Forklift

I am perhaps a little too eager to get behind the joysticks of a forklift.

What's the worst that could happen?

http://youtu.be/-oB6DN5dYWo

Hollow

It is a very hollow feeling when you realize that the person you've been waiting for to wake up and cook you breakfast actually isn't home.

Four walls

I find it a little amusing that as I set up our new living space how much it is starting to look like our old apartment in Missoula.  Testament to the fact that wherever you are living it is more or less just four walls and your stuff.

Syncopate

Moving is more than less done.  Much thanks to Chad, Rachel, Mitch, Tad, and especially my dad for making it all happen.

Now we just need to go through four lifetimes of belongings and syncopate.

Or put the new firepit to use...

Tonight will be my last (dinner) shift at Biga Pizza, I have worked there for creeping up on seven years.

Any sentimentality is colossused by the stress and excitement of the days to come. 

Not sure where I am going with this.

My expression and emotion are tucked deep into my sleeve as always.

Durability of Life

All fish have survived the transplant from Missoula to Helena.  They were riding shotgun with me in a 5-gallon bucket and had their seatbelt on.  I have no A/C in my Daewoo (surprised?), and everything got fairly warm by the time we arrived.  I felt like an overly attached person taking a road trip with their fish who they believe to be close members of their immediate family.  Perhaps that wasn't so far off...

A testament to the durability of life.

Fragility of Life

Today Melissa and I arrived home from a wonderful wedding up near Swan Lake (congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Bryant), and immediately set out for a day trip to Helena for job interviews and 'cluster fucking' some furniture around.

It will be an experiment and testament to the fragility of life, for today I attempt to relocate my 10 gallon fish tank and its denizens.  A 5 gallon bucket and crossed fingers will be the only tools at my disposal.

Good luck fish friends!

Here is an image of some really good friends looking handsomely dangerous.

Bruce Hornsby

Mandolin Rain?  Banjo Wind?

Bruce Hornsby's radio hit "Mandolin Rain" always brings to mind silly and potentially destructive weather phenomenon.  Similar to the children's book Cloudy with a chance of Meatballs, I picture mandolins falling from the sky by the thousands, and banjos crashing sideways into homes with hurricane like force.

After a Bruce Hornsby storm, which I will now dub a Bruce Stormsby, the streets and fields would be littered with the thrashed necks and broken strings of instrumentation.  People would exit from the safety of their homes into the aftermath and stand amidst the rubble holding each other tightly as they think of how to rebuild.  This imagery makes me smile juxtaposed against the songs smooth melodies and heartwarming feel.

Milestones

Huge milestone today, successfully programmed our new coffee maker to auto-brew a pot at 7am while I was in the shower.

Robots making me egg sandwiches while I shave is the next step.

Robots shaving me will be the third.

Vivid

My dreamworld has been awash with vivid absurdity as of late.  The removal of a certain chemical from my daily intake is most likely responsible.  Each night as I lie and slumber, days and weeks elapse within my dreams in vast and epic scenarios that span everything from terrifying to amazing.

Last night my Uncle Arnold and myself staged a coup from within a fictitious WWII countries' POW camp that ultimately failed. We did however managed to garner the respect of the guards, who then later assisted us in overthrowing the regime.  It had a final Spielberg-esque final scene when I defiantly threw a brick at the Warden's compound despite being faced with a firing squad, which stirred the would be executioners to about face and help us storm the building.  Arnold was only in his mid-thirties, and had long thick hair.

Then there was the Ecuadorian illegal street racing dream where I had to get into a shootout with hazmat suit wearing CDC enforcers.  Drifting through the third world in my suped-up Daewoo Nubira firing the Desert Eagle out of the window.

The dream where I choked back tears as I watched my mother sink into the ocean carried by a bathysphere as she smiled back a look of "don't worry I'll be fine."

I must say, it has been rather enjoyable for the most part.

Memories

I'm always contemplating the worth of memories and memorabilia.

When someone mentions the word memorabilia, many people think of sports teams and foam fingers, I think of newspaper clippings and old checkbooks.  Memorabilia are objects that carry with them the value of association with a specific interest, field, or memory.

My trouble lies on the balance of worth between the actual memory, and the object associated with it.  Should I be happy with the collection of stored senses and remembrances in my mind, or do I also want to keep a trinket to trigger these memories?  The memories die with the owner, but objects remain on the earth, their value dependent on many factors but mostly who stays in contact with them.

I want to keep on this subject, I'll try and sort this out better tomorrow.  Brain's a little fuzzy today.

Lost and Found

When sorting through some old school documents today I found a signed and dated 'poem' I had written on the back of a notebook on October 12, 2008.

It read,

"Randy, what do you least want out of life?"
"A black hole in my backyard."

Labor Day

A back heavy week and a trip to Helena are behind me as I rub my eyes and greet Labor Day.

I aced my job interview, but I did not get a chance to look at the home rental I had my eye on.

I ate the hottest hot wings in Missoula, my wife beat me at my favorite board game by one point, and my car faired better than I expected on the interstate.

If I stick my hands out palms up and shimmy them up and down with a pursed lip, I can't help but feel like things are going ok.