yitzhakarafat's Xanga

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 08:27:02 GMT

1:10 AM in Alaska and there's actual darkness outside the window. When I was here three weeks ago, and five weeks ago, there was no night time. No night time, therefore it was never the right time.

While it may appear that I've disappeared, to those that stop by every now and then at least, I've still been very active. It just all been private, I'll make them public eventually, but right now it just isn't the time to do that. It's been some time since, so I'll catch you up.

- The girl that was "tah-rouble" turned out to be actual trouble. Not in the she was a meth addict, or stole from me, but more in that I got too into her and ignored all the hints of ex-issues. That dark period was filled with staying indoors 80-90% of the time for a few weeks. What can I say? I enjoy the hurt in my own sick way. I'm glad that's done with though, the depression weight-loss was quite unflattering.

- I was in a fashion show dealie. Observe here. I'm the sad looking guy who isn't comfortable wearing a baseball cap and a t-shirt.

- Visited the Oregon Coast, which was beautiful when I got there, but then became the most mediocre place in the world when I left. Trouble Girl told me that I was everything she wanted, but "wasn't feeling it" the morning after our first night (which also turned out to be our last night) there. I'm awesome.

- Finished re-reading a big-ass collection of F. Scott Fitzgerald short stories which solidified him as my favorite writer once again. I will fight you if you talk shit on FSF, with knives.

- Started reading The Brothers Karamazov. It apparently has the answers to all of life's problems. I am not so sure as of yet.

- Got a raise from my job, I wasn't even due or asking for one. They just gave me one. Imagine if I realized my full potential, I'd be a chamillionaire.

- Tried Craigslist for a date. Went on a few, but I just wasn't feeling it. How's that for justice? I did get a copy of American Psycho out of it though. It frightens me how much I relate to that character.

- Oh yeah, I've been reading a whole lot.

- I earned a genuine respect for Portland's mass transit system.

- I also achieved a gigantic hate for Portland's mass transit system.

- My faithful green Dodge Grand Caravan, which has seen a good amount of America, was hit by a crap-ass Portland driver. The hit was enough to rule it as totaled. I loved that van. So much. I almost cried when it was taken away. Then I almost cried a week later when I looked through stuff I had taken out of it before it was gone. Big Green, you still had another 6 years in you, the very least.

- I learned taking taxis when you're in town only two weeks out of the month isn't bad, and actually equates to the same amount if I had been driving for a month.

- I saw Greg Oden from a distance, or a very very tall black man signing autographs for people. It might have been Todd Bridges, I'm not sure.

- It's been a beautiful past five months for boxing and that alone raises my happiness quotient by like . . . six.

- I now have an actual appreciation for woman/chick-rock (I really don't know what else to call it). Mike said something that helped me get it, "There's no real need for a guitar solo most of the time." Right on.

- The Hot Toddies, She & Him, Pink Martini, Cat Power, and Yelle have been a fairly constant presence blasting through my ears. Before you ask, yes, it makes my vagina feel warm and cuddly.

- I took part in a photoshoot for my friend's catalog. I'm now the guy who's comfortable in a baseball cap, but horribly uncomfortable in a hoodie a bit too small for me. Observe:

- Went to LA for a proper week vacation. I am more in love with that city than ever before. But not going back just yet. Coming this fall/winter: Chuck Moves to Chicago.

Well that's all for now. I'll see you when I see you.

-Chuck

p.s "H-T-M-L, it's not hard to spell when I'm with you . . . You are so swell, just like DSL, you touch my modem..."

Uh... Jigga?

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 17:22:37 GMT

I don't even know what to say about this:

Bitches

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 07:13:07 GMT

Ooooh boy. I met me a girl and woooooo she is tah-rouble with a capital TAH. I do believe I love this town.

-Chuck

p.s "And you're probably holding hands . . . with some skinny pretty girl that likes to, talk about bands . . ."

It's That Time

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 00:41:04 GMT

It's no secret I am a fan of boxing. Actually it might be a secret seeing as how I don't know you most likely. But I am. There is nothing broadcasted, and I mean this with complete sincerity, that evokes more emotion out of me than boxing. Much like Rob from High Fidelity, I can link events in my life with the fights I've watched in my life. I'm not just a fan of boxing, I am child of it. In my family there were only two sports that were on TV whenever family was around: basketball and boxing. While basketball is a beautiful exhibition of team of and individual efforts, the important games only come once a year. With boxing, every other month there's something to get worked up about. The past few years have seen a resurgence in what made me fall in love with the Sweet Science to begin with.

