Hop-In
I heard an owl this morning
It did not call my name. It just said who, who? I thought to myself, that's a big ass mourning dove and then I realized, it's still dark out and that's not a mourning dove, that's gotta be an owl. It made me think about a TV movie I saw when I was a kid. A dour little heartfelt movie about a white Vicar in a community with a lot of indiginous folks in Western Canada called I Heard the Owl Call My Name. Indian lore has it that when the owl calls your name, it's time to go. The Vicar finds out he has cancer and then the owl says "Elliot" or "Spencer" or whatever his name was. And it's time to go. Anyway, this movie legit terrified me and scarred me for life. Mothers, if you don't let your babies grow up to be moody artists types, watch TV with them so that they have a sense of comfort when they first stare into the abyss. Anyway, enough about mommy issues.
It was legit gorgeous out there this morning. Cold, clear, quiet with the black just turning a to midnight blue, the sun getting prepped to come over the New York Skyline in the East. My knees hurt and when I run faster than 12 minute miles, I'm happy, that's the new bar. But I feel so good afterwards. It puts me in such a good mood. This is the manifestation of the addict personality. I will never let anyone know how much my knees really hurt because I'm protecting my using, I mean my running. But whatever; there are worst things I could do with my body, mind and time.
It was legit gorgeous out there this morning. Cold, clear, quiet with the black just turning a to midnight blue, the sun getting prepped to come over the New York Skyline in the East. My knees hurt and when I run faster than 12 minute miles, I'm happy, that's the new bar. But I feel so good afterwards. It puts me in such a good mood. This is the manifestation of the addict personality. I will never let anyone know how much my knees really hurt because I'm protecting my using, I mean my running. But whatever; there are worst things I could do with my body, mind and time.
Note - this was a letter to my Mom & Dad. The file is dated April 12, 2017. My parents were headed out for a drive down the coast, from Seattle to Astoria through Oregon and then to California. Unfortunately, they waited too long. My Dad wanted to do more things together, to have little adventures, but my mom couldn't stop working. She didn't want to be at home with a grumpy controlling old man, so the controlling man just got older and grumpier.
Ahoy Crew, The good ship Have Fun Every Day,
I’m very excited for your road trip through my favorite part of the world.*
The coast from Tomales, California to Astoria, Oregon. Here are some top-of-mind highlights and observations.
One big tree farm full of depressed lumber towns, gun shops, and restaurants serving tough steak and spotted owl stew, interspersed Indian reservations wishing the white folks had more money (other than their government checks) to gamble away. I love the damp dreary perpetual dusk of the Washington South Olympic Peninsula. But it’s an acquired taste and better things lie ahead.
Remember, this part of the world – the winter here, almost killed Lewis and Clark. Speaking of Lewis and Clark, the museum at the mouth of the Columbia is worth checking out. A nice walk through timeline and a good overlook of the mighty Columbia.
Rolling on to Astoria.
Astoria, as a town, seems like one big might-have-been that almost happened. You’ll probably be able to find something gluten free to eat down by the river. I’d stick with diner coffee and not try to order a latte. But maybe things have changed.
The Oregon Beaches really start here. We stayed in a Yurt south beach, just south of Astoria. If you’re hard of hearing and can’t hear the foghorns, that could be an option. Say …!
Next stop, Manzanita. Which you are more than familiar with. Say hi to Betsey and Steve for me. What a wonderful spot. I’m envious!
After, that, the Oregon coast really, really gets rolling. Taking your Time. Gold Beach. Agate Beach. Lincoln City. Tons of Bed & Breakfasts along here.
Brookings is one of my favorite places in the world. We always stay at Rainbow Rock – a condo development north of town. This is definitely a happy place on earth for you son Max, and one of the few places on earth I actually relax. I have no idea why. Please feel free to call Debbie at (541) 846-1242 or (702) 460-1929.
Highlights in Brookings – A Get a Blizzard at the Dairy Queen and go to Azalea Park. Very pretty.
After Brookings: Now you’re crossing into California. Del Norte County is probably one of the least developed counties in California, and full of farms and redwoods and Siskyou wildness and hippies. This area around where the Smith River hits the sea is beautiful. Highway 199 winds down through the mountains following the river. If you take a left – which you won’t – that’s a gorgeous drive and you come out at Grant’s Pass, just a little north of Medford, and Ashland.
