Post-grad Post

Rather pleasant here aside from the champagne bottle that shattered on my handlebars and nearly sent a projectile into my crotch on my way to Jesi's pool party before she leaves for Kentucky. I was wearing my bathers at the time. Now I am wearing boxer shorts that have been in my possession since the Clinton administration. Heck, Pavement hadn't even disbanded by then. Full disclosure: the waistband has started to unravel.

I bought three expensive pens the other day: the total came to $5.79. It will be interesting if I return with the one I'm taking to Lake Havasu with Mitch (who I am expecting shortly). I haven't written anything for days. The thoughts that came into my head were of such shallow insignificance that it had me wondering if I had taken anything from this world since 1972 — exactly one week after Mia Schoen's inspirational birth — other than a presence that is hard-to-ignore due to my much-ballyhooed moxie.

So I reread the greatest novel of all time, The Bushwhacked Piano, in an attempt to generate some interesting prose. My inability to emulate his style is hardly testament to its genius. I suppose the thing that I take away from it more than any other is Mcguane's steadfast refusal to communicate anything in a conventional fashion. It reads fresh, alien even, every time.

Been applying for jobs around town, figuring that a good place to decompress after grad school would be behind a desk at a hotel foyer from 11pm-7am. Nathanael West did this in the 1930s and got at least two masterful novellas out of it. However, it's hard winning over the hoteliers considering I have no experience, but my winning personality may ultimately win them in the end. Besides, I've got a novella to finish.

Haircut 100 + Hangover = I Will Survive

If I was a girl I would probably wear my hair in pigtails all the time.

In the space of a week, I have been told by two separate people that I smell like Goodwill and that I smell like an old man who has consumed a lot of garlic capsules. Yesterday Chase said I smelt like ketchup. 

Trying to finish up, organize a party, read a book, apply for jobs. Getting 'er done barely.

Vamping it up with crimson eye shadow

Updates up the ying-yang still to come, just a bit busy on my thesis. Doubt I'll finish, but hopefully will have it out with it this summer, a grudge match brawl.

Went to a wedding in Joshua Tree last weekend with the darling Chaser, who had an identity crisis. The wedding was at a lodge in the desert with her fellow outdoor ed instructors because when she's not at NAU, Chaser teaches outdoor ed. And since indoor ed is all I know and even that I am hardly an expert at, I probably came off as the least interesting person, but I really tried to be agreeable and may have overdid it. I got called out frequently on having a freaky attitude and look ala Richard Simmons. 

Sat in the dirt reading DH Lawrence, while Chaser scaled rock faces too high to even compute.

  "They had been sent to Dresden at the age of fifteen, for music among other things. And they had had a good time there. They lived freely among the students, they argued with the men over philosophical, sociological and artistic matters, they were just as good as the men themselves: only better, since they were women. And they tramped off to the forests with men bearing guitars, twang-twang! They sang the Wandervogel songs, and they were Free! That was the great word. Out in the open world, out in the forests of the morning, with lusty and splendid-throated young fellows, free to do as they liked, and - above all - to say what they liked. It was the talk that mattered supremely: the impassioned interchange of talk. Love was only a minor accompaniment." - Lady Chatterley's Lover


 As we left town, Chaser took me into a rock cave that had me thinking of The Cask of Amontillodo the whole time. Apparently people get stuck between the rocks in the pitch dark all the time. However she was a gentle loving guide, a skilled botanist, she has great legs and only mentioned flash flooding once.

On losing the ability to talk to squirrels

Dry Idea is a good name for lots of things, especially deodorant. Found some in the bargain bin at Bascha's, but I haven't applied it yet. Went to Safeway this morning in a beleaguered state having brewed the darling Chaser of Northern Michigan a rather dire plunger of coffee. Filled my basket with many items except the absolute necessity: toilet paper. Ate a jelly-filled donut as a reward for making it up the hill. It's suddenly cold today. It was warm yesterday to the degree that my tummy went pink as I sat outside finishing Geoff Dyer's charming Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi. Funny, but I mustn't drink so much. It's funny because I was thinking the other day that I wasn't doing enough of it, but then I was recovering from a cold at the time.

