A Photo

This is me and the interns. We are standing on a bridge.

A 120 Foot Long Manuscript

My mom had just packed me 2 coolers worth of food. I like my mom a lot because sometimes she cooks me a lot of food and puts it into little containers so I can put them in my freezer and eat them later. It beats McDonald's for sure and since I lack culinary talents, it makes even more sense. They were sitting in the back of my car as I pulled onto I-25 south and headed towards Denver. I was lured by the city to once again enter its domain. Since I had the day to blow and would rather do it in Denver than in Colorado Springs, I exited.

I was in LoDo so I headed to the Tattered Cover, an old used bookstore. With a wide variety of magazines to choose from, I entertained myself a few hours, meandering about the floors, peeking at architecture books. On one of the landings I saw a sign saying something about Jack Kerouac's "On the Road," being displayed @ the Denver Public Library. I thought it worth checking out so I headed up the 16th street mall. There are a bunch buses that run up and down this street for free so I jumped aboard, careful to look cool doing so. That's one thing I don't like about doing things alone. For some reason all of my actions become a lot more calculated, and I find myself contemplating each and every motion I take. I can't explain it but it feels somewhat selfish and prideful.

Along this strip, you can find any sort of person you want, a businessmen, a highschooler, a gangsta, a panhandler, a mom, a robot, a cigarette. It is fun because this area forces together a myriad of demographics causing the occasional shocking instance. Alone I witnessed everything and everyone safe behind my headphones. If you wanna avoid talking to people, put on headphones. I was thirsty so I went into Jimmy John's to purchase a beverage. Since it is a physical impossibility to enter Jimmy John's without ordering a Slim #5, I did so and relished in my most wonderful vice. I don't know if you can beat salami, capicola, provolone, mayo and mustard on the best bread in the world.

I continued up 16th street until I reached its terminus. I could see Michael Graves' library in the distance, so I made my way towards it. To say the least, this library is somewhat dissapointing compared to some of his other achievements like the St. Colleta school in Washington D.C. Graves uses a language that works at a much smaller scale as seen in St. Colleta. His intention is clear and speaks for itself. The library seems to lose some of this clarity as the program becomes larger and more varied. What was simple about his St. Colleta design, has now become confusing and useless. The other thing that really bothers me about the library is the vertical circulation. Unless one is willing to find the elevator, which was difficult to do, one must take a series of escalators up each floor. This process is very time consuming and offers nothing new to the experience. I can understand an elaborate circulation system if it's trying to say something and take one on an interesting journey. This is not the case however and leaves the everyone tired and yet again confused.

Enough architectural analysis. After I got inside, I asked the security guard where I could find this exhibit. He told me to go to the 5th floor. As I reached the top floor, I could see what I had come for. Before me lay the original manuscript of Jack Kerouac's "On the Road." Kerouac had written this entire book in a 21 day sitting. He was also known to be a really fast typer and he hated changing out sheets every few minutes. He bought come long pieces of chinese paper and taped them together to form one long scroll. He typed the whole thing single spaced with no margins. They didn't have the space to unroll the whole thing so I could only see about a 30 ft. stretch of it. It was bought at auction sometime in the 90's for 2.6 million dollars. I looked at it for awhile and then I left to do other stupid things.

Sometimes

things just get you down. Sometimes you just don't feel right. Its like an unbridled horse that drags your mind across a thousand possibilities with no resolution. There are a few pages left in your book, but you just can't bring yourself to finish them. A dullness, like two rocks rubbing against eachother. People just don't get it, get you. They poke fun and you can't tell if they are just playing around, or if they really hold you in contempt. Scrutinized. Made to feel insignificant. Sometimes, and then there are others.

Angola May Not Be The Tourism Capital Of The World

If anyone else has taken a 20 hour trans-atlantic flight, I sympathize with your sufferings. To compound the annoyance of such a flight, Delta is kind enough to play re-runs of The West Wing, and The King of Queens the entirety of the journey. This flight includes a stop in Dakar, Senegal to refuel, before continuing on to Johannesburg, South Africa. In Dakar, you are not allowed to get off the plane, as security comes on board and searches the fuselage for 2 hours. Bad food further complicates this torture, with zero leg room and minimal personal space to boot. You have to do this twice might I add. It does help with the skymiles however.

Angola is a former Portuguese colony that gained its independance around 1975. Since then they have destroyed themselves with civil war. Like any developing country, the so-called roads are almost useless. Diesel fumes suffocate you. Pedestrians dodge blazing SUV's.

The land is beautiful and limitless. If you plan on taking your next vacation there, bring an interpreter, since almost no one knows any english. Bring zero dollars because I can assure you there is nothing worth buying. Be ready to not see another white person and accept points and stares as you go anywhere. Accept bulletholes in buildings as merely part of the experience.