Ashland is wonderful.
If you take a left, there are some wonderful redwood groves. Lots of Elves and magical frogs and fairies.
Then comes Crescent City and then Arcata and Eureka, which is one of the mostfog bound places in all of America. America WWII pilots would practice taken off and landing here, to train for England.
In Crescent City there’s a “golden age of motoring” motel made of one entire redwood tree called the Curly Redwood lodge. You’ll see it on your left.
The Curly Redwood Lodge. It was built from one curly redwood tree that produced 57,000 board feet of lumber. Curly redwood is unique because of the curly grain of the wood, unlike typical straight grained redwood. You’re real close to the ocean and redwood forests. Phone: (855) 264-8957
South from there, is plenty of gorgeous country.
After Garberville and Leggett, the 1 and 101 separate and I would take the 1 to Fort Bragg and then turn inland.
I haven’t explored this road over to Williams/Willows on the 5 - so you’ll have to give me the report.
Heading North again, the 5 doesn’t get interesting really until Redding. The reservoirs and Mt. Shasta should be AMAZING after all the rains, though. WWWWOOWW.
As will Mendocino County, etc.
Taking a right at Weed and going inland toward Klamath Falls … pretty country.
Crater Lake is of course stunning.
We camped at La Pine, which is between Crater Lake and Bend. At any rate, take lots of pictures and send us updates as you drive. Take lots of breaks. Enjoy yourself. It’s a cruise. Not a race.
Love,
Max
****
Addendum. I guess the trip turned out to be a real challenge. Dad was tense and not feeling well. Had health issues dealing with the plumbing. I'm sure my mom was suitably passive-aggressive and not helpful. My Dad had a big resentment toward my mom because she kept working and they never got to enjoy retirement together. Since he's gone, I'll carry on the resentment on his behalf. To be fair, she was probably terrified - who wants to be stuck at home all day with a crazy person? On the other hand, these are the people that didn't own a couch. My mom never stops moving - not like a shark; more of a hummingbird. Is it the asthma drugs she's on? A lifetime of backed-up trauma? Cognitive degeneration? + energy.
Ahoy Crew, The good ship Have Fun Every Day,
I’m very excited for your road trip through my favorite part of the world.*
The coast from Tomales, California to Astoria, Oregon. Here are some top-of-mind highlights and observations.
- Heading South from Kingston towards the Washington coast.
One big tree farm full of depressed lumber towns, gun shops, and restaurants serving tough steak and spotted owl stew, interspersed Indian reservations wishing the white folks had more money (other than their government checks) to gamble away. I love the damp dreary perpetual dusk of the Washington South Olympic Peninsula. But it’s an acquired taste and better things lie ahead.
Remember, this part of the world – the winter here, almost killed Lewis and Clark. Speaking of Lewis and Clark, the museum at the mouth of the Columbia is worth checking out. A nice walk through timeline and a good overlook of the mighty Columbia.
Rolling on to Astoria.
Astoria, as a town, seems like one big might-have-been that almost happened. You’ll probably be able to find something gluten free to eat down by the river. I’d stick with diner coffee and not try to order a latte. But maybe things have changed.
The Oregon Beaches really start here. We stayed in a Yurt south beach, just south of Astoria. If you’re hard of hearing and can’t hear the foghorns, that could be an option. Say …!
Next stop, Manzanita. Which you are more than familiar with. Say hi to Betsey and Steve for me. What a wonderful spot. I’m envious!
After, that, the Oregon coast really, really gets rolling. Taking your Time. Gold Beach. Agate Beach. Lincoln City. Tons of Bed & Breakfasts along here.
Brookings is one of my favorite places in the world. We always stay at Rainbow Rock – a condo development north of town. This is definitely a happy place on earth for you son Max, and one of the few places on earth I actually relax. I have no idea why. Please feel free to call Debbie at (541) 846-1242 or (702) 460-1929.
Highlights in Brookings – A Get a Blizzard at the Dairy Queen and go to Azalea Park. Very pretty.
After Brookings: Now you’re crossing into California. Del Norte County is probably one of the least developed counties in California, and full of farms and redwoods and Siskyou wildness and hippies. This area around where the Smith River hits the sea is beautiful. Highway 199 winds down through the mountains following the river. If you take a left – which you won’t – that’s a gorgeous drive and you come out at Grant’s Pass, just a little north of Medford, and Ashland.
