That guy is back

In case you didn't already know, Sean took the position as IT Guy at KSR. He was hoping that, upon giving notice at the bank, he would be escorted to the door by security so that he couldn't hack anything. Alas, they gave him more work to do for his last two weeks. Bummer.
You could still see a difference in him immediately. His dimples came back and he drank a beer and talked to strangers at Goddess Church Monday night. Wednesday he gabbed with me while I downed that pitcher of sangria and chainsmoked in the kitchen. We talked and laughed and had fun together.
Then, he went to work yesterday and they told him to pack his cube up and begone! Oh raptuous JOY! No more bank! No more commute! No more getting a new boss every 6 months!

He is that guy I married two years (even though he insists it has been 3 years) ago again. I thought that guy had been offed long ago, never to be seen again. He was just buried somewhere inside there and has made a triumphant escape. Yeah! Like a dungbeetle crawling from the steaming pile of shit that is UMB, Sean has emerged, ready to have fun again!

So come to the house and celebrate lots of B-Days tonight - me, Meggie, Clinty, Debi, and Sean - who has been born again.

In case you didn't know them

Marty Robbins has been on my mind a lot lately.
He was my Dad's all time fave. I remember riding in his truck, pulling a trailer full of horses and listening to MR on the ole 8 track player. I was too clueless to know how cool he was. I was into Alabama, George Straight, and whatever new-wave music my pal Scott (of Mysterious Skin fame) brought to us - INXS, Alphaville (more on them another time), B-52's, eurotrash with lots of synth and big bangs. The louder we were screaming Bow Wow Wow out the car, the better.

I recently had the pleasure of sitting with the human jukebox around a campfire. Jon could play anything you asked for. I asked for El Paso and he didn't know it, but 10 minutes later he did. I couldn't remember the words. POOP! Here they are so that you can sing along next time.

Out in the West Texas town of El Paso
I fell in love with a Mexican girl.
Night-time would find me in Rosa's cantina;
Music would play and Felina would whirl.

Blacker than night were the eyes of Felina,
Wicked and evil while casting a spell.
My love was deep for this Mexican maiden;
I was in love but in vain, I could tell.

One night a wild young cowboy came in,
Wild as the West Texas wind.
Dashing and daring,
A drink he was sharing
With wicked Felina,
The girl that I loved.

So in anger
I Challenged his right for the love of this maiden.
Down went his hand for the gun that he wore.
My challenge was answered in less than a heart-beat;
The handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor.

Just for a moment I stood there in silence,
Shocked by the FOUL EVIL deed I had done.
Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there;
I had but one chance and that was to run.

Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran,
Out where the horses were tied.
I caught a good one.
It looked like it could run.
Up on its backAnd away I did ride,

Just as fast as I
Could from the West Texas town of El Paso
Out to the bad-lands of New Mexico.

Back in El Paso my life would be worthless.
Everything's gone in life; nothing is left.
It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden
My love is stronger than my fear of death.

I saddled up and away I did go,
Riding alone in the dark.
Maybe tomorrow
A bullet may find me.
Tonight nothing's worse than this
Pain in my heart.

And at last here I
Am on the hill overlooking El Paso;
I can see Rosa's cantina below.
My love is strong and it pushes me onward.
Down off the hill to Felina I go.

Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys;
Off to my left ride a dozen or more.
Shouting and shooting I can't let them catch me.
I have to make it to Rosa's back door.

Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel
A deep burning pain in my side.
Though I am trying
To stay in the saddle,I'm getting weary,
Unable to ride.

But my love for
Felina is strong and I rise where I've fallen,
Though I am weary I can't stop to rest.
I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle.
I feel the bullet go deep in my chest.

From out of nowhere Felina has found me,
Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side.
Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for,

One little kiss and Felina, good-bye.

My Crazy Test Post

The creative process baffles me sometimes. In the truly artistic, it simply awes me. In myself, it befuddles me.

Take, for instance, my activities this evening. Two days ago, I started a process to create candied orange peel. Basically, this involves taking orange (or any citrus) rind, simmering and soaking away whatever bitter chemicals (enzymes? Where’s Alton Brown when I need him?) may lurk in the white pith, and then infusing sugar into the remaining zest.

