all of the time, we're together, in dreams

i had a very upsetting dream the other night.

now, i know listening to a person describe a dream is kind of like hearing them describe the car accident they almost got into on their way to work. it's impossible to visualize the scene, and the crux of the event is always somehow described with not-so-salient details.

that said, here's the dream.

well, here's the back story for the dream.

when i was in 7th grade, there was nothing this boy wanted more than a puppy by his side. i went through the typical filibustering of parents. i spent hours researching different breeds, and this was years before google, let me tell you. after some concerns voiced by the speaker of the house, my puppy initiative barely passed by two ayes.

my parents buried a rider to initiative, which i must have missed as the last minute votes were earned and political favors granted. it turns out, i would have to clean out the side yard by the pool and renovate it into a puppy corral. i stacked bush, i trimmed hedges, i sunk posts and i wrangled fencing into place. there was sweat, dirtied brows, a garter snake or two, but in the end i had the satisfaction of a job well done.

my mom and i, well mostly my mom, decided an australian shepherd would be the right dog for us becauseof their medium build, mild temperment and intelligence. contrary to the name, australian shepherds are actually from california, by the way.

we found an ad in the paper for chocolate brown puppies in cotati. my mom and i drove down, discussing my new responsibilities. we bought our pup from a breeder for $50. (my dad would often joke "and to think we actually paid money for this dog.") i chose her because she was the most vocal of the bunch. the breeder told us that she would often take walks through her garden, and our puppy would follow her, making doggy noises almost conversationally. the poor thing got real car sick on the way back up to ukiah, and threw up repeatedly for the hour long drive.

i spent several days trying to come up with a name and settled on "Aussie." later, i would be ashamed of the name. i guess i felt such a sweet dog deserved a better name than some colloquial moniker for her breed.

aussie, despite being a total ding dong, or maybe because of that, truly became a member of our family. and quickly, too. like, so quickly, i am pretty sure i spent more time building the puppy corral than she actually spent in it.

aussie was very protective of our family and our home. she proved this often by leaping up to with window and furiously barking every time my dad walked by. she had a special regime against UPS trucks. my mom received frequent UPS shipments for a side business she ran, and sure enough aussie was in the driveway defending my mother every time a brown truck lumbered down the street.

one day, my mom profusely apologized to the UPS driver, explaining that our dog was real protective of our house. the driver kindly acknowledged my mom's explanation, and added that aussie must be real protective of the entire neighborhood, because she is always running his truck down whenever he's in the area.

although she loved and was loved, aussie had a hard life. prolly from some poor breeding, she had terrible skin allergies and was horribly allergic to fleas. so many evenings we would be in the family room, enjoying the blanketing warmth of the woodstove, watching a movie, and then aussie would start gnawing on an itch on her back. we'd yell at her to knock it off and she would resist until the itch became too much ignore. this repeated itself ad ifinitum for the rest of the days of her life. her ears were terribly prone to infection, and her violent surges to the window as the old man walked by led us to believe her vision wasn't so great either.

in so many ways, aussie was a sad case, but she was so sweet and loving, it was impossible to merely pity her. and she kept the fly population down. all the windows in our house had doggie nose smeared along the bottom, because aussie developed a connoisseur's palate for house flies.

after college, i lived with my folks for almost two years, living the ukiah dream; workin', drinkin', fightin'. etc. you can get a sense of that period of my life by reading the archives. to cop a phrase, when in rome...so i bought a ford f150. it was a big white beast, with an extended bed and mean 302 under the hood. i had it for a few months before the water pump gave way.

it took me a few days to to replace the water pump. i kept my work area clean, dutifully put my tools away as the sun sunk below the western ridge of the ukiah valley, and i would hose away any anti-freeze that may have puddled up on the driveway.

one day i was careless. this was to be a very bad day, so events are muddy in my mind.