Ashland is wonderful.
If you take a left, there are some wonderful redwood groves. Lots of Elves and magical frogs and fairies.
Then comes Crescent City and then Arcata and Eureka, which is one of the mostfog bound places in all of America. America WWII pilots would practice taken off and landing here, to train for England.
In Crescent City there’s a “golden age of motoring” motel made of one entire redwood tree called the Curly Redwood lodge. You’ll see it on your left.
The Curly Redwood Lodge. It was built from one curly redwood tree that produced 57,000 board feet of lumber. Curly redwood is unique because of the curly grain of the wood, unlike typical straight grained redwood. You’re real close to the ocean and redwood forests. Phone: (855) 264-8957
South from there, is plenty of gorgeous country.
After Garberville and Leggett, the 1 and 101 separate and I would take the 1 to Fort Bragg and then turn inland.
I haven’t explored this road over to Williams/Willows on the 5 - so you’ll have to give me the report.
Heading North again, the 5 doesn’t get interesting really until Redding. The reservoirs and Mt. Shasta should be AMAZING after all the rains, though. WWWWOOWW.
As will Mendocino County, etc.
Taking a right at Weed and going inland toward Klamath Falls … pretty country.
Crater Lake is of course stunning.
We camped at La Pine, which is between Crater Lake and Bend. At any rate, take lots of pictures and send us updates as you drive. Take lots of breaks. Enjoy yourself. It’s a cruise. Not a race.
Love,
Max
****
Addendum. I guess the trip turned out to be a real challenge. Dad was tense and not feeling well. Had health issues dealing with the plumbing. I'm sure my mom was suitably passive-aggressive and not helpful. My Dad had a big resentment toward my mom because she kept working and they never got to enjoy retirement together. Since he's gone, I'll carry on the resentment on his behalf. To be fair, she was probably terrified - who wants to be stuck at home all day with a crazy person? On the other hand, these are the people that didn't own a couch. My mom never stops moving - not like a shark; more of a hummingbird. Is it the asthma drugs she's on? A lifetime of backed-up trauma? Cognitive degeneration? + energy.
you never know what'll wash up from the depths.
Foster Island aka Stitici
As I’m write this I’m suddenly 15 years old again and I'm dangling my feet off of the platforms and into the life-warm waters on the second footbridge on the path through the marsh out to Foster Island. The blue-green warmth is so lush and fragrant that that time itself slows to a leisurely summer pause. The only movement in the universe is the orderly ripples emerging from the shaded inlets and recesses of the arboretum; the only sound the steady whirr of wheels on 520 the floating bridge that bisects Foster Islands and crosses Lake Washington.
Foster Island is an island, of sorts, in the University of Washington's Arboretum, on the swampy shores of
As I’m write this I’m suddenly 15 years old again and I'm dangling my feet off of the platforms and into the life-warm waters on the second footbridge on the path through the marsh out to Foster Island. The blue-green warmth is so lush and fragrant that that time itself slows to a leisurely summer pause. The only movement in the universe is the orderly ripples emerging from the shaded inlets and recesses of the arboretum; the only sound the steady whirr of wheels on 520 the floating bridge that bisects Foster Islands and crosses Lake Washington.
Foster Island is an island, of sorts, in the University of Washington's Arboretum, on the swampy shores of
Time travel; 2,831 miles and a 1/2 century.
My sister bought the house four doors down from the one we grew up in. It has the same floorplan and the same view of the park. Sitting on the bed in my niece’s room and looking out of the bedroom window. Same view I had as a child. Through the afternoon, evening and now early morning. I’m a guest in my own childhood. Here, the permanent resident Canadian Geese honk as much as New Jersey drivers and the cars do not. The sparrows and robins lett all within hearing know that yes once again the sun will rise and do it’s thing. And the beat goes on: day follows night, the moon chases the sun, spring and summer tumble and fall into winter. Breathe in, breathe out ... repeat. My sister says who needs a white noise machine when you have 520 passing by. The wheels humming and hissing their gentle differentiations. Every now and again a truck and then a motorcycle. A comforting whirr to lull your dreams, day and night. I am okay right here and now. A child in my own private world, resisting sleep. Why sleep, when you can stay wakeful within this awareness. But the wheels are also an invitation. Where is everyone going? Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado? California, Texas, New York even? Can I come too? My restlessness was born here and now spent it comes back to rest.
