Day 5-Screw me? Take a hike tax man! Speaking of...

After a hearty sleep and a tasty start to my morning with 2 of Chuck's reason to live donuts and a cup of coffee, I went and dominated upstairs and took a shower. Afterwards we waited for my Dad's accountant to come by to touch base with Dad for his taxes. After about an hour I was able to ask him a few questions of my own and finally get my taxes done. $328 back from the Feds, but as usual, I have to pay the GDummit state of AZ $228. Ok, so I get a hundred, which is more than I usually get, but still, the state of AZ always screws me over.
Anyways, so I get dressed and decide to head up to Edgewood park for a hike. Once again, a can't ask for better weather day. 70 degrees and sunny. Havin grew up right near Edgewood, I felt really familiar with being there. I remember the trails, what the scenery looks like, sounds, smells, and plant life all looked familiar. There wasn't too many people, only a handful, but all friendly when I passed them on the trail. For some reason, Edgewood is a fast paced maze of trails. I just can't seem to bring it on myself to hike slow here, even though over half is uphill, I endure the thigh, calf and ass burning so I can haul ass. I can't complain, it gives me a great workout, feels great and helps to open up my breathing better.
























(the sylvan loop trailhead)

A quick 3 miles of narrow trails and switchbacks and I had worked up a good sweat. Highest point was at a meadow vista point of about 1000 ft that is ascended in a mile. The trails were nice and cool below, but you kinda heated up on top where the sun beat down on you for 3/4 a mile. I had to remind myself that it was only Feb. and I was working up a sweat in a tank top and shorts in winter.





(a stream along the trail)









































(views from the summit, and the fanny pack mafia leader is once again spotted)


On the way home I told the 'rents that I'd pick up dinner, so I hit up the Ranch 99 market in Foster City and got 2 good sized bonito (a tuna relative) and a few odds and ends.
Got back, prepped them up, and popped them on the grill. Tasty treats I tell you, tasty.




















Tonight was nothing special. We all sat around as dad watched wrestling (the 3rd of 4 weekly shows) and I typed up my journal. We ended up watching the Wicker Man after. Twisted freggin movie. Ending pissed me off. Ate a donut, crashed out.

Day 4 Toilet seat transplants, 1000 noisy groundhogs & donut dreams

I figured that today should be an easy enough day. In most aspects, I was right. I got up, had breakfast, let Mom and pop walk Jenny as I headed to home depot to find a replacement toilet seat for my bathroom. It was one of those faux plastic puffy wood grain ones that had since developed tears over the past 17 years. It's seen a lot of poop, and time to retire it. On the way back from the depot, Ma asked me to stop at the store to pick up steak for dinner. No prob.
I get back, replace my seat and Mom's bathroom seat with a spare Dad already had.
It's 72 today and sunny, nice enough for pop to work in the yard all day. I assist him with scraping the chimney flume of buildup, help mom learn on the computer, marinade steaks for later and do some laundry. At 130 I grab Jenny and head down to Bair Island to hike....closed for renovations. Wonderful...and I really liked that place too. I decide to go a few miles south to Bayshore Park and give it a go.




















(Jenny and I at Bayshore)
Bayshore USED to be the city landfill, but to our benefit, some liberal tree hugger decided to stop dumping and make a park of it. Whatever, it worked. What I didn't realize was that in the process of converting the area to wetlands, old garbage grass covered hills make prime real estate for groundhogs and migratory birds. No prob for me, but Jenny was the most uncontrollable I've ever seen, even with her pinch collar on.





















(geese and 1000's of groundhogs..)


At least the scenery was great, the paths well maintained and it was nice and quiet on the 2.5 mile stroll until the path decided to turn right in front of a well hidden water treatment plant. Somehow the RHCP "Dani California" didn't sound so groovy when overlaid with sump pumps and sulfur smells.





















(Jenny amid the wildflowers at the preserve)

I got home and started making dinner on the grill. There are 3 things that will go together until the end of time...man,fire,meat. That first caveman who put this combo together must have been revered as a god amongst his peeps and was then on showered with cavegirl BJ's, orgies and a endless supply of cheetoes and beer (or the time's equivalent to).




