There have been incredible brawls that have left both men losing and winning at the same time. Calculated matches that have had some of the most technically beautiful boxing to be seen, yet not appreciated. Boxers come with stories once again, and pre-fight hype plays out to be a savage soap opera I can't pull myself away from. It's a good time to be a fan, an excellent moment to be a student, and a great age to be a fighter. For me, boxers encompass the most admirable quality of sports: the belief and faith of one's skills and training. Basketball, football, baseball, and soccer players all have off days. Sometimes teams unite and pick up the slack, creating a grand moment of team work and brilliant chemistry.

Boxing doesn't have that luxury. There are trainers who will try to prepare you as much as possible. Promoters that make sure the public is interested in your skill. Managers who try to set up the most appealing match-up that can be found. But in the end it is completely up to the boxer. There have been moments when a boxer has gone completely against what has been planned months before the fight and what is told between rounds; the results have gone either way. No matter what your corner is yelling it is only you in that ring and you can't pass your gloves off to a teammate. You have put yourself in this position, and only you have chosen how well prepared you are. There is no being benched for being lazy during training, only getting knocked out for being lazy during training. The fight tonight is a perfect example of why I chose to watch two men trying to kill each other . . . in the most civil way possible of course.

Roy Jones Jr. is 39 years old. As far back as I can remember in all my years as a fan of boxing, his greatness was never questioned. A man who lowered his shoulders, put his hands behind his back, shrugged a bit and bam, a fist in your face. He moved so fast that fights almost seemed rigged, to the layman's eye at least. But to the boxing fan, you know that technically Jones was incredibly flawed. His hands are always down, he moves to the inside of a fighter, he advances when an advance isn't needed, and so on and so on. What he did have, however, is an amazing physical talent that went unrivaled, or continues to be unrivaled, in the ring. The man's hands moved as quickly as you blinked, blink too much and your eyes won't open for a while. When he moved inside he would slide to the outside almost as if he teleported. Jones was often compared to animals when he boxed, strutting around the ring like a rooster, prepping a pounce like a panther, moves that just shouldn't, couldn't have worked. Unless you're Roy Jones Jr. Now the old man comes back to the main stage tonight after beating two nobodies in the last year, and losing to less-than-spectacular Antonio Tarver (Sylvester Stallone kicked his ass in Rocky Balboa) and Glen Johnson (yeah, exactly). Though tonight he faces Felix "Tito" Trinidad, 35, and a fellow future hall-of-famer.

To the general public, Trinidad first made his splash when he beat Oscar De La Hoya in what has to be in the top 10 of sports mistakes. De La Hoya, thinking he had done enough and ahead on the cards for most of the fight, suddenly stopped fighting, Puerto Rican boxers don't stop fighting though. Trinidad, known throughout the sport as a hard hitting scrapper, laid into De La Hoya's body for 5 rounds causing enough damage to the Golden Boy to take the title and put Puerto Rico on the map again. He's cut out the lights with a wide left hook and destroyed short-term memories with quick rights throughout his career. Though unlike Jones, Trinidad has retired, twice, and in the last five years only fought twice. The first, a stoppage victory against Ricardo Mayorga (think street thug with gloves) and a loss to eternal contender Winky Wright. While that doesn't sound as bad as Jones, there is a catch:

Tonight's fight is at 170 lbs., the heaviest Trinidad has ever been, and the lightest Jones has been in a decade. Jones, the naturally larger fighter, is predicting a knockout within 6. Trinidad says he could win in 2, 4, or 12, but a win regardless. So why watch two fighters who are way past their prime without any real chance of rising in skill again? Simple, this is what boxing is truly all about.

There are no belts, there is no promise of a fight with a champ for either, there is only tonight. Jones wants to show the world that his previous losses were flukes, that he had dropped in weight after winning the heavyweight title too soon and this seriously affected his speed and strength. Trinidad, as great as his reputation is, has a resume that many could see as lacking. Why not take this moment to try to beat the man who was pound-for-pound the best fighter to be found for well over a decade? This isn't the time to setup the future, but only to correct the past and enhance the present. Boxing is at its greatest during two situations: two champions proving who really should be called champ and two men with nothing to lose. Ali-Frazier III in Manila is known as one of the most hyped matches in history, but it was also one of the most violent matches of their careers; a night when both fighters lost and won at the same time. More recently there was the Gatti-Ward trilogy. A literal war between two men spread throughout three fights. Arturo Gatti, a former champion and "coulda-been" against journeyman "Irish" Mickey Ward, a man who had nothing to lose except his reputation as a fighter who would not back down. The three fights were some of the most beautiful, bloody messes that any fight can could have hoped for.

Do yourself a favor, you don't have to order the fight tonight, it'll probably replay on HBO next week, but watch it somehow. Tonight has all the makings for something special and how often do you really get to see that in sports these days?

-Chuck

p.s "And while your nose is drippin, and draining blood, I'll be standing over you screaming 'Nigga, what?!'"

