#Alabama

Okay, I've got a real

Okay, I’ve got a real conundrum and not some dull mind fantasy about my role, or lack thereof, in the univese. Being among the dotcom summer breakers I’ve been enjoying the fruits of my unemployment insurance since about May. Well, it’s going to run out soon. In a surprising coincidence I got an email from an ex-coworker of mine at Bellsouth. Apparently my old boss was happy to hear about me and said to get in touch with him if I needed a job. It would be employment but I imagine it would mean getting a job in Birmingham, Alabama again. That is certainly something that is at the bottom of my things to do list.

Here comes a blast from

Here comes a blast from the past. Before we had blogs BBSes and ezines fulfilled the same sort of need. I thought I should offer up a tribute. This is the story of one such ezine that captivated the nation and was eventually made into an animated feature: “The Brave Little Toaster.”

One of the most important ezines to emerge since the Teapot Dome Scandal
-Gandhi

Well, to be honest,
-Marshall McLuhan

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"[Mankind's] history is largely a

“[Mankind’s] history is largely a record of crime, war, disease, and terror, with just sufficient happiness interposed to give them, while it lasts, an agonised apprehension of losing it, and when it is lost, the poignant misery of remembering.”

-C.S. Lewis The Problem of Pain

In my grieving over Kathy I have discounted the importance of others. I suppose literature has taught me a lot about what grieving is about. I operate at times under this illusion it’s supposed to be this Greek tragedy. I think about Heathcliff and Cathy in Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff is driven by a single purpose and that is to be with Cathy, especially once she is gone. While Kathy’s absence diminishes us all I do her no service by wallowing in the “poignant misery of remembering.” I feel the need to take the time to remember an incredible friend of mine, Rebecca. Without her influence my travels would be miniscule and insignificant. She reawakened my love for the outdoors, and helped me begin to uncover a spiritual side that I had actively scorned previously. Before her I saw myself as a machine that had fallen from grace and been made human. I sought to purge emotions. While Rebecca is not solely responsible for helping me to see my own darkness she carried on the work of others before her. She was a bright spot in the three years in Birmingham and we had many good times. Boy did we have some fights though, she was a scrappy fighter! I was still a hurt little kid though fighting over silly things most of the time.

I am not a number.

I am not a number. I am a free man

-Number 6

The closer you are to Caesar the greater the fear. I contemplated this as I wove my way from the outer rings of the Albertville municipal court system towards the center. Unlike Dante I didn’t have a Virgil to guide me through. It all started June 19th on the way back from an Air show in Atlanta at around 2am. The Albertville police pulled my car over and decided that they wanted to do a search of the vehicle. It would end August 28th in a back-room deal with the prosecuting attorney.

Going to Huntsville. Be back

Going to Huntsville. Be back on Wednesday. I will be tilting at windmills in Albertville this tuesday. Maybe I’ll get a good story out of this.

Hmm, I am out of

Hmm, I am out of Huntsville but I don’t really feel any better. Now to make matters worse it seems like I’ve brought the Huntsville virus with me as a few people here seem to be feeling sort of down. I feel like I’m suffocating inside a bell jar just watching everyone through the glass. Please let this just be a week long thing, and not the beginning of the mute agony that persisted for years in Birmingham. I just need that one little spark to get me going again. Maybe this is the inevitable low to counter Monday’s unbelievable high.

Tuesday Christina and I swapped

Tuesday Christina and I swapped a bunch of emails which ended with her saying she would call me that night or Wednesday morning. I sort of didn’t expect her to call as she hasn’t initiated any communication except for email for the past two or three weeks. For my part I had been stoically reminding myself that I would not call her or go see her because dammit I’m not going to play the wide-eyed puppy dog chasing after her. I successfully followed that plan, despite longing to be near her again.

I'm back in Huntspatch and

I’m back in Huntspatch and I can feel that slimy residue settling all about me. If I sit still long enough that residue will harden and I’ll be trapped in this pit. Then I’m just another bug trapped inside the amber of a fossilized tree. When I look at the other people I know here I can see them getting stuck in it. The worst part is they’ve been here so long they can’t even tell. Come August 8th I’m packing everything and getting out of here.

Cities must be alive. They

Cities must be alive. They seem to all have their own soul which represents some collective will culled from its people and their seemingly random activities. If each city did not have its own soul what would make Dallas different from Atlanta or Boston. However, cities aren’t just passive receptacles for the will of its people. The people in each city seem to get caught up in some sort of feedback loop with the city. Just as we change the city, the city changes us. I’ve noticed this the past few days since coming to Dallas from Huntsville, Alabama. The hopelessness and frustration I had in Huntsville has melted away as I’m caught up in the movement and the energy that is Dallas. I feel invigorated by my future possibilities again. As Dallas has changed me, how shall I change Dallas?