I think I found part of my problem

And I have Jo Dee Messina to thank for it. My give-a-damn's busted, too. Yup, that sounds about right, a lot of the time.

Anyway, Happy Easter everyone!

-Rich

A huge Hello.

Jon, I hope you land here soon. I'm glad I got the wild hair to write you.

For the rest of you, some background. Jon is a dear old friend of mine. He's not old, but the friendship is. He was one year my junior at our college. When things got rocky between Maggie and I, he happened to be getting married. Well, I did what I did best at the time and hole myself up in a ball and disappear for a long long time. I haven't "spoken" to him in 6 years. I felt embarassed about not talking to him, so I didn't talk to him. That just makes things worse. Man, I wish I had seen that a lot earlier in my life. So my folks got his info from Maggie when they talked just prior to their moving out here. So I looked up his glass studio and wrote him that night. But Jon, being thewonderful person that he is, declared that the past is the past and we have all fucked up. I still love that man.

Thanks, Jon. You made my day by being you.

Well, I gotta go clean up the house so when the folks get here in the AM they are impressed. Well, they won't be. And I don't jump through hoops like that. But I do wanna vacuum and finish the dishes.

Nite, kids. Don't let the bedbugs bite, unless you're into that kinda thing.

-Rich

Some old journal excerpts

April 11, 2000

Her breath, fogging the plexi-covered jukebox while I stood there (pretending not to stare).
In an alternate reality, I reached for her neck and she wet my lips with her ungodly pulsing warm soft smooth whatever.


April 15, 2000

Little things happen that make me feel good. The "What's in my eye?" and the "You love me, right?" and the switch that turns on in her soul when I come blazing through the crowd to carry her away from it all (on my back) and the little shakes she had when she hugged me tonight.


June 1, 2000

Last night, Sid sat next to me on the outside of the bar. I smiled and said "Hi there. Come here often?" She said "No. They don't let me. It makes the floor sticky."


July 2, 1992

Time is the devil.
And memory, yes memory, is his companion.


July 25, 1992

Caution. Do not love.


August 8, 1992

Washed away my fondest writings this morn. In the shower. Naked. They came to me as I washed my neck. And I paused, admiringly, at my own thoughts. And frantically rinsed as they sped away from my clenching digits. I know, now, why they parted. I had nothing to hold them in. No pockets. I'm gonna have to wear clothes in the shower. Or at least bring a Ziploc.


November 9, 1992

When the stars fail to light your way, I'd be there, if I could.


July 17, 1993

I used to watch her cross campus in my jeans.

Some random "wisdom"

Well, those of you that IM/ICQ me know this one...but at the Friends House Concert this Thursday (saw Pat Donahue...what a finger-pluckin' fool!), there was a bumper sticker on a car that read "Frodo failed. Bush has the Ring."

I love witty bastards.

So, in other news, one more of my friends cannot hold their booze. The one guy, Tim, is a fantastic guy. He appears to be one of the few capable drinkers. You know the story about St. Pat's with Wes. Well, last night after we all had a couple drinks, some of the boys went over to Wes's house and partied a while longer. Well, it seems that in the tom-foolery someone knocked over Tim's....umm...."stuff". Well, the someone was Kevin, our new painter and pretty cool dude overall. Tim told him to watch out and that it was fucked up that he knocked his...."stuff"... over. Kevin told Tim to shut the fuck up. Tim shook his head and went back to talking to Joe. Kevin piled on Tim and started hitting him. So, Tim let him have it and proceeded to wipe the floor with Kevin. In the process, Tim dislocated his shoulder. Sweet, huh? And you wonder why I leave these boys at an early stage of the drinking.

In other news, if my grandfather and me sailed into Nassau and drank all night, I don't think we would have gotten into a fight. That part of the song always baffled me. Come on..you know the song.

So I was gonna go to "work" today and work on my buggy. But I get to Perkins and Tim meets me there. He tells me the previous story over breakfast and that explains why he isn't moving his right arm. With no insurance, he knows it'll take forever to get into the ER. So, we ate, and I convinced him to go now. If it takes forever to get in, you might as well start early, right?