The Tundra

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 23:01:33 GMT

Get to the airport at 7:00 AM. No need to show up two hours early anymore, but I hate being late for anything. I go to the BP/Conoco-Philips terminal. Men in heavy duty parkas, all the same parkas, sit silently. No one at the ticket counter, I sit too. I wait for half an hour until someone realizes that it's Sunday and Alaska is chartered and handles ticketing on Sundays. We all grab our shit and bust out the quick-walk through the airport. The terminal is pretty empty, I get to the front of the line quick. Bags have somehow lost weight since PDX, now if only I could as well. Bags are checked, boarding pass received, let's do this. But not before I have a smoke, or three.

Stand outside, not in the smoking area, and somehow zero degree weather doesn't really bother me right then. I pace back and forth.

The men around me are hardened. Their skin is injured, their eyes are frosty, their steps heavy, and their breathing slow. They don’t laugh often, they chuckle and smirk, but there isn’t much happiness to them. Then again, it’s almost very early in the morning. In a flight of approximately 100, I see three women. One is approximately my age, the other two were my age maybe 30 years ago. It’s time to board the plane, I line up and choose a song, “Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie”. It’s slow, whimsical, desperate, it’s my current favorite. I get on the plane, look out onto the snowy runway, and have Joanna Newsom put me to sleep. I wake up an hour later.

Dark. Completely dark. I look out the window and there’s nothing to see, absolutely nothing. A few minutes pass by and I see some lights in the distance. Then I see a few more. Then there’s plenty more. But they’re all spread out, miles in between clusters. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was Pennsylvania or something. I spot the landing strip, next stop Deadhorse Airport, the name is appropriate. The plane begins its descent and my heart is racing. I feel it pounding, throwing uppercuts at my chest plate, I haven’t felt this anxious since . . . my first school dance, and here I am without a date. The pilot is amazing, we slip onto the runway and cruise to a stop. I look out the window and I’m not seeing a tunnel connecting to the plane. I see stairs being wheeled out. The stewardess tells us that the temperature is “50 below, winds at 6 miles per hour, meaning a windchill of 62 below.” Fuck. They announce that our bags will be at our designated camps and that tonight’s dinner is prime rib. Fuck yes. I grab my backpack, walk down the isle, I already feel the cold. I step outside the door and holy shit.

My nose hairs, my mucus, it freezes instantly. My eyes go dry and my face goes numb. This is exactly what I imagined hell freezing over to be like. I hotfoot it to the shuttle bus, I don’t hotfoot. I get inside the shuttle and I still my breath is visible. A guy with a handlebar mustache notices my novice. “First time?” I nod my head like a fob who doesn’t know English. “Take your hat off, get your body used to the cold.” I shake my head, “I don’t have any hair.” He laughs. Alaskans love laughing at an L.A boy’s misfortune. We begin moving.

There is no life to look at as we drive. It’s all white, it’s all dark. There’s a small “hotel” where apparently, they have “titty booths”. The little things. You pass buildings that look like shitty warehouses. These are camps for Conoco, Haliburton, and numerous other evil corporations that we’ve all been taught to hate. They are few and far between, every now and then you see natural gas flares blast into the sky. Apparently once or twice a month they flare so large that they light up the whole sky. Everybody on the bus talks about how they need to build a natural gas pipeline already to increase state revenue. Forget that they have 27 billion permanently in their oil dividend fund. But that’s for another post.

We get to my camp, BPOC (British Petroleum Operations Camp), and it too looks like a shitty warehouse from the outside. I get off the bus, my face freezes again, and I hotfoot it for the doors. But inside is a whole different story. It looks like a dorm building. The lobby looks comfortable, there are LCD TVs everywhere. People are on their laptops, chatting with strangers, you can smell delicious food. Not bad. I meet El, a fellow contractor. He gives me a quick rundown of the facility, not a tour, and we grab some lunch. Balsamic Chicken, Spaghetti and Meatballs, and a whole skew of other shit. El points to a room behind the cafeteria, it’s full of snacks, cold sandwiches, hot dogs, hamburgers, everything for the professional snacker. The best part? It’s always open.

Lunch is done and El shows me to my room. It’s just like a college dorm. Extended twin size, shared bathroom with the room next door, and a TV . . . that gets HBO AND HBO2. Not bad BP. I lay down for a bit, flip the channels, it’s all very comfortable. I go downstairs to the baggage room to see if the bags from our flight have arrived. They have but . . . mine aren’t there. I ask security WTF, and they ask if I put a red BPOC tag on my bag. I didn’t know where I was supposed to put that tag, they said back in Anchorage. I wasn’t told. They tell me they’ll try to find them. I decide to give myself a tour.