A visit from Dad.
I got a visit from my dad last night. He showed up in a dream. He was his old self, but somehow, younger. Tougher, more virile. His better self.
He started talking about money. How he was going to take a little extra and do something with it. I walked up to him. I could still feel that weird electric tension between us, like oppositely charged magnets. I said, “If you have any extra money, I’m sure your grandkids could use it for college.” He looked me up and down then right through me and asked, flat but not without insight and a dusting of compassion “What happened to you?”
It was a rhetorical question, like “What the fuck happened to you since we last talked? Why are you so beat up? What happened to the swagger? The twinkle? The easy laugh? In summary, why all the heaviness … Don’t you remember who the fuck you are?”
And then he was playing piano - really well, in a Jazz style, like it's time to sit in with Stan Getz or Wayne Shorter - and maybe he had been, where ever they all are. He was reminding me that all of life is artistry. Not just what you do. Or what they do. Or what I do. And most importantly, we’re not here to conquer the world. Win or lose, there is no win or lose. We are people that have a good time. Son, whatever you think the problem is, money, work, shake it off. Let’s go sailing.
(Only later did I realize that I'd had the dream on what would have been my parents' 59th wedding Anniversary, April 10, 2024.)
He started talking about money. How he was going to take a little extra and do something with it. I walked up to him. I could still feel that weird electric tension between us, like oppositely charged magnets. I said, “If you have any extra money, I’m sure your grandkids could use it for college.” He looked me up and down then right through me and asked, flat but not without insight and a dusting of compassion “What happened to you?”
It was a rhetorical question, like “What the fuck happened to you since we last talked? Why are you so beat up? What happened to the swagger? The twinkle? The easy laugh? In summary, why all the heaviness … Don’t you remember who the fuck you are?”
And then he was playing piano - really well, in a Jazz style, like it's time to sit in with Stan Getz or Wayne Shorter - and maybe he had been, where ever they all are. He was reminding me that all of life is artistry. Not just what you do. Or what they do. Or what I do. And most importantly, we’re not here to conquer the world. Win or lose, there is no win or lose. We are people that have a good time. Son, whatever you think the problem is, money, work, shake it off. Let’s go sailing.
(Only later did I realize that I'd had the dream on what would have been my parents' 59th wedding Anniversary, April 10, 2024.)
And what did happen? A "perfect storm" of homesick, untreated depression/anxiety/insecurity/"bipolar 2"/etcetc and I lost my protective outer shell, loss of ego in not a good way, and I was defenseless. Buffeted by impressions. No sense of anchoring of self. The body and mind broke. Possible classic nervous breakdown. Possession by a foreign entity. All options are open. Many theories have been offered.
The inconvenience of aging.
In 1900, a baby born in the USA could expect to live 47 years and 1 in 5 children died before the age of 10.*
There was a time when age was an anomaly and therefore worth of respect and perhaps even wonder; but now – how do we feel about age?
It’s inconvenient in ourselves and others. Sort of embarrassing. It’s just not sexy.
****
*Quoted from the New Yorker, April 22,29 Issue 2024. “No time to die” , when does the quest for a healthy life become unhealthy? by Dhruv Khullar. No idea where Dhruv got the stat. He did this sort of sloppy job of a summarizing Dr. Peter Attia's work. A little bit of contempt prior to investigation. Instead of reading the book "Outlive" he went to Austin, TX and met with Attia who gave him the Cliff Notes. What's more important, your lifespan or your "healthspan"? And is this controllable? Can we train our minds and bodies to be more active and healthier in our last decade of life? As a personal aside, I'm must glad that I enjoy working out and being outside - that makes the whole thing a game. If it's a mere inconvenience, then wow. That's tough. But no judgment.
There was a time when age was an anomaly and therefore worth of respect and perhaps even wonder; but now – how do we feel about age?
It’s inconvenient in ourselves and others. Sort of embarrassing. It’s just not sexy.