maybe i went inside to get some lunch. maybe i saw the puddle of antifreeze under my pick up and didn't think much of it. maybe i took another break in the afternoon, and i noticed the aussie was walking sideways and crashing into things like she was drunk. maybe this was queer, but it was a little comical.

maybe we started to get concerned later in the night when aussie started vomiting, but on the other hand, she was always eating garbage and rolling in horse shit, so it wouldn't have been the first time the dog ate something her stomach didn't agree with.

the next morning, aussie seemed to be better.

when a doggie, or kitty, or deer, or bear, or your little brother, ingests antifreeze, their liver is ravaged by the ethylene glycol. the drunken staggering, depression, and frequent urination occur because the victim is literally drunk on ethylene glycol, which is an alcohol. the liver metabolizes the ethylene glycol, and makes compounds that are toxic to the kidneys.

the second stage of antifreeze poisoning is a rapid onset of kidney failure. when aussie retreated to a corner of the bathroom, and resumed the vomiting, saturday afternoon calls to the vet were made. dogs have 50-70% mortality rate after ingesting antifreeze, we were told, so maybe aussie would get past it. however, a teaspoon of antifreeze is enough to kill a typical dog. as the kidneys fail, they stop producing urine, and fatal levels of toxins build up, ultimately killing the victim.

aussie spent the last few hours of her life, convulsing with seizures on the bathroom floor. i cannot describe to you how painful it is to watch a loved one die, while their body is quaking uncontrollably, with a panicked look in their eyes. my eyes are actually watering as i type this. near the end, aussie was experiencing seizures about every 15 minutes.

the sun had set, figuratively and literally. fortunately for aussie, our friends, the merritts, had been her veterinarians for several years, and agreed to make a special trip into town and do what needed to be done late that evening. we loaded aussie in the back of my mom's blazer, but i couldn't go.

the next day, we buried aussie on the hillside overlooking the horse pasture where she used to run through the tall grass and roll in the horse shit.

so the other night i had a dream about aussie. this is one of those dreams that sets the mood for your waking life. in this case, i've been rattled for a few days now.

i feel like i was in some sort of factory farm, which not exactly a nice place for animals to be. i opened a door and aussie ran up, greeting me by wagging her tailless butt, and excitedly whinnying the way she did whenever i came home from college, or even a long day at work. she was so happy to see me, as if she was saying "there you are! i've been waiting for you for so long!"

i reached down, putting my arm around her neck and rubbed her chest.

she was so happy to see me.

wordy

saturday night found me freezing my ass off at 9th and gilman in berkeley. well, not that 9th and gilman. the one across the street. with all the yuppies.

tari, posse-ed up with her ex-work-but-still-homey dan, wrangled me to the built to spill show at the pyramid brewery. now, i've been to the pyramid brewery many times whilst attending a show (punk!) across the street at 924 gilman street (or "the gilman" as some call it like some call san francisco "frisco"). nothing makes you feel like an old sellout like going straight to the pyramid without having a show at the gilman to go to. as we walked up, i made tari and dan cross the street so that none of the real punks would jeer at me for being a micro-brew swilling yuppy.

while i crossed the street, i looked around nervously, like a creep about to duck into a vid store. my own actions reminded me of the countless times i saw the skumfukiest-crusto-anarcho punks get dropped off a few blocks away by mercedes station wagon equipped walnut creek moms. at the very intersection the three of us were now crossing, the punks would shrink into the shadows only to emerge from the night, moments later, like they had been squatting in the sewer the entire time.

really though, i should start from the beginning. i'll be honest, my first show at gilman street was july '95.

i'm a poseur.

loose change, that venerable ukiah pop-punk institution, was opening for john cougar concentration camp. i drove my mom's station wagon, later affectionately dubbed the "grocery getter," down to berkeley with jon (the fot master), joe m, and darcy.