There’s a theater for movies on Friday & Saturday nights, also for mass on Sundays. A full sized basketball court, an impressive gym, a large sauna, and . . . a pool? If man can dream it. There’s a few other lounges, all with large TVs, all with their own fountain drink dispensers, not bad. I watch the Cowboys, thank God, and I’m told to just relax today, tomorrow will be long. I go back downstairs to check with security about my bags, no word and since it’s Sunday everyone’s gone from the airport. Dinner comes, I have my prime rib, talk to some of the guys I’m going to be working with. I don’t remember their names, say goodnight and go hang in my room. Dirty, cold and beatdown, I strip down to my skivvies and go to sleep. I miss my sleeping gear. But I couldn’t be more excited to be here. I look outside and see the Aurora Borealis, who from the lower 48 gets to see that? I am thrilled. This is Alaska.

-Chuck

p.s "...and just like the river, I been running... ever since."

Reminisce Over You . . . My God

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 04:14:54 GMT

Saturday 1/12

Stayed in my hotel bed for a little while. Smelled the pillows. All guys smell the pillows. Anne sends me a text, she'll be at a different camp than me. I won't see her again. I call up Gordon and see if he wants to catch the games. He wants to see Favre do it, I want to see the Pats lose. I offer to pay for drinks, he offers to drive, deadly combo. Twenty minutes later he's downstairs and we're off to The Flight Pad, or Landing Pad, some kind of Pad. Gordon buys us lunch. I have a French Dip, one of the best I've had. He has a Spicy Italian, looks terrible. I don't ask him about it. Favre takes control of the game, GB's going to the division finals, good job old man. I order Jack-rocks after Jack-rocks, Alaska doesn't deal with Jamesons, bitches. The Pats game goes on, naturally they take the lead. Fuck Brady. I call my friends, no one answers, naturally.

The games end, Gordon talks about how long tomorrow is going to feel, I don't even care. Gordon drops me back off at the hotel. I have another meal and couple drinks on the room, good ol' room. I go up to my room, light up, and watch TV. I think about Matt and Mike and what kind of crazy conversation they're getting into. I think about Mike not hearing what Matt's saying and Matt being confused by Mike's point-of-view and how anyone in a conversation doesn't fully get what he says. I think about the Concordia Ale House and the cute bartender and how Matt should just ask her out because why not. I think about Mary and how her and Jasmine are doing, if Hawaii is everything and more. I wonder about Kent and what he could be doing besides WoW. I think about Mireille and the cat and what they're watching. I see Damon, Nazan, and Sanie sitting outside somewhere having a cigarette and bong-loads. I burp and it tastes like Jamesons, the Fox & Hound with their beautiful mix of Studio City fakes and SF Valley reals and British ex-pats. The wind starts to blow strong and I smell Santa Monica and it doesn't smell revolting or anything. Then Saturday Market in Portland comes up and how it happens on Sunday too. Dueling first and last Thursdays and all the different kinds of good and shitty art to be seen. The dreadlocked DJ'd who spins shitty world and house music outside of his apartment to contribute his little bit of culture to the scene. I think about breakfasts at Cup & Saucer, bowls with the boys, karaoke at Claudia's, The Handy Slut, what shows could be coming up at Dante's, and how I can't believe I missed Lupe Fiasco in Portland. I realize I'm missing a lot in Portland. I miss Portland. Then I look outside and think about how cold it's going to be in less than 24 hours when I'm in Prudhoe Bay, AK. I get in bed, set my alarm for 5:30 and fall asleep immediately. This is still Alaska.

Add more later.

-Chuck

p.s ". . . all I wanna do is ride bikes with you . . ."

Training and Tricks

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 05:51:41 GMT

It continues.

Friday 1/11

The boss tells me some guy named Gordon is going to be meeting me in the lobby. I wake up at 6 and look outside, everything is still white, but still pretty. I walk around the room naked, can't do that back home. The sheets feel good against my ass, I jump up remembering black light investigations and Chris Hansen's voice. I shower, take a look, no shaving. Light up and smoke a couple and blow it around the room. I realize everything smells like smoke and get dressed. Go down to the lobby, there's an old guy sitting in the restaurant by himself. Don't feel like talking so I go outside and smoke another one. The cold air runs right into my nose and I am wide awake.

Sit down and shake hands with the old guy, Gordon. I don't hear what he says too well. I order two eggs and toast, the lightest breakfast I've ever had. Turns out Gordon has been in and out of Alaska for the last 34 years. He tells me a story about how he missed his chance to build the pipeline back in '73. He talks about geology and pink coral coming out of the mountains in the north. I'm looking at the family next to us, the kids have waffles and they couldn't be happier. We finish our food, and get in Gordon's truck. Everything is still dark.