****
*Quoted from the New Yorker, April 22,29 Issue 2024. “No time to die” , when does the quest for a healthy life become unhealthy? by Dhruv Khullar. No idea where Dhruv got the stat. He did this sort of sloppy job of a summarizing Dr. Peter Attia's work. A little bit of contempt prior to investigation. Instead of reading the book "Outlive" he went to Austin, TX and met with Attia who gave him the Cliff Notes. What's more important, your lifespan or your "healthspan"? And is this controllable? Can we train our minds and bodies to be more active and healthier in our last decade of life? As a personal aside, I'm must glad that I enjoy working out and being outside - that makes the whole thing a game. If it's a mere inconvenience, then wow. That's tough. But no judgment.
And this little piece of beach glass from June 18, 2019
My first day in advertising was a car wreck.
Back then, I tried one job after another. I kept getting canned. I worked for an eyeblink at this designer deep dish pizza place called Testa Rossa on Broadway in Seattle. The manager walks in and looks at me chatted it up with the fellow waiters, leaning on the counter. I think he let me go right then. "If you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean." I think he actually said that, and I thought "How clever. That's catchy." When I'm the boss, I'll have to say stuff that rhymes.
After that, I stumbled around from one construction day labor job to the next. Grrgh. I ended up working for this restaurant Boondockers and Humperdinck’s or BJ O’handeryanks. Porkwattles and Thundercocks. Something like that. In the 70s there were alot of restaurants that had names like that. This place - and I do think it was called Boondockers - was a classic upscale gay establishment that had seen better days. No one ever came in except for these rich old queens. Apparently, it used to be a scene but now it just smelled of stale nostalgia and old hollandaise. That's right. I was parking cars at a place with no customers except for a few rich old queens capturing the good times of yesterday. They would pull up in their Rolls Royces or red convertible roadsters and I didn't know how to drive a stick. I would pop the the clutch, and have a panic attack, not always in that order, but you get the idea. My tip would disappear beneath the sound of grinding gears.
I was standing out front on Tuesday night and a carload of partyers drove by. Jason Wells, their clown prince, hung out the window, shaggy cascading locks blowing this way and that and yelled:
“How’s that college education working out, Max?”
Thanks Jason. It was time for me to do something with my life, besides watching gorgeous jokers like you sleep with every woman I liked and was friends with. Something positive, besides listen to Nirvana albums and think, I had that riff. We played that one too ... I decided to quit playing backgammon against myself and take the LSAT/GRE and go to Law School or graduate school. For me, tests had always been the way out of mediocrity. What I mean by that is I'm a mediocre student, have minimal personal charisma, so much social anxiety that stuff like making restaurant reservations terrifies me, but if I'm asked to choose the best option between a, b, c, and d ... I can do that. So I bought the LSAT study guide.
It looked thick. And it looked like this test wasn't going to be multiple choice.
Plan B) Okay so maybe first, I'll take a class in advertising. My guitar player in Stomach Pump - Seattle's least successful "grunge" band – Leighton Beezer, also known professionally as John Beezer because he got sick of spelling "Leighton" over the phone – was working at John Brown and Partner, the first agency to work on the Nike running shoe brand. John Brown was this chain smoking writer who had written "There is no finish line." Which was sort of the "Just do it." before "Just do it." And Leighton used to call me up and we'd bat around ideas.
So I signed up for my first class - a writer's course.
I didn't have a car so i decided to walk. The School was at 540 Aurora Ave, kind of in that no-person's-land at the foot of Queen Anne Hill. So I'm walking down Denny way over the steep bridge that crosses over I-5. At the bottom of the hill is a four way stop, with one street sort of at an angle. A pickup truck comes barreling down the hill trying to make the light and as it’s going through the intersection it gets T-boned - absolutely broadsided by a car headed south.
The pickup truck flips over to its side and continues turning and now it’s sliding upside down on it’s compressed cab for another 40 yards. I take off running toward the pickup truck hoping to help but imagining the worst – because the cab of the truck has collapsed and now there’s only pavement where a driver’s head should be. As I reach the truck a man climbs out, stands up and we grab each others arms and hold each others elbows and we look into each other’s eyes, all shock and surprise. He’s unhurt.
Cars stop. People get out. A crowd gathers. The driver is sort of wandering around stunned unhurt and I wander off to start my career in advertising with sirens beginning to wail in the distance.