The trick is that after a couple of rounds of simmering and soaking, the worst of the bitter stuff from the pith is gone and the white stuff is super pliable, but it doesn’t come off the zest of it’s own free will. It has to be cut away.

So I spent about an hour and a half this evening (in part because I cut my rinds into thin strips at the wrong stage of the process) very delicately lifting pith from waterlogged zest using a large chef’s knife.

This kind of task requires a lot of steady handwork and patience. I have just enough of both to only get marginally frustrated – not enough to get me to stop. And seeing as I was already into the third day of the process, and the last before the sugar infusion, I didn’t want to quit.

So I just kept going. And going. Each piece of rind a little different than the last. Sometimes I skimmed the white pith off perfectly, leaving only the porous-looking translucent zest. Sometimes I almost cut myself. Sometimes the rind would rip. But it wasn’t quite enough to get me to give up.

And all this time, my brain idled over this topic: why the hell was I doing this?

And that comes back to the creative process. I’ve had the recipe for making candied orange peel for several years. I’ve only made it once or twice before. Not only do I think of it as an excellent recipe for candy, I also think of the process of creating this candy as a fascinating hold over from medieval times, when oranges and other citrus were a rare commodity in Europe, and lacking refrigeration, cooks found all different sorts of ways to preserve the fruit. Drying them with clove pods embedded in the rind was one way. Candying the zest was another.

So, in the act of going through this multi-day, handwork-intensive process, I am touching on an ancient tradition, like building a fire or making bread.

But more than that, I am driven to create. I am driven to make. Having started the thing, it must be finished. It’s like being on a long road trip — I can use all the mind tricks in the world to count the hours and the miles completed, but nothing changes the fact that, once on the way, I have to cover every single mile, every moment, until the trip is complete and I’m at my destination.

And that brings up an interesting part of the creative process that I have been fascinated with ever since it was described to me.

The gist of which is this: in Western culture, artistry is about the finished product. The artist slaves in the privacy of his or her studio (or kitchen), and presents the finished product for accolade.

However, in the Orient, particularly Japan, the creative process is part and parcel of the work of art. The process itself is art. It should be uplifting and fulfilling, just as the finished piece should be. The tea ceremony (which I’ve never participated in myself) is an example of this. Though the product is simply tea, aged leaves infused in hot water, the ceremony itself is art, and the product is just a natural outcome — and a symbol of — the creative process.

Sometimes, I hate the creative process. I hate the journey to the product, even when I found the product itself to be satisfactory. Until this Eastern philosophy of artistry was explained to me, I had never understood — only felt — that the ends did not justify the means. In fact, there are crafts (sewing and embroidery, for example) that I only rarely practice, because I hate the process.

But sometimes I love the process. Even when my back was aching and I was laughing at myself for filleting orange peel, I was enjoying the skill and craft of cutting the wet rind. I loved the aroma of orange all around me. Although it took a long time, the passage of those minutes seemed swift, rather than drearily slow.

And all that silent concentration is here manifested as 800-plus stream-of-consciousness words in barely 20 minutes.

I don’t know why I feel so pressured to do these things, to tap into this crafty (I have used the word “artist” to describe creative people in general — most of what I do is not so much artistry as craft) drive in me.

However, when both the process and the product are so pleasing, I am very glad that I do let the process take me where it will.

Just gotta do one more

Here we go again. Another day, another dollar. This little entry is testing one more thing on this layout: making sure the "day header" breaks look okay between blog entries. I have no doubt that it will be fine. Gotta believe in myself, right? Gotta trust the old noggin once in a while, no? But unless you test it, you can never be sure. Could have a bug. Could have a typo. Could be something simple. Or, maybe, it'll be some great big cluster-fuck and require a complete re-write. Not likely. But you never know.

Why else do I have a job?

You can't have too much of a good thing

It's really true, you know.

You may think there's too much, but as soon as it's gone, you want more.

So, the trick is remembering to appreciate the good stuff. Constantly. All the time. Keep it in the front of your mind. Let it blow through your thoughts.

Bask in it.

Get off on it.

Go for it.

Blah, blah, blah.

This is a test blog

Howdy!

I'm trying out a new layout for my friend Gypsy's blog. This is the current layout here. I could've used my blog to test this layout, but that seemed silly. Why not just create a new blog where I can test new layout designs?

And so, voila! New blog.

Gotta love it, no?