We get to NANA Training Systems. I'm skeptical as I am with all training classes. I slip on the ice on the way to the door but catch myself before I hit the ground. My hands are red. Bringing gloves would have been good. USB hand warmers were also left home. Zero degrees is even colder when there's no clouds in the sky. It's still dark. Climb up the stairs, go to the office. Native training facility, zero natives, seems right. NSTC training. North Slope Training Co-operative. Nothing but men. Large group of Mexicans, all white guiys, and I am really going to miss women. Then a chick walks in and sits in front of me. She's pretty, chin length brown hair, green eyes, and a pointy chin, but not like a witch, more confident than evil. She sits and I start to doze off. The first hour is the hardest. Until the second, then the third.

It's all hazy those first three hours. There are lots of do-nots and make-sures. Do not honk your horn at animals in the road. Do not underestimate sub-zero temperatures. Do not get frostbite. Make sure you have a thick jacket. Make sure you eat a lot. Do not forget your safety glasses. Make sure your boots or shoes are steel-toed. Do not assume hard boots are steel-toed. Make sure they are certified safety boots. Do not forget the receipt for the boots so you can get reimbursed. Do not bring liquor to the camp. Make sure you follow anything Security Officers tell you. And it goes on. And on.

Smoke break comes. The girl follows me outside, she's a smoker, she's instantly cool. She's from New Orleans, she's an engineer, she's smart, she knows lots of math, she doesn't know shit about Fitzgerald, I look past this. I'm not an asshole. Not completely. Her name's Anne and her smile is warm, this is very good. She tells me she's leaving tomorrow to go to the slope, I tell her I leave Sunday She's not sure which camp she's going to, I don't know either. I must have slept through it. Maybe she did too. She's up on the slope for a few days, I've got two weeks. The break is over and we go back inside.

The instructor starts talking in his boring voice. My eyes get heavy. I hear something about H2S gas. You can smell it at low levels. At high levels, my eyes close and I miss important information. I figure if I do something wrong someone will let me know. Anne's falling asleep too, her head keeps dropping. I doze off again and think about smoking on my porch. Smoking and smoking. I think about going out on the town with Anne and having promiscuous sex throughout the city. I tell myself that won't happen and I wake up. Class is over.

Some guy tells me about an "Alaskan Ice Tea" and how bars are only allowed to serve a maximum of two per person. Pussies, I think. I watch Anne get into a cab. I go with Gordon to the BP tower to get out ID badges. We get to the front desk and I forgot my license in the car, as I get outside I see Anne stepping out of the cab. We both point at each and say, "Heeeeey!" I ask her what she's doing tonight, she says nothing, I ask if she wants to explore the town, she smiles, she gives me her number instantly and tells me to call her in a few hours. I am a pimp, or non-threatening. I go get my badge, Gordon and I head to Wal-mart to buy safety glasses.

Wal-mart is always bad. Prices are great, lines are long, guilt is everywhere. Inside are men with tattoos on their necks telling their children they will beat them for picking up toys. This is Wal-mart is ghetto, period. I get my glasses, go to the cigarette line. Cigarettes are $7.80 a pack. I hate Alaska. Gordon takes me to the Sportsman Lodge after to get gloves. I find some deerskin gloves for $12. I've never owned anything skin. The inside feels nice. I look up and notice a moose head looking at me. I look to the left and there's a caribou head. I look further down and there's more and more heads, even buffaloes. I walk towards the counter and there's giant stuffed bears. In Alaska, they kill lots and lots of animals. One day I'll go in the woods and shoot something. Not this trip. We leave. Gordon asks if I want to grab a drink. Of course.

He takes me to the Loyal Order of the Moose, Lodge. A Moose Lodge. Always wondered what happened there. People sit around and drink, for cheap. Two jack-rocks, an Alaskan Ice Tea, $6. I am going to become a moose. The bartender in the lodge is cute, much cuter than Anne. But half the appeal due to her annoying accent and "undying love" for the Patriots and Tom Brady. She almost had a shot. I didn't have one. I have Gordon drive me back to my hotel.

I shave the quickest shave in my life and I look good. Handsome, clean, still non-threatening, and much younger looking. I feel good. Anne comes with her rental car, we head downtown. Downtown Anchorage is like any downtown, only smaller, and completely covered in snow. She asks if I want to check out the mall. I roll my eyes, she says it's a few square city blocks, this I need to see. Commerce. Lots and lots and lots of commerce. So much that my half-drunk state can barely contain it. Anne tells me about herself.

She's an LSU grad, two older brothers, one younger sister. We bond on the idea of being middle children. Ideally her job will take her to Europe and she'll live there for at least a year. She has been teaching herself Spanish and French. I ask her to do some Spanish, not bad. I tell her "No puedo vivir sin ti", the one romantic phrase I know. She doesn't understand. Nevermind, I say. Thank god, I think, I suggest we booze. We ask some kid where a good place to grab a drink is, he shrugs his shoulders. Dick. We ask a middle aged woman, she tells us the Gaslioght. We walk in the snow and both have giant smiles as we crunch around. She tells me she loves the snow, I tell her the same. We get to the Gaslight and grab two seats at the bar. She orders a Jack & Coke, I may be in love. I order my Jamesons on the rocks, she looks at me like I'm badass, I like it. We talk some more.