(Man, fire,meat....it's good!)

After dinner Dad shut off the TV and we sat around and talked about the years up until my age of 8. Our old residences, stories of him running the apartments, life threatening situations of his, our family's past and his interpretation of how I am the recycled and reincarnated soul of my grandfather on my moms side. He died in 1974, I was born in 1976 and in 1978 I saw saying things to Dad that only my grandfather said to him. That, coupled with my looks and affinity for booze makes me a copy of grandpa LaFrance.
By brainstorming memories on top of others, I was able to dredge up memories I never knew I had. That felt good.
Soon it was time for bed though, and tomorrow our accountant would be over at 11am to try and sort my problems out. My mom said he likes donuts, and seeing that I know a guy named Chuck who makes them 24-7, a quik 15 min run to the shop at 11pm seemed in order.





















It would be a REEEAL tough decision to have to choose between only having Chuck's donuts or sex for all of eternity. It's that good, and twice the size and 1000 times tastier and half the price than that crispy creme bullshit.
Now if you'd excuse me, sugar coma is kicking in and donut dreams await for my reincarnated soul...

Day 3, the long journey ending with pig's feet

In Fight Club there is a quote that says, "along a long enough time span, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." So, in theory, one should try as best as they can to delay the forthcoming survival failure. In essence, a long journey should be sought after and on that journey, a relatively easy road should be travelled. Unfortunately the easier the road, the more mundane the trip usually is. The funner the ride, the shorter it is. Merry go round rides last forever, but the fun threshold is low. A quick ride on the Death Dealer roller coaster finishes in no time, but the exhilaration felt is off the charts.

People can argue such as in you don't truly know you are alive unless you live something that almost takes your life away. I can understand that point. I just think it may not be for me. I enjoy my excitement, but on my own custom levels. Mine tend to be more subdued, subtle, long term. I can appreciate a long sit in front of a sunset just as much as a rapid mountain bike descent on a thin trail.

I also like the feeling of a completed day that has a sense of accomplishment to it. Today I awoke after a very solid sleep. I had too many stimulants the first night and didn't sleep well. I woke up refreshed today. I got up and joined mom and dad for breakfast. I got to work with chores right after, the first of a few daunting deeds-cleaning out and organizing my mom's 2 hall closets.

2 hours of work later, 1 lawn bag of trash, 2 lawn bags and 2 boxes of donateable items later and they were cleaned out. We came across items that were from my grandma, my 1st grade years, high school graduation and college graduation. Items had stories, memories of their own to whisper in your ears.

Afterwards, I left the house about 1 to head up to the hills to Wunderlich park.

(The ascent trail at Wunderlich)

I haven't been to Wunderlich since my early high school days when Dirty Ryan, Izzy and I romped illegally (no dogs allowed) down the trails on a warm spring day.

It was an empty day on the trails, a welcome solitude, I only saw 4 people on the trails, and 2 of them were arriving back at the trailhead.

iPod playing easy peaceful tunes, I ascended the trails, amid a warzone. The battle is between Oak, Redwood and Eucalyptus trees. Each fighting for dominance of the forest. The Redwoods were here first, thus have the foothold on the front lines. Trees dating back centuries dot the landscape in the lower cooler parts. The Oaks own the higher ground where its warmer, and the Eucalyptus-a non-native Australian invader, has broken ground in between the boundaries of the previous two.

I ascended 1400+ ft in less than an hour. My thighs burned, mud caked on my shoes at spots on the trail, I sucked in copious amounts of clean, cool air. Finally, the top meadow was my reward, and offered me a solitary sit, a granola bar and a water bottle for the leader of the fanny pack mafia.

(The top of the trail)

( A lone monarch in the meadow)

The 2 mile descent felt welcome on my legs and provided different scenery than the ascent. Mostly Redwood trees and some Oak along a very thin switchback ridden trail called Bear Gulch. I wondered often why they would call it Bear Gulch...and wondered if my 3 inch knife would have been sufficient back in the bear days.

(in front of a redwood on the descent trail)

Halfway down, a family of deer jumped across my path, looking at me as a common and annoying invader to their peaceful home. I finished my romp through the woods after 4.57 miles and settled into my truck for the ride home.

