awkward and enchanted

Monday night I trained it down the peninsula for a reunion dinner for the group that I first visited El Salvador with in March 2001. Regrettably, or perhaps predictably, I had fallen out of touch with most of the group. A little facebook action here and a returned email there was never sufficient to carrying the emotional bonds we all shared. Our 10 days in the campo were the 10 most influential days of my life. It was only a fluke that I ended up selected for the trip and I can say with confidence had I not been selected nothing in my life would be the same. In January 2001 I was 16 weeks into my freshman year at SCU and miserable. Nothing was clicking like I had hoped, academically I was successful but I was having a difficult time socially. The culture shock was significant, I had never considered how different I'd feel attending one of the wealthiest schools on the west coast while coming from a lower middle class environment. I had some good friends but I always felt a distance, it wasn't like I had much to chime in when everyone was discussing the respective desirability of second homes in Tahoe or Newport Beach. Soooo. I was ready to transfer when I saw a poster in Benson advertising a spring break immersion trip to El Salvador. I applied, wasn't selected, someone else dropped and then I was invited. We had our first group meeting in a room in campus ministry and I was suddenly surrounded by people unlike anyone else I'd met at SCU. The instant warmth and affection within the group gave me a sense of community that got me through that first year. Monday night was an extension of that same sense of community. It didn't take long for us to fall back into the same jokes and same roles within the group. I will always be the quiet and reflective one with the most cutting questions and I know who would always make us laugh and who could tell when someone needed a hug or a few minutes away from the moment. That's all we had for our 10 days, moment after intense moment. I'm at a loss to try and explain how my life was transformed that week or at least what happened in El Salvador. The members of my group, friends I'll cherish forever, were just as important in that personal transformation. I went from feeling lost and unimportant to having a sense of belonging and the intellectual and emotional respect of the most brilliant group I'd ever been associated with. To this day I get chills thinking about what we accomplished, the way we changed SCU, the way we put the pressure on the UCA to treat campesino students fairly. I get chills thinking about all of us sharing our life stories and breaking down the barriers between ourselves and the community we lived in. Even with the years that have passed I know these friends will always be special to me. Monday night was special, as we sat outside in the warm twilight; eating, drinking and laughing, telling old stories, passing around Es Bueno's beautiful baby boy; I felt myself slipping past everything that has happened this year. The family drama, my convoluted love life, professional strife and everything else...it felt distant and manageable. Everything might not be quite right but it was once right and can be made right again. When we flipped through the photos some of us had brought it was amazing the way we were all hanging all over each other, like kittens sharing a basket. That closeness was so fucking right and thinking about it gives me hope that this life of mine is going to be alright.

to the three...

...young men speaking Russian and playing music on the inbound Forest Hill muni platform...

thanks, you got me moving right along.

i got a bounce in my step...

there is a little humm baby going on today. things are happening, the future is arriving...just a little humm baby.

and there is this...

thanks ms. powell!

it's 714 day (a blog for the dozens of women who will never be the same)

adam, ben, brian, bruce, jim, nate, ricky, robin

five years later...

still fucking it, still cutting em up.

that was a special night

I left my house Friday night, headed out to the social ramble and content with the Giants 7-0 lead. Jonathan Sanchez was dealing and I was happy to see him look good, both for his trade value and in the unit's absence. 45 minutes later I was sitting in a dark restaurant with only one muted tv rather inexplicably tuned to the MLB network. I was pleased with the distraction in case my meal went south and then stunned to see them cut live to ATT Park as the same Jonathan Sanchez was three outs away from a no hitter. So Edgar went to his right, Aaron climbed the wall and then one wicked curve ball ended the affair. It's a 100% guarantee...no matter what happens, I'll remember Friday night for the rest of my life, where I was, who I was with, what we talked about and the final perfect three outs. When Sanchez hugged his dad in the dugout (who was watching his son start a MLB game for the first time!) I teared up just a bit and my heart beat a little faster. Something special is happening here and Friday night was a part of it all.

xavier g

I can still remember the names and faces of most of the clients who passed through the adolescent drug and alcohol rehabilitation center where I worked from 2005-2007. That was a group of several hundred young men. Of those there is a smaller group of clients that I remember especially well, either because I mentored them, they ran an especially good program or for some other reason. In late 2006 we got an SF county client, all of 14 years old and he might well have been a feral child. Xavier G. was a boy in every sense of the word but believed he had to be a man to survive. I watched him stand and glare in meetings and saw him laugh at cartoons. We told him that if he kept on the path he was on he'd end up murdered or in jail. None of that clicked. The duality presented within his contrasting persona's was consistently fascinating; Xavier had been raised so poorly and for so long that he didn't know how not to steal and at the same time he hoarded snacks and treats like he might never be fed again. Of course, there had been years where he was barely fed. I lost touch with him when I left that job but I kind of always new I'd hear about him again and I knew it would not be pleasant.