i had attended a handful of punk shows before this warm summer night, but because this was my first trip to "gilman street" i thought it wise to wear my work boots in case i got "moshed" in the "pit" by some "punks" engaged in the act of "slam dancing" to "punk rock music." after parking a few blocks away because we didn't want anyone to realize the grocery getter's occupants were us, the three of us joined a large group of ukiahians. somebody, was it JB or maybe garrett?, greeted me with some phrase that i now recall to be at least intoned if not actually said "nice boots, dickhead." there's alot more i could say about this weekend, like i could talk about cashew's mack-10, i could get into "fucking el charro" or how we almost met skee-lo, but i really must stay on track.

that was the first of many nights at gilman street that were characterized by intense bro-rodery of the ukiah crew at the time. an important part to seeing any show was actually spent missing most of the show in "ice-800" alley. i forget how this alley got it's name, although i bet spanky had something to do with it. who is spanky? someone besides myself could do more justice to the question so i'll leave it at that.

ice-800 alley, named after a particular virile stripe of olde english 800 malt liquor, is along the south wall of what is now the pyramid brewery. at the time, the grounds of the brewery were occupied by an abandoned warehouse that was representative of the industrial squalor that used to define north berkeley. aaron cometbus has written about how punks moving into some horrible neighborhood is always the first step to the area's inevitable redevelopment (gentrification?). maybe the area around gilman street is a good example of that, what with all the pyramid's and r.e.i.'s and chipotle's that have sprung up in recent years.

about 100 yards from the street were a collection of logs were we could be found, most often with bottles of cheap beer in our hands. i think most shows i went to must have been in the winter because i remember my fingers numbed, but my spirit warmed by the company of my bros, as cheesy as that sounds. a favorite thing to do with an emptied bottle was to fire it through one of the hundreds of windows yet unmolested on the side of the empty warehouse. this was punk. looking back, i can't believe none of us ever tried to get into the warehouse. there was an incident that involved a jeep getting tipped over or something, but someone else will have to tell that story because i wasn't there.

let's jump forward a few years, actually a lot of years, to june of 2002. the pyramid brewery has been open for about 5 years. that wasn't without controversy, if i recall, and was clearly the first of many for the neighborhood. this was a fairly typical night in my latter gilman street days. i ran into some friends on the corner in front of gilman street, prolly ducked in real quick to get a new membership card and a stamp for the evening's show.

it would be easy to say we are old now, skipping the opener in favor a drinks across the street, but really, that's always been the case, except the beer is a lot more expensive. anybody that thought the music was the best part of going to a show wasn't up to the same shit i was.

the explosion was playing on this particular night, and we met up them across the street. million dollar matt had discovered a keen loophole in pyramid's beverage serving system. if you buy a 64 oz "growler" for $12 you can take it oustide to their beer garden and get wasted on one giant magnificent fuck load of beer. he also discovered that if you relax your fingers and the growler plunges to the ground, it will shatter and then pyramid employees will escort you and yours off the premises.

soon after the shattering glass and beer splashing and the words exchanged, the explosion were on stage playing a passionately drunken set, encouraging the attending crowd to "fuck that place across the street."

last saturday i find myself back on the grounds of the pyramid brewery. they set up a tent in the parking lot, with a stage at one end. outside the tent were the beer stands, with a race track for the kegs-on-wheels against the gilman street fence, we are all old here, drinking microbrewed hefewiezen, with a lemon wedge please. tari described the scene a having "an adult warped tour/aging fraternity vibe" which really sums it up far better than the 133 words i was going to use.

the show, advertised as a benifit for "bay area search and rescue" was also a "launch party" for a new "seasonal" beer. there were free samples and men dressed as beer bottles circulating amongst the crowd, flirting with the ladies and snapping polaroids to give away. we fucked up and didn't get our picture taken with the walking six pack. i really wished they would go away; i couldn't drink my beer around them. it'd be like eating a hamburger in front of a cow.