Yes, the journey was long, but taken slow enough to enjoy it all, and fast enough to be productive, a healthy balance.

Dinner was a first time experience. Home made beans with pig feet. I'll try most anything once, and wasn't about to stray from the norm. Hell, I like beans, and I sure as hell love pork products-especially bacon and ham. I can say that I tried pig feet now. That is all. If you want a full gastronomical description later, ask me, meantime I'll stick to bacon and ham.

To make up for it, I may head to Cafe Boronne later and have a mocha before bedtime. Tomorrow has more chores and adventures ahead on the trail of life.

Day 2, a lions share of memories from a 7 yr old

There were a few parks that I can remember when I was 5-7. One of them is Weseley Crescent. A tiny park with a few benches located in the middle of a roundabout near the junction of Edgewood rd and El Camino. It is guarded at the front by a pair of sculpted life sized painted lions. As a kid, I thought that even though they could easily eat me, that they allowed my presence into the park. Once again, they granted me passage. They have an odd gaze to them, awkwardly penetrating, always weary of strangers to their realm. Today was no different, and as if they gave me that, "who are you to ask allowance past us thi...oh, wait, it's you...fine, go ahead-but I got my eye on you!"
I figured today, to ease into a little self reflection, to travel back to my earliest memories. What better way to do this, but on the way I got around the most as a child, by bike. I transported my beat up bike from AZ back here to it's birthplace, as to have a second companion that can relate to most of my memories with. Forces joined again, time and abuse battered, we rode out of the house as before 15 years prior, down the block, through old Woodland church, down Brewster ave, left down Elwood st to Whipple to Duane to Edgewood and Weseley Crescent park.





















(the inaugural ride of the fanny pack cult)


I paid my respects to the guardians and rolled onto El Camino and thru the 7-11 corner strip mall. The same odor lingers in this strip mall, a strange nostalgic mix of all pleasant smells mixed into an odd, yet compelling potpourri of 7-11 coffee and beef jerky, stale tobacco and freshly made donuts and icing from the next door Donut House. I fully expected to see a wannabe Jay and Silent Bob hanging out there.
I continued up to my first residence, the old El Centro building on Whipple. A historical original 20's Art Deco work of art, this building was home from birth to age 8. A flood of memories crashed through my reality as I rolled into the driveway. I was once again 6 and learning to ride my Huffy with Dad pushing me from the back. In his building owner's outside parking spot his blue and chrome trimmed El Camino guarded a small pigeon coop with my adopted pets Charlie and Charlene who were calmly resting on my small shoulders. The passageway at the back of the building wasn't clustered with locked bikes and trashcans now, but my dad's makeshift garden, complete with abundant fruit trees. I'd run up and down the hallways of the 3 stories to the fire escapes on the opposite end from our apartment, that is, when I wasn't playing on the roof, or throwing stuff down the garbage chute, or catching flies in the front lobby, or even rummaging around in my dad's workshop and accidentally finding nudie mags.

























(insane asylum ladder...crazy shit)
I later on heard a story of my dad and an old family friend named Jim Nicholas raiding a local insane asylum for a fire ladder part (the accordion ladder) in the middle of the night. They got the 300 lb contraption off and on leaving the facilities, were stopped short by police and firemen. They thought they were busted, but turns out the emergency crew was there for other reasons. It gave them bragging rights to the story.
I rode on, down Birch st, past all my old childhood family doctors and dentists offices, down Arch st past my first and now lost friend Jeremy's house, Michael LaDesma's old place, down and up underground driveways of offices that I used to ride my Huffy on. I still got a quick rush from a few of the steep driveways.
Then back up Brewster Ave to Hudson to James to King st to Jefferson ave. Across the way to Red Morton Park, up Roosevelt to Valota and finally up St Francis and the speedy descent to home.
A quick 4 mile ride that took me 31 years in the making. A great day to do it, 70 degrees and sunny. A small sweat emanated through my pants and shirt on an uphill part but I honestly didn't care. I was happy. On my return, Jenny was still napping after our 2 mile walk earlier on in the day. I got dinner ready and cooked outside on the grill. Chinese 5 spice chicken, corn on the cob, homemade coleslaw, grilled pineapple and cheese stuffed bacon wrapped green chilis.
Fat and happy, I settled down into a easy night of rest.