Xavier G was murdered a little past 11 pm this past Friday night.

A cursory search of SFGate turned up this photograph of Xavier at age six:



The article this appears with can be found here.

RIP

the middle of the night. sex as electricity. sex as currency.

Yes, baby yes, yes yes, again and again. Keep the heels, lose the dress. Electric skin arches backs and you're backed against the wall. Roll and turn and fight, always a fight, your pleasure in the middle of mine and we'll circle back to the start and start again. Again. Always again.

the truth is a razor blade you're chewing

and now, for all my new readers dialed in via twitter tweeter bird...

an unofficial guide to my commonly used gchat and blogger phrases

and an extra special treat...

surprise guy reading 'cut pieces' on his surprise phone:




see you on the streets, see you at the greek, see you at the yard, see you everywhere you see me.

two birds in my room

The opening game of the summer season started promising as Team Tangos mounted consistent pressure on Where's the Beer?, generating several excellent scoring chances while largely controlling possession. To their chagrin Team Tangos gave up a goal late in the first half on a 50/50 header off the six yard line from a corner kick. The second half was largely dominated by Where's the Beer?, who used their superior fitness to attack again and again before scoring on a far post header from a corner kick. Team Tangos was largely fatigued and suffering from uncharacteristically bad touch and the game seemed lost. With under 7 minutes to play Team Tangos got on the board when team newcomer Ty got loose on a corner kick and scored on a far post header. With new life Team Tangos pressed forward, increasing their offensive pressure. This risk payed off when Michelle played a diagonal pass forward to Bruce who beat his defender right, cut to goal and blasted home the equalizer from 8 yards. The game ended in a 2-2 draw, with both teams craving an additional few minutes to properly settle the matter. Team Tangos took a certain satisfaction from battling back late and will look to build on that momentum going into their blood match with Team Filthy Feet next week.

it's a street fight

Soccer as an expression of my irrepressible personality.

Yes, that's it. And the soccer as an expression of everything perfect and possible. It's just a bit more Eduardo Galeano writing in Soccer in the Sun and Shadow that the perfect kiss would like the be unique. My most perfect kiss was unique, but that is a story for another time as it was only a kiss that was not only a kiss. But back to soccer. We play tonight and I got my dorothy's sitting under my desk catching my eye every now and then. It'll feel good to run and be with my team. I last played three weeks ago, the same night I got the letter that started the split that got me to restart this blog as a way to process some of the ways my life has been changed. We had playoffs that night and I was terrible, my touch was nonexistent and I couldn't get my head into the game. We lost 2-1 and the main reasons was my inability to convert chances. Suffice to say, losing the game and getting splitsvilled the same night was an emotional burden. The last three weeks have been the emotional equivilant of sticking my hand in a thresher and every day I've thought about starting another season and getting back some of what I lost that night. I'm now more fit and in a better place to be playing well. My head is back and close to straight. My heart is still beating and with some clarity. Like I said, it'll be good to get back out and run. I could barely sleep last night, I was up late and then up early thinking about the game and counting my blessings...coffee in the morning, flirting with girls in dark corner booths, having chances to take and friends to call when everything falls apart or when everything is coming back together.

not a bad gchatting afternoon...

It's always fun to talk to a girl on gchat about the first time you had sex with her. In this case the memories were certainly pleasant, the chemistry was instant and intense. We were like starved and caged animals set loose. But yeah, I was making Anchorman jokes in my head as I pulled her clothes off...

Boy...that escalated quickly...I mean, that really got out of hand fast.

See, it's about levity when you're suddenly and shockingly naked with someone the first time.

And also, I admitted to her that when I pulled off my initial move, the move that got the whole thing rolling down hill...I 100% thought 'bing bang boom, got em!' and I might have even thrown out a Kurt Gibson style fist pump. In a darkened bar...clearly.