I tell her about my year, about the split, the leaving home, my roommates, my friends, how I don't know where else I belong besides L.A. She tells me I should just live in L.A, I tell her I'm not ready to go back yet. I'm not where I am in my life to return as a resident. I ask her where she wants to settle down. She says somewhere quiet, it sounds good, but I think me and quiet aren't ready to be friends yet. She loves dogs, I've learned to love cats, she thinks I'm crazy, I think she's interesting. We order more drinks. She loves The Cure, I love Wu-tang. Love Affair, Grosse Point Blank, Harold and Maude, The Godfather, Terminator 2, Terminator 2. We order more drinks. Her last boyfriend left her for her cousin. My ex-wife brought a guy into our bed before it was completely done. She doesn't know if she can even be married, I tell her I don't think I can even handle a relatonship. We order more drinks. She tells me I'm cute, I tell her she's pretty. I say let's get out of here, she agrees. We walk around the snow some more. The liquor has made me numb to the cold, it's even prettier drunk. We grab a cab back to my hotel.

We take the elevator upstairs. Go into my room, she sees my deck of cards on the table. She asks if I want to play Speed, I think I'm in love. We play Speed, I'm drunk, she's drunk, cards are eventually just flung at each other. Fight Quest is on, she says they ripped off Human Weapon, I'm pretty sure I'm in love. I lean over and kiss her. She pulls back, I lean forward again, she leans towards me and I feel good. I feel high.

I wake up and it's still dark. My head feels fine, I can't believe it. I look over and Anne is starting to wake up too. She opens her eyes and we smile. I ask if she wants to get breakfast, she nods yes. I get up and walk to the window and light up, she joins me. She sits on my lap, she hasn't said a word, but it isn't awkward at all. We get dressed and go downstairs to the restaurant. I have a ham & cheese omelette, she has two poached eggs and an English muffin. She asks the waiter where we can drive and see some really great sights. He tells us to drive south on Seward Highway, we'll see why people tolerate the weather in Alaska. She smiles a really excited smile and tells me we've got to go right away. I charge the breakfast to the room and we walk to her rental. I love travel.

We go down the highway, the sun is rising and the waiter was right. Mountains, a wide body of water leading to more snow covered mountains. Natural avalanche slides, people rock climbing on ice. A woman cross-country skiing with her dog behind her. Large chunks of glacier floating down at high speeds. Bald Eagles on sitting on trees. Alaska is amazing. Anne says she's convinced. She wants to see it during summer. Ride bikes and hike and do whatever else the Seward Highway has to offer. It doesn't sound bad, the guys back in Portland would love it. We stop along the highway and get out. I take a quick panorama of the mountain range. Anne pulls out her SLR, my camera is inferior. I'm okay with it. I look at my watch, she frowns. She says she needs to go pack. I ask if she needs help, she chuckles, shakes her head. We drive back to my hotel.

I think about the last 24 hours. How fortunate it was to meet someone my age, and female too. She asks if I'm excited to go up, I say of course. I'm not sure I am. We don't say much else. Get to my hotel. We sit in the car. I hold her hand and look at it. It's not small, but it's not masculine. It's nice. She looks at me and smirks, the same kind of smirk I do. She says, "I guess this is goodbye." I say, "Well . . . we've got each others numbers." She nods and smirks again. We both know what it means. She asks me to write down what I said in Spanish so she can look it up. I'm hesitant, because it wasn't completely true, or even half true when I think about it. I kiss her goodbye, get out of the car and wave as she drives off. We both understood that it was a one-time thing. She lives in Louisiana, I'm in Portland, I'll probably never see her again. It's around noon, I light up, smoke my smoke, and go back inside to the hotel. This is Alaska.

Tomorrow: Football, The Flight, and The Fear

-Chuck

And So It Goes

Tue, 15 Jan 2008 04:51:16 GMT

This is all going to sound very fast, that's because it has been.