Day 1, magic 8 ball says all signs point to yes.

I left Phoenix at 5 this morning, anxiously awaiting the path ahead of me. I call it a stale fear, as if I would have anything to be fearful about. In my departure, I tried to outrace the sun, and as the usual outcome, lost. Obviously a 75 mph vehicle can't quite win that race. Maybe I was too heavy, that jalapeno bagel dog for breakfast was causing too much drag.

On a whim, going 75, which isn't the safest thing to do, I whipped out my camera and took a blind over the shoulder shot of the sunrise. It turned out to be a compelling and insightful photo. 3 elements are present that signify my plight.

One is the T&C ying yang. I am looking for balance in myself.

Two, there are water mark creases from the squeegee that forms a cross. By doing what I'm doing, I have arrived at a crossroads in my life.

Three, the rising sun means that not only can I not escape my rising fate, but it is the beginning of something new on a new day.

Fate smiled on me today. The wind was always at my back, effortlessly pushing me up the road, heavy truck load and all. I ran into absolutely no traffic or delays on my travels today and reached Cali in record time.Yes...no traffic...in L.A....I should have played the lotto.

Tired, yes, but after arriving in RWC, I stayed up as long as I could after a welcome dinner.

Everything was welcoming and seemingly destined to occur to my favor. The storm that hit here cleared on my arrival and it is slated to be sunny and 70 for the next few days. The hills are so electrically green, its as if a greater hand came down with a huge pine green marker and painted in between the lines. The sea air was crisp, clean and healthy. Glasses of tap water were cold and rejuvenating. Jenny Jones knew just where to lay down in front of us in the living room on her spot.

The truck and I knew the way, and at times argued with TOM TOM, who, on each argument, conceded to the more knowledgeable source. She was right on one waypoint though, "you have reached your destination", I was home.

it takes a LOT

As most people who know me, I have a very long fuse. It takes a lot to piss me off to the point of saying something or doing something about what upsets me. But the fact that a photograph can do it is amazing. I'll warn you, it is very upsetting. Continue down..

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And on top of that, notice that she is standing on the American Flag.

The sheer fact that youth like this can be corrupted by some extreme adult group to publicly commit an act of blatant insenitivity and degradation is appauling. I wish nothing less than a long painful life for these people filled with a final agonizing death.

Apparently in the midst of their warped sense of "righteousness" they had forgotten that they have the ability to spead free spoken hatred due to the battles and lives lost of the soldiers they condemn.

Children of the vitcims of 9/11 who currently serve or will be serving in their hated armed forces to preserve the ability to speak their twisted language of brainwashed hatred.

Those men and women in those forces know that these individuals live in our country, and are aware of their preachings, yet they continue to do a job that preserves their right to say those things, regardless of their assumed dissapointment and animosity towards them.

Soldiers hurt. In addition to the blood and sweat they shed, sometimes in their own deaths, they also hurt emotionally. Soldiers cry.

Soldiers miss their families, thier husbands and wives, their children, miss the births of thier new children, and sometimes die before even being able to see thier children. They miss thier home, their neighboorhoods, cities, states, and their country. When they finally return, they come back to see people that are upset that they made it home instead of being blown up by a IED or shot to death in combat.

They come home to see someone standing on the flag. The flag that was one of the only things that gave them a feeling of safety, comfort and pride. A small piece of home in a world full of death and dispare.

How you feel about the war is your God given right, by living in this country to feel the way you decide, and everyone will at least understand that it is YOUR view. Sometimes however, the rare occasion of freedom may need to be bound and duct taped shut due to blatant stupidity and wanton hatred. I pity those wasted souls.

Morphine and chocolate

Morphine and chocolate is bar far one of my all time favorite songs by of all groups, 4 non blondes.

Its Sunday, my off day, and my only off day for the next week due to a combo of off scheduling and favors to work.