My past amuses me, I've had some great adventures because I don't mind embracing the surreal. And with the running dialog in my own head I always have something to laugh about. But hey, beyond that, in the future it won't be 'bing bang boom, got em!'...I'll just look at whatever naked body is naked next to mine and think...

beep. beep.

the scarf in my closet

I was sitting at lunch earlier today reading Vanity Fair and trying to figure out how much I still don't know about the world around me when I blinked twice and suddenly had to acknowledge how far I am from where I want to be. The past two weeks have beaten the shit out of me but I'm still here and I can see a way to what I want. The people in my way will not have a chance if I can find the right way to focus my energy and take positive steps towards the goals I have. Lately I've been thinking about how tough my dad was during all the years he was alone, raising my brother and I and struggling to keep our lives together. Whenever he was in doubt and everything seemed darkest he'd again and again turn to his faith and find a way to get through. The part of me interested in history and the past can call on numerous stories of bravery, fidelity, toughness, duty and honor. The past sits as dozens of examples of all the best (and worst) of the human existence and ability to survive even the darkest times. And yet, it would be inappropriate for me to reach into the larger past when I can reach into my own history and see examples of all the qualities I listed above. My dad was perfect and perfectly flawed but he never fucking backed down. In writing all of this I am attempting to draw strength and find faith, it isn't as simple as putting the words down but it is a step towards where I want to be, who I want to be, who I want to be with and how I can put the pieces of my life together and be a stronger and better person towards those that I love the most. I know who I love the most. I'm getting better, stronger and while the first steps are tentative...I am moving towards this better future.

Alone/together.

watching the clock, waiting for 1:30.

Go get em baby. You're the best, bright and brilliant, and that fucking job is going to be yours.

it's just another little band ripping off a sound they can't understand

She said...tell me about the band.

And I said what can I say, I don't much know about that music business besides what I heard from my friend: prominent blogger. Or my friend: up and coming talented manager with a gold and platinum record under his belt. Or my friend: years and years in the indie jungle trying to make it happen. Or maybe just all the conversations I've listened in on or that communications minor or my time at KSCU or just being an active listener to music. So maybe I know a little something.

So I told her after the qualifiers, notions of my own ignorance and with absolute certainty...this band, the band being talked about, isn't very good and they aren't really going anywhere and they are all old enough to know they didn't make it and that's pretty cool. So no, I can't say anything positive, not this time, I'd rather listen to The Stone Roses for the millionth time or perhaps jam my ears with cotton and arsenic and hide from that obviously lifted sound and half assed attempts at relevancy. But hey, points for trying. It wouldn't be a scene without background for others to stand out against.

a novel, no...

In response to two separate inquiries from two very different people...

A novel, no.

Everything I've been writing about recently has been based in a true story. I've been asked repeatedly to avoid incriminating and other details so I can't really get into what happened with my most recent relationship outside of the broad basics. The details, delicious and surprising as they might be, simply can't yet be revealed in this space. The broad basics are as follows:

I met someone and we unexpectedly fell for each other. Our relationship abruptly ended. She quickly got back with her ex boyfriend. The fallout continues. Our relationship was as organic and natural as any I've ever experienced. Nothing was ever forced and while we had conflict it was always clear we had something truly special. When she left me, quickly, I felt like someone had suddenly taken my eyes from my head, I was blinded and surprised and surprised some more. When she got back with her ex things actually made sense in the context of her life, where she is, where he is and the type of relationship her and I had. Either way, together or apart, cmc is someone I care for a great deal, I'm going to have plenty more to write about this, what happened, how her and I fell in love and everything else but much of it will exist between these lines until I can write everything properly and as they say...close the book on the time her and I smiled at each other all the time like young lovers in love.

surprise guy holding chopsticks

it's 4th of July time

All my daily readers might even be taking a few days off from daily reading. Or, you know, for my readers in love with my prose...the constant and obsessive desire to click refresh, over and over. And over and over.

I'm actually full of shit. If anyone besides me and a few giggling friends is reading this...I'd be surprise guy. Remember surprise guy? That's the dude that can see the truth but still needs the lies. I loved surprise guy. I used to go around drawing him in weird places. A stick figure with a triangle head and a smirking sideways smile. He was surprise guy. Later on I'll post a photo.

More July 4th goodness to come.

ernest hemingway never had a blog

When I wrote professionally and for academia I consciously tried to emulate Ernest Hemingway. A paper was never done until I'd read through it and cut out every single unnecessary word. Hemingway developed his sparse style because he was charged by the word for the stories and journalism he telegraphed home from Europe. Blogs encourage overwriting and I'm assuming the google servers can handle whatever I put up here. If I rewrote War and Peace it'd just be a long load for slower web browsers.

