollar Store wine glass seems to hold plenty – so, worth a dollar. The taste sometimes gets you though – your mouth suddenly coated with something viscous. Do they thicken wine? 
03/16 Direct Link
Tsingtao beer has a skunky smell, so each time I bring the green bottle up to my mouth I can’t help but worry that the dawg got sprayed again. We all know the skunk smell driving down the highway, but a skunk spray in your front yard, not 5 ft from you front door is exponentially worse. I stepped out minutes after the attack – the vapor is like smoke: eyes burn, you uncontrollably cough. And yet I keep drinking because it is that curious smell and I need to cool my tongue after mouthfuls of spicy kung pao chicken. 
03/17 Direct Link
Sheep, goats, chickens. Flower, herb, veg gardens. And a pig, but you can’t eat it, Dad. Fiona is making plans for the property. She stops, looks out and considers, then adds to her list. Later we walk about the big open space just in front of the house. The grass has grown 6 inches in just two weeks, the cuffs of our pants are wet. It is green now and easy to envision lush gardens. But in just 6 weeks right here we’ll stand in an angry foothill desert where sand is replaced with knee high yellow grass. 
03/18 Direct Link
Alex Chilton died yesterday. I read about it first thing this morning while sitting at my desk sipping tea. It was a surprise though did not hit me so much then. Later, when I got home from work I put on the Big Star double cd I have. Tonight, I put it on again, opened some wine and the sadness quickly washed over me just like his beautiful melodies. Do your eyes tear up when you connect with a pop song? Happens to me all the time, still – my ex-wife used to tease me about it. To Alex, thanks. 
03/19 Direct Link
The tap on my window makes me jump causing peanuts to fly across the cab – across the seat, down on the floorboard. After thinking I’m gonna have to get down on my knees to pick up all these peanuts, I turn to the window with surely a WTF angry look. Jesus. A short person with a grimy sweatshirt is there. The hood is pulled up, but I can see some matted blonde? hair sticking out. I crack the window. Spare some change? It is the voice of a girl, young. I grab a dollar. Her heavy eyeliner confirms it.
03/20 Direct Link
Mike spends most of tonight’s Happy Hour staring at the new hostess at the chain restaurant right off the freeway. Her brown hair, in an unremarkable style and somewhat sunken dark brown eyes contrasted with her pale skin did something to him. He said he pretended to read the paper, but really just followed her moves across the room: greeting people (lots of fat people!) at the door, counting then carrying menus, herding each party to a table. She was already shorter than all the other employees, yet still slumped her shoulders seemingly to make herself even smaller. 
03/21 Direct Link
A bestseller on trail running writes of trails I too run right by my house. Singletrack, shaded with oaks, coursing up through golden hills- I agree, it is fantastic running. However, there seems much embellishment. He writes one race near here is teeming with rattlesnakes and poison oak, and yes they are there, but suggests that you will be dodging snakes and oozing puss by the finish line. He also turns each runner profile into a real character. Most runners are cranky, self-obsessed dorks with rarely a relaxed moment, but for 1hr after a race at the finish line. 
03/22 Direct Link
I might be a little more selfish than some other moms I think. I'd probably push the envelope in the interest of what I wanted, rather than my kid, I'd be more likely than some to have overnights, introduce my kid earlier than some. My perspective, of course is that of a mother of a toddler, so I feel like he is less aware of what I am doing. The story might be different to a mom of a school-aged kid. Like remember when you spent the night at my house with your girls? No, no I don’t. 
03/23 Direct Link
I drink wine and I listen to Big Star several nights in a row. While I can play a grand piano, I cannot drink gin & tonic. I saw Big Star once: in 2004 for just 35-40 mins, but I didn’t care – to me it sounded just as sweet. I don’t know why I am so upset, the recordings I’m listening to are what 35-40 years old? I agree with Paul Westerberg, to write a song about Alex Chilton would just be plain stupid. I sing out loud on the mtn:  Hold on, hold on. 
03/24 Direct Link
So, there's a foot of snow, it's sunny and warm in the afternoon and I didn't enjoy it at all.  It doesn’t take much to get snowed in up here on the mtntop, but usually we just get that pleasant dusting, not even an inch, but it looks like a winter wonderland nevertheless. It snowed overnight some, but round 730 it started dumping big, fat flakes. So I’m stuck for the day. Then it froze, the next 3 nights – now ice was everywhere. Yes, it was sunny and warm, but I felt trapped by 2WD and ice.
03/25 Direct Link