Thursday 1/10

Woke up at 6. Held the sheets over my face, feeling giddy about the adventure. Got out of bed, haven't packed. Folded some pants. Realized this was the last day, smoked a bowl. Folded some shirts. Andrew stayed over. Matt was gone and Mike was asleep. Breakfast was suggested. Smoked a bowl and walked to Cup and Saucer. Food's good, but the shitty overpriced art and apathetic lesbian waitresses make it bittersweet. Ordered a Lucky Scramble. Tried to do some Trivial Pursuit questions with Andrew but he was weed-hungover and couldn't hear. Questions sucked anyway. Scarfed down the scramble, drank some water, took a look around and promised myself I'd find a regular breakfast spot when I got back. Walked back to the house. Smoked a bowl once I got in the door. Andrew gave me a pound, wished me luck, and biked off to work. Walked around the house, trying to find stuff to take. Race Matters, The Sun Also Rises, I Am America and So Can You, Windup Bird Chronicles for old times sake. Grabbed a stack on labeled and unlabeled DVDs. Started stuffing my clothes into a suitcase, already out of space. Stuffed more into a dufflebag, packed it full. Walked around the porch, smoked some cigarettes, went back inside and smoked a bowl. Woke Mike up and told him we needed to go in about an hour. Walked around the house, checked my e-mail, listened to some of the Juno soundtrack and some Joanna Newsom. Smoked a bowl. Brought my bags to the living room. It hits me that I'll have to deal with two weeks of sobriety in three days. Had Mike roll me a joint, one day I'll learn. Smoked the j, loaded the bags into the car.

Drove to the airport. Mike asks if I'm ready, I tell him there is no getting ready for something like this. He gives me a pound and I unload the bags. PDX is like a bloated version of Burbank Airport, but international, I think. The girl who checks me in is cute, looks like the girl from Maria Full of Grace. I tell her I'm going to the northern most part of Alaska, she does the shiver motion. I ask her if she'll wait for me, she tells me my suitcase is overweight. I stuff a peacoat into my backpack along with a towel. It's underweight, just barely. I go outside to smoke a cigarette. I start to shiver and laugh at how ridiculous it is to shiver in 40 degree weather. I smoke another cigarette and watch a couple do the tearful goodbye, makes me feel whimsical. I get over it and go to the security checkpoint. I put four lighters in my back pack. I walk through without a beep or a "Please step over here, sir." I feel good. I feel high.

I sit around the gate and pray for a cute chick with an interesting story to sit next to me on the plane. I get on the plane, the woman next to me isn't cute or interesting. She's reading an Ann Coulter book which makes her suck, even if it is for irony. The plane to Seattle is a twin-engine prop plane. I imagine that we'll go down on a mountain and I'll have to eat someone to stay alive. I pick a portly gentleman. The plane touches down in Seattle no problem. I step into the terminal and realize my high has worn off.

SEATAC is giant and unfriendly, the same way I feel about Seattle. I go to the airport bar and look at what they have. No Jamesons, Jack and coke to feel like I'm partying. I realize how desperate is it is to try and stay intoxicated for as long as I can. I order another. I have a decent buzz and go to my gate. I wait in line and luckily enough I'm in line long enough to be in the front of general of boarding. This means nothing. I once again hope for cute chick, but instead get a middle aged woman and an elderly man. I offer either one of them of the window seat. They say no, in case they have to get to the bathroom. I tell them I never go to the bathroom. The woman sits down next to me and instantly it smells like farts. There's an 8 year old who's complaining about not taking off right away. I fall asleep and sleep through the takeoff. When I awake the woman's elbow is jabbing into my ribs and the eight year old is kicking my seat. It still smells like farts. Alaska Airlines offers personal media players, they're showing the Simpsons and other shit. I decide to save the five bucks. The stewardess offers me a drink, but I don't feel like getting judged by the woman next to me. Suddenly I have to pee and make the two of them get up. "Go figure," I say, "this never happens." As I'm walking down the isle I wonder why I even had to say that. I wait in line and see a cute Korean girl walk out of the bathroom. I don't make eye contact feeling weird looking at someone who just shat or peed. I pee, return to my seat, refuse to purchase the meal that is offered, and look out the window. We're somewhere over Canada and I can still see the sun setting over the horizon. I think how much I'll miss the sun and how few sunny days there were in Portland. I fall back asleep.

I wake up when we land in Anchorage. The pilot sucks and the plane is slammed onto the runway. I look outside and everything is covered in snow. A winter wonderland without much wonder, but I'm blown away anyway. It takes about half an hour for my bags to hit the carousel. I try to offer them the benefit of the doubt, but am convinced that Alaskans just don't know how to run shit. While waiting I hear that all visitors to the airport must check their guns. I freak out at the possibility of an Eskimo capping me with an AK, in AK. I call the hotel to send their shuttle. I step outside and light up. My sack runs right into my gut the minute I'm out. Shrinkage just may be a problem. Fat Alaskan cops directs me to the smoking area, the uncovered smoking area. I grumble, but do so anyway, because what am I going to do anyway? The shuttle comes. The driver is Filipino. He tells me there's lots of Filipinos in Anchorage. Alaska may not be too bad. We get out of the airport and everything is still covered with snows. The trees all look like Christmas and there's this glow from the snow, the cars exhaust, and the insane amount of street lights. I see a truck with a snow plow, not plowing, just driving. This must be Alaska.