So I get to "work" and the two biggest egomaniacal know-it-all's are there working. One is the foreman of the North Shop (our custom and ornamental fab) and the other is the foreman of the South Shop (the structural fab, my old job). And they are working in the South Shop, where my buggy is parked. So, that kills that idea. I'll try back later. Working near them is a constant battle to justify why I am doing things the way I am. One of them actually talked shit behind my back about the alloy I used to make the fuel cell. I used 3000-series aluminum diamond plate and TIG welded it with 4010 filler and Helium. Perfectly legit. A textbook procedure. He told his guys that it'd blow up from static buildup, being that 4010 is more magnetic. So I heard this from the guys (they still love me!) and I walked up to their foreman at break time and asked him about it. He told me that the filler metal I used is more magnetic and will conduct electricity better, too. Hmmm....I asked him how it was more magnetic if my plate has .7% iron by weight and the filler has .2% iron by weight. He told me I had it backwards, which prompted me to break out my metallurgy book from my toolbox. Bzzzzzt! Wrong! Then I told him that he should have seen the braided copper grounding strap from the fuel cell to the chassis, and that takes care of the static issue anyway. I told him that every fuel tank since the 1960's has been required to be mechanically grounded, even plastic ones. He told me I was full of shit and that plastic doesn't generate or store much static at all. Then I asked him why rubbing your feet on a polyester carpet generates static. Polyester is....plastic! I told him to shut his mouth and if he had a problem or question that he should nut up and talk to my face. Asshat.

So, I'm not about to hang out and try to work with them there. I wanna get work done and not spend my day justifying my process. I'll head back later after they're gone!

I was looking throughthe myriad of sketchbooks on the shelf and rekindled my interest in one in particular. I started a list. I had all the people that would listen give me a question. I asked for a question that they wanted an answer to most. I got some good "answers" so far. This project started while at Starbucks, where they were selling a "Book of Answers". Seemed like fun, so I bought it. I'm more interested in people want in their life rather than providing answers. So, feel free to send a question my way. Only one, please. It could get more unruly than it is if I start taking multiples!

OK, I'm gonna go do some other things and then head out. If I don't post before then, Happy Easter. Whatever that means.

-Rich

Found a quote I have to post...

'As you may know, I spent the last three months in Africa. A wondrous, magical place. But as shadows lengthen across the KBHR window, thoughts turn to homecoming. Journey's end. Because in a sense, it's the coming back, the return which gives meaning to the going forth. We really don't know where we've been until we've come back to where we were. Only, where we were may not be as it was because of who we've become. Which is, after all, why we left.'

OK, I didn't go to Africa. And I am not currently employed at a radio station. But the rest makes a staggering amount of sense. I need to travel more. On all planes.

-Rich

The past month:

Well, I do this a lot. I get all jazzed to write here every day. I think about all the positive effects and how little time it really takes and how I really am not THAT busy that I can't write. Then I do well for a few days and then take a month-long break. Fuck it. It's my life. I wish I didn't feel like that though. I do so love writing. The stall that has become my life is annoying. OK, I wasn't gonna go here, but I will...