The Final Four was entertaining last night. Two years in a row I have watched it at Brews and Cues with JD Kitchens, an Alabaman who sings Lynyard Skynyard at karaoke. Kept asking the staff about their whisky specials and they were being evasive and for good reason. I simply didn't need to go there, but of course being stubborn I did go there and the subsequent night suffered as a result. Combination of that and a ghastly pub food diet. Tonight I am going to roast some mushrooms, contemplate what to do in the classroom tomorrow and read Thomas Bernhard's The Loser.

In other news, I have lost the ability to deploy my grey digger squirrel call. This is horrifying. My root canal came out the day after Matt and Alex arrived. We were headed to the Grand Canyon. Turns out the hole where my cap used to be was an integral prop in the mechanics of the impression.

I learned this on Friday afternoon in Chaser's backyard after she explained to me that she speaks like a sexy raven. I immediately went into squirrel call mode, but I could only make my lips tickle.

So I have started wearing aerosols and don't know if I will ever get to the Dry Idea, but it's in my toiletry basket on the bench and there if I need it. The Darling Chaser of Northern Michigan I'm pretty sure makes better eggs than Bonnie Raitt. She also uses a tea tree deodorant. Tea Tree is probably my favorite smell in the world. Here's a photo from Friday's sunset picnic at Buffalo Park. A bit Andrew Wyeth-esque.

Deep in the heart of Texas

Back from damn cool Austin. As the photo above illustrates, I was a sweaty Betty. Glory be, as Bel would say. Had a fizzy time, there really is no other word for it. Actually there is/are. Perhaps this weekend I will transcribe the notes I took down. I'd say they are hilarious, but also painfully esoteric outside the circle of Alex, Matt and I. Nevertheless, the results will be available and your level of care will be determined by whether you read them or not. Never an obligation!

We drove from Flagstaff to Austin in two days. Stayed in Albuquerque one night and a lugubrious ghost town called Early, Texas in which we barely survived an axe murdering the night after. We were in Austin five days. Saw some shows that rank high in the echelon of my ears and mind. Must say it was rather grim to go from humid Austin to a disastrous blizzard in Flagstaff, but here I am in one piece with merely a cold.

Hairy t-shirts and cuban sandwiches

I need an eyepatch. Not because I feel mysterious today, but because I gave myself a black eye when I crashed my bike. Did a quality photoshoot in my Hairy t-shirt that Mia kindly sent. Mia it fits real well as well. Subsequently listened to my Cannanes mix on the way to the wine bar that Leah works at. The wine there is so good. Hallucinogenic even. I crashed on my bike later, hairy t-shirt escaped the crash unscathed. My face skidded on the pavement. I had my helmet on. My eye is puffy. I kind of know what Jim Harrison feels like now. The darling Chaser of Northern Michigan would know too. She has sat on his lap. Jim has one eye.


The darling Chaser of Northern Michigan and Roberto and I met for breakfast. Martennes, royal Southwestern style grub is religiously popular and therefore too busy at this minute, so we opted for Criollo, this excellent Latin place next door. Chaser wanted to replace her peacock earrings that she lost the night before, so we did that and bought matching wayfarers.

In high school Chaser was one of the fastest girls in the country, and as she tells it, she maintained her prowess until she got curvaceous. Robert and I ate cuban sandwiches. I have my hairy t-shirt on underneath my overcoat. Those sandwiches are rich and juicy. I think they are a good primer for when Matt and Alex arrive and we hit the road for some Texas BBQ. Chaser had a mushroom burrito. I ordered a bloody mary sans vodka and when the invoice came through, they tried to charge me for virgin blood!

Matt and Alex get here Friday. What will they want to eat, I wonder? This is at front of mind. I know the theme of their welcoming party is honey, but I will probably get some tequila. I have other work to do now, but I may just read some more of Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi. Nice to be reading again for my own personal pleasure.

For David Nichols