built to spill, a band i am not so familiar with, not because of a lack of praise, played and they played quite well. maybe it is because doug martsch, et al, look like grad student teacher's assistants, but there was something collegiate in the air. my guess ist that most, if not all, built to spill types have spent at least a few hours in college lecture hall. there was a definite sense that going to a built to spill show at a micro-brewery, whilst wearing fleece and perhaps a goatee, is what a fella does for kicks as the ten year college reunion approaches.

for an open air affair, the sound was really good, with a stereo mix even! everyone was wasted. there was a scuffle, not quite a fight, and some dickweed threw a cup of beer at the band. his voice echoing from the vocal effects that give his vocals their distinct ethereal quality, dr. martsch told us between songs,"in case you were wondering, we don't like having beer thrown at us. if you don't like us, we can't stop you from doing that. but just in case you thought we might like that, we don't."

i've heard the crowd was good for a bay area built to spill show. i can imagine a lot of crossed arms and nodding heads whenever they do their annual 4 night stand at slim's every year.

besides mist from my exhalations, there was the sticky-icky perfume of marijuana hanging in the air, and surprisingly, a few open-toed sandals on the ground. i took a lot of notes during the show because built to spill plays a kind of experimental (shoot me for using the phrase) indie rock that really lets your mind wander between the harmonized intertwining guitar solos.

i was thinking about how funny it was that in college i read douglas coupland's generation x and it had quite an impression on my impressionable mind. at the time i was struck by coupland's idea that our generation, or at least those folks just a few years older than i, suffered from a lack of history. while our parents partied with the kennedy assassination, the civil rights movement, woodstock, some weak-ass shake, watergate and LSD, all we had to show was maybe some punk songs about reagan and the challenger explosion. i think i wrote a paper bemoaning the horrible lack of history i'd have to live through.

shit fuk, i sure god dam got what i asked for. i should have kept my fuck tard mouth shut.

chop & drop

chop & drop

sorry about the shitty camera phone image. last night this once proud ford mustang convertible was dumped on the sidewalk in front of my work. a reminder that despite my proximity to berkeley or emeryville, i definitely work in oakland.

bonfires burning bright pumpkin faces in the night

spooky

what do hamburglars do after a long night of burger thievery? they toss off the hat, lose the mask and drink scotch out of plastic cups.

although shit's been pretty serious lately, the combination of a pre-emptive strike on tari's birthday and halloween yielded some good times. this picture is from last friday's halloween party, hosted by tari's work homey.

on saturday, after feet were dragged by me and words exchanged with tari, we got it together enough to drive to victor's party in santa cruz. i am not crazy about santa cruz, but at 22:30 tari inspired enough impulse in me to drive an hour and a half to a party to which we would arrive at midnight and most likely leave at 01:00.

tar's mummy costume left her hot and bothered, mostly because of the hour it took to put on friday night, and the lack of an urine exit strategy once the costume is on. she ditched it in favor of a suicidal surgeon get up. i drove down sans costume, lest i get pulled over for perpetrating crimes against the hamburger possessing public.

when we arrived, i discovered that my tie, the cornerstone of my costume had floated off in to the aether, or at least a gutter near tari's house. so i showed to the party as a dickhead. no costume needed. victor's party was pretty good, except for the boring music he kept putting on.

one attendee was dressed as sexy yassir arafat. this prolly warrants some more description. there are two absolutes about halloween. well, there could be more, but i only want to talk about these two. number one is that dudes that want to experiment with their sexuality often dress up like slutty or sexy girls. number two is that girls that want to experiment with their sexuality definitely dress up sexy or slutty.

stuck with you

We've had some fun, and yes we've had our ups and downs
Been down that rocky road, but here we are, still around
We thought about someone else, but neither one took the bait
We thought about breaking up, but now we know it's much too late

i woke up this morning with "stuck with you" by huey lewis running through my head. my arms and thighs ached. my head hurt. my right ear/sinus system was clogged from sleeping on my side. my stomach burned.