I get to the Marriot, check in, drop off my bags in my room. They gave daddy the Rainman suite, I feel good and go to the restaurant. Everything's expensive, but everything sounds good. Hotels are brilliant. I order a guacamole bacon burger and a cup of clam chowder. The soup is amazing and the burger is alright. I order a couple Jamesons on the rocks and charge it to the room. Travelling is brilliant I think. I step outside to smoke again and look around. There are tiny snowflakes falling and with the lights it looks like glitter. I smile at how pretty it all is. I realize I love snow, a lot. I go back inside to my room, look at the No Smoking sign, fill a cup with water, crack open the window and smoke. I go back downstairs and ask the girl at the counter if she knows where I can find some weed, she smiles and says no. She is lying. I ask her if there's anything going on downtown and she says tomorrow would be better. I go back upstairs, light up again, and look outside my window. There isn't much to look at except all the white. I watch some TV on a TV that is way better than what I have at home. I start to fall asleep, turn the TV off, and pull up the covers. I stare at the ceiling and realize just how far I am from my homes and I feel lonely. I close my eyes and miss everything everything about that morning. This is Alaska.

Tomorrow: Training and Tricks

-Chuck

p.s "Make it one for my baby . . ."

Call of the Wild

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 17:27:30 GMT

Did anyone else love that book in like 6th or 7th grade? I was all about it, not so much White Fang, but I could respect Buck and his trials and tribulations.

So. Tomorrow. I leave for Alaska. I fly out of PDX, land in Anchorage, have a few days of training there, then off to Prudhoe Bay for two weeks. Fortunately it'll be completely dark when I get there and when I wake up it'll be . . . completely dark. But whatever! Adventure yes? I'll be able to see the Northern Lights and not much else. I've got sweaters and some jackets and some thermals and it still doesn't feel like enough. Today I've got laundry to do, get copies of some documents, pack, and that's really it. Smoke bowls. You figure there'd be more, like my life isn't complex enough to have shitloads of errands to run. Go figure.

Anyway, like I mentioned, I made a list, here's what I can remember:

The Oh Shit it's '08 it's ON List (things to do, things to hope for)

U.S Travel - I want to see more of this koo-koo-ka-choo nation I'm trying so hard to be a citizen of.

Chicago (Awesomefest Version: SE Asian, Meg?)
Minneapolis (owe a friend a visit)
New York (like I need a fucking reason)
Montana (I hear it's pretty)
Wisconsin or Ohio (I wanna see one of those Big 10 states, seems like they do partying different out there)

International Travel

MPC trip outside of U.S borders, it's on bitches.
The Motherland - the hills of Tagaytay and the streets of Makati are calling me. I needs to get home.

Home - The L.A Visit

Smoke proper L.A herb (sorry PDX, 80% of the time, I'm not blazed)
Beaches

Zuma,
Santa Monica
Venice
Hermosa
Maybe Ventura

Medieval Times - probably not, but if I can con someone into going . . .
Shooting range - I don't really like guns, I don't ever want to own a gun, but some of my best memories with my dad are shooting guns at paper targets or clay discs.
Driving range - On Balboa & Burbank in Encino, maybe Tarzana, there's a righteous driving range that I dig to the fullest. Felt so peaceful just smoking cigarettes and smacking balls (mmmhmmm).

Food

In-n-Out
El Taurino
Pink's
Winnetka Denny's
Duke's in Malibu
Dan's Super Subs
Tito's Tacos
Boba (they call it Bubble Tea up here, freaks, I kid)
Carny's

Booze

Casey's
Henry's
The Standard
Fox & Hound
Cat n' Fiddle
Saddle Ranch (that place is fucking terrible but I can't help but love it, hopefully I'll get over it)

Favorite Spots

Top of Reseda
Top of Winnetka
Shore by Gladstone's on PCH
Ventura Pier
Plush Cue
Old Town Pasadena
LACMA
MOCA (btw, if you're in L.A right now, check out that Murakami exhibit at the Geffen, I hear it's awesome)
Too Many

People

MPC
CB Crew
909 Crew
RSA Kids
Ex-wife
Armenians
Persians

-Add more later

-Chuck

p.s

"And I'm tumbling down
And I check a frown
Well just look around
That's why I love this town"

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 07:06:20 GMT

I just lost the best fucking list I ever made. Xanga, why do you make it so hard to fucking love you? Why don't you just do as your fucking told?! Why do you make me want to hurt you?! One of these days, Xanga, I might not use the blunt side . . .

God that was weird.

-Chuck

p.s "And you linger like a haunting refrain / And I find you spinning 'round in my brain"