Should I have sensed that this was a warning about advertising? Never occurred to me.
My Father was not a spiritual man and he was not big into signs, though he could be ritualistic and superstitious. All sailors are.
My first class was a copywriting class. The instructor was a writer at Cole and Weber named Steve Johnson. He’d been an elementary school teacher and was now a copywriter. He exuded a laid-back, beer-battered, Halibut and microbrew native Pacific Northwest cool. I'd found a home in the world of advertising, the professional island of misfit toys.
What's the name of the word when you combine two words to make up a new word?
Oh you mean a "portmanteau?"
llike
Motel. (Motor-Hotel)
Brunch (of course)
Smog (smoke and fog)
Electrokinetic (Electric - movement)
Sliving. (don't even ask.)
Bromance
Infomercial
Bollywood
Brainiac
Frenemy
Spork
Liger
Athleisure
Sexting
Webinar (do they still have those? I know they still have athleisure and sexting, I'm sure.)
Advertising is all about the puns, parallels and portmanteaus. And, increasingly, turning nouns into verbs. Now we're really ... gerunding. Adulting. "This is how we _______ (future, for instance.) Guest how you guest.
Evidently, so is modern cybersecurity. All about the portmanteaus I mean.
Malware.
Phishing.
Vishing.
Smishing.
Gnishing. (okay, that's not one, but why not. - it's when a person gnaws on a hard drive to get at your personal data)
Motel. (Motor-Hotel)
Brunch (of course)
Smog (smoke and fog)
Electrokinetic (Electric - movement)
Sliving. (don't even ask.)
Bromance
Infomercial
Bollywood
Brainiac
Frenemy
Spork
Liger
Athleisure
Sexting
Webinar (do they still have those? I know they still have athleisure and sexting, I'm sure.)
Advertising is all about the puns, parallels and portmanteaus. And, increasingly, turning nouns into verbs. Now we're really ... gerunding. Adulting. "This is how we _______ (future, for instance.) Guest how you guest.
Evidently, so is modern cybersecurity. All about the portmanteaus I mean.
Malware.
Phishing.
Vishing.
Smishing.
Gnishing. (okay, that's not one, but why not. - it's when a person gnaws on a hard drive to get at your personal data)
file under, pretend obituary entries.
Trevor Lithium, (1964-2024)
Founding member of the Post-Post-Post Post Rock Band, Polar Silence.
Polar Silence was a reaction to the Desert Rock, Stoner Bands of the 90s. They played guitars without strings and drums with "air sticks."
*******
We are all going through the motions, no?
Founding member of the Post-Post-Post Post Rock Band, Polar Silence.
Polar Silence was a reaction to the Desert Rock, Stoner Bands of the 90s. They played guitars without strings and drums with "air sticks."
*******
We are all going through the motions, no?
Sometimes a tunnel feels like a hug
Not like a physical hug but a mental hug. Calming. Once I listened to a podcast about a person with autism who was basically non functioning and they invented this contraption that would hold steers before they were slaughtered so they would calm down. And they realized that this sort of cradling would calm them down. They imagined they were a cow being slaughtered and thus they were able to escape the mind-prison of autism. I'm a vegetarian. This raises questions but I understand and sometimes in a tunnel my brain feels like it's being hugged by eternity and everything could just go on forever - particularly tile tunnels covered yellow like the ancient curve from I-5 south onto the 520. Why I'm never okay with the moment unless that moment is physically moving forward I'll never know.
I had a dream of a branch that was a splinter
As I ripped it out from under my skin I could feel it like a real splinter. I woke up and I know this is my life, the dream analogue, an organic shape beneath the surface, a splinter that branches like a small tree. How did it get under my skin? it has no sharp delving inches it's like it grew there. Regardless, it needs to be removed. The magic is found in what you're avoiding said Russ. These things that grow inside us need to be removed.
Today I saw an outdoor board advertising OKTA
But to be able to read the billboard I had to get a code from my phone. This distracted me and I crashed and I was grievously injured. Efforts to revive me failed and now I'm dead. Yep now I'm dead. "Keeping Technology Safe" indeed.
I'm half lying and 3/4 awake.
I'm half lying and 3/4 awake.
Should this whole area be a blog so people see the latest? So happy-hazard.