You seem like the perfect girl to join me up here on the mtntop, Mike says aloud though alone out back after work with beer. He's talking to the gardening magazine just pulled from the rusted mailbox down on the road. Sweet, cute, a bit quirky looking from recent European roots. Blonde, with an imperfect smile that matters as most as anything. She's standing amongst herbs plots, their bright greens matching her knee-high rubber boots. He raises his head to take another drink, his eyes looking out on the postcard valley view.

03/26 Direct Link
PDX. After all, Powell's is just a bookstore. Yes, it takes up a few blocks and there are a few specialized locations over there and down that way. Its so big the rooms are by color. And there is a giant information booth right when you walk in, that's right below the giant store index board. You can buy a t-shirt, a coffee cub too. But it really is just another bookstore that on this day didn't have any of the books I was looking for. You think I'm wrong? Do you get excited about Home Depot too? 
03/27 Direct Link
PDX. Of course in the hotel, at night, I hear sex. Both late at night, early in the morning I hear sex from next door. I hear the bed squeaking, but not in that typical rhythmic fashion that piques your ears – there are starts and stops. You’d think it’d be somewhat exciting, but its really just annoying. I hear Oh, Lord at night. In the morning, Yes Caleb. Caleb? CALEB? I am thinking there is no way that a Caleb can be the #1 Lover Man next door. Of course, later that night, again I’m proven wrong. 
03/28 Direct Link
Mondays are depressing. He drives into work, late by 15 mins - this is frowned upon. At least today is payday – wait, is it? He thinks it is. Good, now he’s relaxed because he’s got beer and gas money. What a drag to live paycheck to paycheck. The utility companies leave messages: In these trying economic times, you may qualify for our assistance program. Rice and beans works for just about 2 weeks. He thinks: I just feel bad driving into work on Monday mornings. Do the others, over in the next lane feel that way too? 
03/29 Direct Link
Air France girls turn me on. The ads I seem to come upon in the Travel section right between my 1st and 2nd bottle of Sunday cider. You can’t miss them: a big backdrop of blue: the blue my kids tease me about because how many shirts hang in my closet with this same color. Now they call it French blue. I don’t know if these girls are French or not. I don’t care, I’ll continue to pretend that they are and believe if I ever get to Paris they will be there to greet me. 
03/30 Direct Link

Charlotte’s breathy, whispering voice carries out the backdoor. Hey,hey,hey,hey-ey – the girls sing along by now, the styles throughout seem to keep their attention. I’m just liking it all, the whole Anglo-Franco package. A simple pleasure, not unlike sitting out here right now with green all around, warm sun, the girls playing over there in the Beautiful Tree. Even the faux-bohemian, Scientologist doesn’t bother me now, plus I can hear Danger Mouse scurrying about nicely. Those strings are nice too. Maybe a knock in the head is what I need too? 

03/31 Direct Link
These first 100Words entries are like Kindergarten crayon drawings. I re-read and see some neat use of color, but too much the herky-jerk of uncontrolled emotion, like a day after the fair meltdown. But while the toddler is overcome by too much sun, sugar, and people, I am overcome by too much cubicle hours, jug wine, and, well, people. So it is. My goal: fictional sketches, not diary confessions. I guess I have succeeded in places, others not so much. But you better believe that if one of these entries is featured its going up on my refrigerator.