I'm sitting outside relaxing, listening to the song when Mrs. Jenny Jones comes up as the line , "now that's true love baby" comes up.

I can't argue with that.

I've had my share of "specific" problems through high school, well, most of which started since I was 7, that and inhibited my capacity for what you may say would qualitfy as "true love" relatioships. I've always been a shy person as per my persona, and up until now, or at least the past year and a half, truly understood what true love meant.

True love means endless dedication no matter what the cost.

As some of you may know or not, I didn't have my first true relationship till my freshman year in college, and did not lose my virginity until I was 21.

Granted, I am still learning, and all people are always still learning what it all means.

Certain songs bring certain memories.

One song, among others of the time, solidifies what I may think of my personal life during high school. Most of Pearl Jam's mellow songs reflect this. Others are more significant. Catherine wheel's "Fripp", is possibly the most significant.

I can remember, the summer of 1994, my parents taking me to the Azores, my father's birthplace, to show me where my heritage started from, and I ignored it.

At the time, I was fresh out of high school, and fully into the anti-parent trap. I still havent had a relationship, and was very bitter, Instead of going around town where my father grew up, I let them go out on their own, as I stayed in the hotel room, with my walkman on (now I'm dating myself) listening to the Catherine Wheel song. I was pissed off, not only at my parents for no reason, but in life in general for not granting me a relationship or the expungance of my virginity at the time.

Now the song seems to be a bitter reminder of the complete opposite, the lack of respect for my parents, and the complete misunderstanding of what relationships that life my hand me at the time.

I had thoughts up until my 21st year that I would never have a fully functional relationship. On top of that, I knew that I had certain unseeded problems that only myself could learn to deal with. I know that even with the help of a shrink, that those problems may not ever be solved. It doesn't matter who I am with or how good the people I am surrounded by are, I need to isolate them and try to resolve them. I know that they are easilly defeated, though should not be, at all means be required to have medication for, but sometimes I doubt myself.

I know that I have had anxiety issues that I have been treated for medically before, without direct cures. Call it willpower, or the self acceptance of my own demise, but on occasion, panic attacks still come about. I doubt myself most times, even though I am always surrounded by supporting people, whether it be family or the closest of freinds. Even then, they don't know the deepest of my issues, as just as it should be, for those issues do not arise to influence them directly.

I think, in my heart of hearts, that my time away will be a good personal jurney into what I need to get in touch with, and that being myself.

Going well outside the box

Saturday Feb 23rd 2007 is scheduled to be my last full time shift at Giligins, and possibly behind a bar in general. It's time for me to dissapear for a while. I need to spend time with my family, and more importantly, myself, someone that I've neglected for a very long time. I anticipate to be gone for anywhere from 1 1/2-2 months, maybe more depending on what my status is.

I'll be doing things with and for my family, travelling for myself, and hopefully be doing a lot of soul searching.

I crave a test of my self. I have no idea of what my worth is. The best way to go about that is to separate myself from here at times. I'll be coming and going through Phoenix to check in, but I plan on spending the majority of time out of Arizona. I already have half of my bills paid off for 3-5 months in advance, and am waiting for the next wave of bills to arrive so I can pay most of them off as well. That way I can center on doing what I need to do.

I'll keep everyone in the desert in tune via the net and I'll have my celly, but if I don't make myself available to everyone for a few days, well, I have my personal reasons.

As for what else I may be doing on my leave of abscence, I may go on a long relaxing drive, with nobody else but my dog, my wits, and some Tom Petty on the stereo. I hear Key Largo is nice this time of year.

When I do return, my bosses have been acceptant and more than helpful to me already, but they are fully offering my job back to me and have offered to assist me into spreading out into other options in the field, being working at a local distributor as either a driver or into an introductory sales postition. If that happens, I will make myself available part time to my current job to help out where I can. It's the least I can do for the way they have treated me there so well over the past 4 years.

This should be a time of transition from a job choice that I chose to start working in 11 years ago. So long ago, so innocent back then, and now totally corrupted into the industry of vices. I am who I am though, and that isn't a bad thing. I look forward to seeing you all sometime before I take off. Come on by that final Saturday and say goodbye. I leave a day later.

Mahalo nui loa.