First off, my readership is tiny. Reader “ship” could be replaced with Reader “row-boat”. Or maybe Reader “kayak.” So honestly I say, thank you for visiting. Your comments, BookFace shares, and re-tweets mean a lot when they happen.
Usually I aim to be pretty silly, so let’s face it this is geared mostly to be a humor blog with a zen and technology slant. Today I didn’t feel funny (although I clearly need to make a cartoon of a clown visiting a doctor: “Hey Doc, I don’t feel funny…”)
Recently things have been getting me down somewhat. That’s not to say that I’ve fallen into some kind of true state of depression, but a little blue. The political rhetoric is hard on me, and I don’t like the division, the attacks, the anger. Watching yet another state reduce the freedoms of a group of people based on their sexual identity is hard to deal with, especially knowing that somehow ours did it too. Religious issues arise in a sad way out of the previous two issues and I so don’t want anything to do with that debate, but I entered into it anyway because a friend and theologian who I admire asked what I thought. So I told her. And I can only hope that it was informative and not some kind of attack. I worked very hard to frame that response.
Another thing that has had my mind going some was I just finished Jenny Lawson’s (aka TheBloggess) new book “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened.” This was both funny and painful. I struggled on the choice of the word “painful” there, partly because I really didn’t want to dig through a thesaurus over it.
Jenny doesn’t hide that she struggles with an acute case of generalized anxiety and depression, and her book really reflects that. There will be chapters of sheer silliness and in the middle of any of them you’ll see the obvious struggles she deals with daily. This is no laughing matter. This is suffering, and I completely empathize.
I sent her a little email one day thanking her for finding the courage to blog to make a series of videos addressing the issue. She kindly wrote back. I’m sure the return email was probably written, deleted, rewritten, deleted again, then simply came out as three little words. I treasure those three little words and the strength it took to write them.
So let’s get on to something a little less melancholy shall we, hmmmmm?
I live in a small mountain town sandwiched between one big town and a mega-metropolis (yay Silicon Valley and San Francisco Bay Area). My day started out as they often do. It’s dark and the neighbor’s rooster hasn’t even gotten up yet. Yes, the neighbor has a rooster. I’m not in a giant hurry because my carpool is off today, so I can dawdle – sort of. I can’t drag my feet too much because I’m the sole male in a household with my lovely wife and two daughters. So our one bathroom is prime real estate.
On my way out of town I stop at one of our many (ok, two) fine coffee establishments. There I meet the owner’s prized bull mastiff who’s happy to slobber all over me to say “hi there I see you have ham!” Good dog. The coffee is pretty good and there’s an old character there playing guitar, singing, and blowing into a harmonica. He’s pretty good too so I put a buck in his guitar case. While drinking my coffee I talk a little with two loggers getting ready for their day. Yes, loggers.
If you’re from the San Lorenzo Valley you’re probably not as delighted with this as I am. I grew up a beach kid around Los Angeles and spent most of my life in big cities. Santa Cruz was the smallest town I ever lived in and honestly it’s not small. It’s not huge, but it’s not a tiny either. I spent a couple of years in Las Vegas – this insane sprawling metropolis that has no reason for existing aside from gambling and… hell I keep looking for the “and” but it isn’t there… so gambling it is (note: I’m not knocking this).
I wrap up at the coffee joint and head down my crazy-assed mountain road which people drive way the hell too fast on. No, it isn’t Highway 17. That would be a luxury. This goofy thing cuts across Them Thar Hills to get to Highway 17. I won’t bore you much more with the details of that commute. Suffice to say that it goes from sparse, yet insane, to crowded city traffic and insane.
I actually came across one dude on a portion of Highway 17 texting. He covered the distance of two football fields without looking up from his goddamn phone. I wanted to slug him with it. Once into San Jose I saw a dude with a curious idea for now to use the hands-free headset of his iPhone. He had the earbuds wrapped around his face such that the microphone was across his chin like it was the strap on a helmet. I swear I am not making this up. I wanted to knock on his window to tell him “Hey dude, I think you’re doing it wrong.”
Work is work. I went from loggers to high-tech. A forest of redwood trees to a maze of ethernet cables. I spend the rest of my day trying to get computer A to talk with computer B through firewall C while purposely downloading Virus D. Firewall C is supposed to identify Virus D and go “HEY DUMMY!!” It does, but it took me all day to setup the test to prove the fact. I freaking love this job.
The trip back home is a lot like running the sausage back through the grinder. But is otherwise uneventful. I’m exhausted and a little beaten down with the constant noise about North Carolina’s insane decision to limit marriage to heterosexual couples only (’cause they’re immune to divorces, herpes, and general deep doo doo I guess). Literally limiting the freedoms of one group in favor of another. Holy crap. I am still shocked that my beloved California got there first. My heart aches for my LGBT friends here and in North Carolina.
Once I do get home I’m reminded by LisaLiscious that I need to return a movie and video games to our one and only video rental place. She also reminds me to get the trash cans on my way home. I hear what I want to hear which is
“return the movies, get trashed, then come home”
because I understood that Boulder Creek Brewery has a new batch of Zythos IPA. I love Boulder Creek Brewery. 
On my way out I bump into another young man. He’s putting stuff away for the night after a long 3-day tree removal job in Felton. I notice that there are more surf boards in the garage than people I’ve seen in town all day. I Love this because we went from surfboards common, surfboards as anomoly, then back to surfboards common. I don’t think I can ever fully express how wildly out of place I felt living in Las Vegas.
There’s a little band playing tonight in the Brewery. Three guys playing guitar, banjo, and a washboard. There’s also this ridiculously good looking woman playing fiddle. They are having a great time but I’m kind of on a schedule so I finish my beer and head out on foot to the video store.
While out I am winding down and start seeing all the charm of our little town at night. People are sill trickling in along Hwy 9 getting home from work too. I take out my phone and start snapping pictures thinking that maybe I’ll share and maybe someone else will find it charming too. My walk to the video store has become a photo essay. A photo essay with a camera inadequate for the job. So I’m sure color correction will abound, most will be badly underexposed, some will be overexposed and tonight I just don’t care. Maybe it will add to the fun.
I've heard of these. They were called "Paifawnes" I think it was Ohlone for "gimme your dimes"