And so, if I applied the Hemingway style to 'Lost in the Smog' we'd be left with this:

she said if she saw me she would have to lie.

Just as devastating and at such a reduced per word price...

lost in the smog

I went to sleep last night excited about tonight because I was going to get to see one of my favorite people. See, two weeks ago I was inseparable with a woman. I mentioned her last in a post from last week. We split up and not for any reasons that ended the world. And then she traded me in for someone else, an old familiar figure, and as such we hadn't seen much of each other lately. Tonight was sort of scheduled and planned. But! The kick in the ass as I fall out of the plane...that early phone call to wake me up and say tonight won't work, seeing you won't work, we need more time, we need more space. We were not forbidden but restricted and I had to just understand the reasons why I might be a threat...(not a decent point but I took it all the same). And thus, I protested, because I don't need time and I don't need space. My understanding of our split had reached a point where I could have seen her as buddies, like we used to be, back when we first met backstage at Treasure Island. Or like the night we stayed up drinking late at the 3300 club, my third favorite club in San Francisco. (540 and then 500 and then 3300) And maybe even like election night. Platonic interactions are always a possibility but the timing is all off. No one has enough trust yet or at least no one that would matter, I'm not seeing anyone so I don't need to trust anyone but myself. It's another loss in a summer of losing but I can try and wait for a better time. I've known this woman a long time, we knew each other before we even met. All the pieces that long ago fell into place won't be cracked and dissolved by a few weeks apart. I got to be hopeful for that, heck, it wasn't long after we met that we were finishing each others sentences. I guess that happens with the best of friends, we were two people that lived the same life and dreamed the same dreams. So now I get to miss her and hope our time apart isn't much and that our time after that, close like the figurative peas in the ever fucking pod, is long.

something else i might have done in high school...write song lyrics on my binder

and, as before, the National...

good god, it's the National. Start a War. I never appreciated this song much until this week.


We expected something, something better than before. We expected something more
Do you really think you can just put it in a safe behind a painting, lock it up and leave
Do you really think you can just put it in a safe behind a painting, lock it up and leave
Walk away now and you’re gonna start a war

Start A War - The National

a relationship of command

When I was in high school, during the late 1990's, and I was feeling the way I feel right now, I'd maybe pass notes with a girl. The notes would be more like letters, first I'd write a paragraph and then they'd write a paragraph. At the end of the 100 minutes you'd have a neat document, my blue pen and maybe her pink pen and whoever had the note last would note-fold it and put it in their back pocket. High school was good for communication. When I turned 16 my dad got me my own telephone line in my room. When I met girls (usually at Wet n' Wild) I'd give them my own number. Sometimes I'd get real ambitious and leave someone a note in their locker. Times were good. Communication was easy. I barely knew anyone with a cell phone. Now I have to remember to turn my cell phone off before I go to sleep, at least my private cell, my work phone can barely leave my hip. I log into facebook at least three times a day, I follow multiple and sometimes redundant blogs, I even kind of use twitter. (Last night I might have tweeted about the various issues with having a bonfire in my back yard.) So yeah, I kind of wish I was back in high school today. Everything else would make sense.

ok. i'm contractually forbidden...

To offer anything much more about the other night. It was memorable. It involved a girl. Everything got quiet like it always used to and promises were made that won't be free to keep. And then a little later it all got loud again. Buzzing and banging, another Sunday morning. Cereal in bed, no banana, the same meager food in the same empty kitchen. The same wait at the door. Our clothes were the same, our bodies the same. It's that old line from Bill Carter...but I can't repeat it here. Hard and wet, as it were. Her and I, as it were. Now, remember, we weren't under some kind of magical spell and when I walked out the door I didn't turn into a pumpkin. No deals were made with the devil. Name a fucking cliche if you want and I'll tell you it didn't happen quite like that. And no, not like that as well.

where i slept last night, the sleepless way we wish

as nights go last night is going to be one of those nights i kick around in my head for years and years.

more to follow.

jealousy was the word of the night...so far at least

in that, some men care about and love a women long enough to never let go and no matter the distance between the last and most recent time they kissed that woman they still are jealous towards those who fell in between.

this was something new i learned today.

a few minutes more

This week has been long. To say the least. It started early Monday morning when one of my employee's sons called to tell me that his dad had passed away in his sleep. From there it hasn't gone anywhere great. With little to do at work today I've spent far more time then healthy staring at my gchat window waiting for the right names to appear. There has been nothing so far.

Nothing so far.