We are bound by all the rest
Like the same phone number
All the same friends
And the same address

the alarm went off at 6:15, but i think my eyes opened at 6:03. i lay in bed, thinking about last night. the shockingly expensive dinner. vegan irish coffee gut and anxiety. anger and confusion. adrenaline and disappointment.

let me start from the beginning. yesterday was tari's birthday. because of it's proximity to election day, and her dad's 3 unsuccessful bids for DA, birthdays have been rough for her. i tried real hard to make it special for her.

after an afternoon of furious mouse clicking and browser reloading, i took tari out to dinner at millennium. although we were reluctant to leave the TV for a few hours of vegan decadence, millennium was once again a flavor symphony in my mouth.

for a starter, i had a kombu and avacado salad, served in a martini glass. tari ordered the raw-violi. both dishes were so good, i could have stopped there. for my main course, i had a squash, resting on black forbidden rice rissoto, stuffed with tofu and smothered in a gravy. tari had a stuffed pablano chile, that was equally good, especially with a a spicy un-cheesy sauce drizzling the plate.

dessert made a brief appearance as the aforementioned vegan irish coffee, and a little chocolate cake with chocolate sorbet. a bottle of vegan organic red wine, a mojito and a yellow rum cocktail snuck onto our table at some point during the meal. not really sure how that happened.

several times through the meal, i tried to get election results via SMS on my cell phone, to no avail. we left the restaraunt at around 21:30. we walked up geary to edinburgh castle. the bar was crowded, tense and festive. CNN flickered from a projecter aimed on the wall above the pool table, while smaller TV's crammed between top shelf liquor and empty pint glasses belched the latest analysis.

every time wolf blitzer projected a state in kerry's favor the sizable crowd erupted in cheers. when ohio was brought up, people would bellow "OOHHHHIOOOO" with disdain. joe and kana k showed up. i drank a lot. we discussed expatriation options. around midnight, we took a dizzy cab ride home. i watched the election fade into the night until my eyelids and heart became heavy.

Yes, it's true, (yes it's true) I am happy to be stuck with you
Yes, it's true, (yes it's true) I'm so happy to be stuck with you
'cause I can see, (I can see) that you're happy to be stuck with me

right now, i am at my desk, listening to john kerry officially concede on the radio. my coworkers in the art department are circulating a picture of "president" bush with text that reads "we're fucked." our british customers are calling us, asking us how we feel about the results. jokingly, my coworkers respond by asking for a room to rent or a work visa. our colleagues at fat wreck chords get the day off to go get drunk. at least they'll be able to sell their "not my president" shirt for another four years.

they say that "moral values" was probably a deciding factor in this election; that george bush had a firmer grasp on these things. is war mongery and contempt for social justice representative of these "moral values?" is it moral to ignore obligations of world citizenship? where's the morality in senseless death?

We've had our doubts, we never took them seriously
And we've had our ins and outs, but that's the way it's supposed to be
We thought about giving up, but we could never stay away
Thought about breaking up, but now we know it's much too late
And it's no great mystery
If we change our minds
Eventually, it's back to you and me

what everybody else is writing about today

i am sitting at work, watching the first of the election returns come in via the cybernet. this is the opening salvo of results; predictably bush is carrying GA, W.Va, IN, KY, while john kerry has VT. i've been tormenting myself with anxiety and anticipation in the weeks leading up to these very minutes. since august, i've followed the campaign daily, sometimes hourly. i've carried a mini cauldron of belching stomach acid in my gut since at least last weekend. i feel like i am back to drinking coffee. i slept restlessly last night, even woke up an hour early this morning.

during the debates i spent tense hours behind the steering wheel of my car fighting bay bridge traffic, listening closely on the radio, my heart rate jumping every time john kerry gave an answer. after a surge of adrenaline, my nerves would wane with each confident response by kerry, or each robotic retard reply by president bush.

i'll be relieved when today is over, but that will be a fleeting moment if bush is re-elected. i can't say what i would do that happens. it's not the america i want