My job is really a good development in my life. If you look at my progress since moving back to Colorado, I have come a long distance in my career. I started back in the same company as when I left. The previous owner had just died (2002) and his widow was taking it over. Lewie and I were friends, as much as an employer and employee could be. There were half a dozen of us that he really got a long with. He almost fired my on my first Friday there, because after going out for a drink at lunch, 3 of us decided to shoot pool and get drunk and blow off work. Smart. So we get back at 3:30 and big Lew is waiting at the gate. He was about 6' 4 or 5" and every bit of 350. Most of it was muscle, too. Yay. The other 2 guys said they weren't drinking, and I said I had a few drinks. I did. So did they. Well, we all went to EmergiCare and blew some numbers for the lovely nurse. We were all piss drunk. He fired the other 2 and kept me on. Honesty. Oh, and the effect of others saying "It'll be OK". Anyway, that was in 1996 that I started there. I left in July of '97 for almost 5 years. When I came back in 2002, I got hired on as a fitter/welder (read blueprints and assemble the parts) for the same $$ that I left at 5 years earlier. I was a little skeptical, but I liked the company. So, less than a year later, the foreman of my shop got all huffy over another guy getting fired and he quit. So, the job dropped into my lap on Tax Day of 2003. I turned some things around, got a couple people fired and a couple good ones hired and we started making an obvious amount of improvement. That's what I do. That's what I did at Starbucks while back in NY for those 5 years, so it came naturally. Then, in April of last year I was offered the job of Project Manager. After hashing out the $$ and actual responsibilities, I took it. It's been working out well for everyone, and I really do like the job. The money is OK; I am not struggling by any means. But I know my job is worth more than I am getting paid. The worst part is still to come.

I am not creative at all. Well, I guess I have to be simply because of the job. But creative as in creating art. It's what I went to school for. It was my first love. I still have it. I get all misty thinking about the old days (HA!). I just want a little shack on an acre (or even less). I'll work my day job, for sure. But I'll come home and work well into the night cutting and welding and sculpting. Hell, I might even build a small glass furnace and blow some glass. I have meager wants.

A wife? OK, I guess it could happen. Do I need it to feel like my life has become complete? No way. I would just love the company of a good woman. And no, it's not because I need to get out more that I do not have one. It's that I am finicky, moody, far-too-passionate man. I know what I want and I will not settle. I've never had a one night stand, and I never will. I need a creative soul, who isn't afraid to get dirty (in any sense of the word), who cries once in a while (when it is warranted, not because a flower smells nice), who tells me the truth, who can tolerate me, who enjoys eating well (whether it's cooked at home or out at a restaurant), whose smile makes me halt the rest of my life for just a moment, who has the intelligence to talk about anything, who has the desire to learn forever. That's most of it. Does she need to be a supermodel? Nope. If she's cute, that works. I don't have a type. I've dated short through tall (5'-0" to 6'-1") and twiggy through "comfortably upholstered". But there is always enough beauty for me to make life work.

Kids? If someone walks into my life that meets most of my "need" list and she has a kid or 6, I will give it my all without any reservation. But again, do I need to spawn to feel complete? I dunno. I always pictured myself with them.

But somewhere in my life, soon, I will need to get back to making stuff. I guess that's the main thing. I get embarrassed that I have this gift (I really do, I'm not just being smug) and have done nothing with it since 1999. Someone asked me the other night...what was not-so-good with my life? I don't really talk about that stuff often. My life is mine. I was raised forcibly keeping my life inside. I know it's not healthy, but it's where most of my life remains. Over the years, I let a lot more of life roam free in the world, but a lot of it still stays tucked inside. So to come out and talk about my dissatisfaction with how I have carried myself is kinda huge. I don't think anyone that reads this blog has actually even been to my home! How odd is that? But this blog is a maddeningly personal thing. The only thing more personaly for me? If I turn over my sketchbooks to you.

So I got out my Minolta, and put a fresh battery in it. I miss so much of photo theory. The notion that a photograph is a vessel in which a moment of stopped time resides. It's worth a thousand words, and no 2 people will come up with the same words. Which brings me to the better notion about photo. A photo is so much more powerful than being worth words. It's the harbor for emotion. Sitting with a friend, looking through some of her old photos the other night, I was instantly carried to a different emotional place each time she handed me a photo. I knew from her tone of voice that something was important to her. I knew when things were funny, when they were somber, when they were just...sweet. And it's a great feeling to see and hear someone really being interested in what they're doing. After this writing, I think I will go get out some boxes of photos and take an hour or so to get back to where I belong. And I'm going to start snapping pictures again. I'll head down and get some good B&W film and regain that little bit of control on my "creative life". But first, I will find a new way to say that term. All lives are creative, as a matter of necessity. I'll figure it out.

Be well, kids.

-Rich