Filed under: Uncategorized
Currency devaluation. Swine flu.
Endless minor personal frustrations.
Is anyone an expert anymore? Maybe not.
I need to have a clean packed house and then we’ll talk. And some thai food.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Fate is how when you have to attend dinner with dubious company a short film premiere appears an hour and a half in, the perfect out, combining with an after work hair appointment made months ago so you look okay making swift exits. Mostly, it’s about the head massage and wine at dinner.
Filed under: waves
Hombres are wearing leis of green; all I’m on is caffeine. The air has that third week of April smell, somewhere between textbooks and summer, pungent and recognizable.
Exchange rates are not, not working in my favor. Not a major obstacle but means a shot more responsibility. Balls. Balls! A quick guide of personal budget travel substitutions, especially in light of the fact it’s a tight year all around so it’s difficult to rely on bon vivant affectations to fill up a cup.
-more long haul bus rides, less domestic flights
-used boards & reselling (vs custom to ship home)
-down with cocktails, up with wine
What we do is secret!! Today there was a conversation about how if you can figure out how to live the dream you should best be quiet about it because people are less likely to do it themselves and more likely to be resentful, so provide evasive answers and forget the evangelism.
“I have a board meeting. In the South.”
“I have made an international commitment.”
Filed under: waves
New city, library. Reading about surf in Morocco. To do.
On the way here, on a bus also carrying plasma products and the children of divorce to weekend parents, I watched The Cosmic Children. Old videos are awesome because they’re so different but there’s a continuity of documentary style. This. Is. Surf. Life. Retro is no aerials, just long lines and thirty second rides.
Filed under: nomadisms
The plastic card was what made me finally from nowhere in particular. Previously, all identification matched to a specific location. I had been from somewhere, at some point, and had the evidence to prove it.
I filed my taxes using the old address today. At some point I should direct deposit but that presumes a stable bank account and I’m not sold on that either. Currently, the address receives bank statements and surf magazines. Banned from reading the former, my parents read the latter to feel closer to me. I collect the issues in two to four month spans and the point will come where my mom has a better grasp of current ASP rankings than me.
I can’t believe I’m busting out in six weeks. Six weeks…!
This morning I elected to be a little late to the office. The dampness on the walk made me glad for tights.
The Spot had cinnamon buns today, unheard of. I thought I’d never get one there again due to running out of city weekends. They’re the most perfect kind because they make this caramel that contrasts well with a slightly crispy but not sweet dough. It coats without soaking. An ideal yeast quotient, too. It doesn’t seem like something you should be able to anticipate; it seems like something that should surprise you on a Wednesday morning.
Right now I have to pack bags. Literally.
[Three suitcases, one box of books and miscellany, a bag of kitchen items, a laundry bag full of linens and a small ironing board/iron/drying rack. There’s probably more but I haven’t found it and can’t think of it yet.]
I have moved everything I own at least thirteen times in six years. This is a badge of pride, probably one of the fictions used to supply identity where there’s been no actual character test, because I like to believe instead of acquiring things I elected to acquire people and places.
It’s also possible the clean breaks make development easier, logical shedding of whole skins and past lives (if you had us all in a room together I wonder what we’d talk about).
I’ve started to tell myself stability could be, in itself, an adventure; that the greatest experiences are likely things not really even imagined yet. We’ll see if it sticks.
Filed under: Uncategorized
No one cares about your blog.
NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG!
That in mind.
Underthecurrent 