What I've said may come across as deregatory to Angola, but it is one of the nost wonderful and confusing places I've ever been. The people are content and happy, which comes as strange to me because it is in the top 5 poorest countries in the world. I am glad to be home yet resentful of America. We are all selfish and stupid.

An Artist I Enjoy

I guess what I really enjoy about Juan Gris, is his ability to make one think. This is sort of at the essence of the cubist movement, the act of taking something ordinary, and distorting it create a more powerful image. However, Gris does it in a way that seems to split away from Picasso. Gris paintings become much more about space and overlap and the shifting of different planes. Looking at the paintings makes one wonder how they fit together, and what the original images looked like. You soon realize that the image does not fit together, and anomalies begin to present themselves. Anyway here are a few examples.

A Few Thoughts

On Stoplights
Yellow lights in Colorado Springs are unusually long. It makes it an excellent place to squeeze in at the last minute. Is it yellow lights? Sometimes I think they are orange. People also accelerate very quickly when the light turns green. Maybe I'm used to the slow pace of Arkansas, but these people are fast. Even like soccer moms in minivans are flooring it off the line. Have you ever wondered why the lights have those little shields around them? I can't decide if it diminishes glare, or keeps people from looking to see when the light turns so they can gun it off the line. I also think there should be an amendment to traffic laws. Here is the scenario: say you are at a 3-way intersection. You are on the street that can either turn left, or go straight. There is no road to your right. I think that you should be able to go straight on red in this situation. It's no different than turning right on red at a four way. All you are looking for is the people on your left, making a left hand turn. I'll talk to my local police man.

On Iraq
On the radio today, I heard that 2 soldiers sued Boeing for a helicopter malfunction that happened in Iraq. They were awarded some 15 million dollars. They said one soldier was left a quadriplegic and the other sustained lesser injuries. A quadriplegic is about the worst injury you could sustain apart from sustaining death. That leaves a very wide range of lesser injuries. p.s. I'm sick of Iraq and I don't even care any more. I just wish everyone would be happy and love each other. I also hate it when people try to talk about Iraq like they know more about foreign policy than the government does. If you know so much, run for president.

On Pop Divas
Why do people care about other people? It's usually because they have a relationship with them and have invested things into their life. That's why I'm perplexed by people caring about celebrities. As most of us know, Anna Nicole Smith recently died of collapsing(otherwise known as an OD), in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Every morning when I turn on the TV, reporters and journalists scramble around to find the latest news on Smith. The thing I saw that disturbed me was images of young kids and teens that had gathered for a memorial to her. You've seen them before, posters with little pictures of the deceased with little messages and candles and text like RIP so and so. I was thinking, why do these people care??? They obviously never knew this person personally and therefore should have no interest in her death. I guess its different for an honorable person. When someone dies that is famous, that has lived a life of honor and grace and love, people should celebrate their death, even if they never knew them. I guess I just don't get it when people care about someone they don't know, who has lived a terrible life. Drugs, pornography, adultery, and greed were all a huge part of this woman's life. What good does it to memorialize her? So Britney has shaved her head and has checked into drug rehab twice in one week. I love how everyone cares so much.

On Reporters
I guess what angers me is the medias eagerness to unveil terrible things. That's why I was so happy when Tony Dungy and Lovie Smith gave all their credit to God. The media couldn't do anything with it and you could tell they were disappointed to hear these things. They were looking for the next T.O. scandal, or C. Johnson's latest end zone blasphemy. They couldn't find it. All they could find was God-fearing men. Thanks for the bust-out guys.

A Show and A Night

A short trip to Denver had me standing before the Bluebird Theater. Alone as I was, I made my way to the back of the line and awaited orders. Earlier that night, I had contemplated riding the L-train into town just for kicks, but I figured it would be too complicated for me to understand. I had gotten there fairly early, just when the people began a steady trickle in. I sat and chilled and played the part of observer in my new world. There seemed to be a lot of couples there so I thought about what that must be like; what it's like to take someone you really care about to a good show. I bet its cool a lot.

The female foursome from Montreal took the stage first. I remember smiling a lot when they played. Something about them made me feel happy and safe. It seemed like they had good hearts. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a little Asian girl squeeze through the crowd to claim a plot of concrete just in front of me. After the second song, appeared in her hand a pom-pom. She took photos of the band and shook her tassels in a jumping frenzy. She was also alone and the shear absurdity of pom-pom shaking made the whole crowd laugh, in a good way. The band recognized her and were happy to have such a devout fan. At the end of their set, she placed a brightly colored gift bag on the stage. The lead-singer knelt down to see what they had been given. "Pringles!" she exclaimed as she held up the cylindrical can. There was also some bubbles and a huge bag of candy. I laughed a lot.

Between sets me and this guy started talking. He said he was surprised that this many people had heard of this band that was about to go on. I asked him how he knew about them and he said he just likes a lot of music. This man must of been in his fifties, and to see people of that age at shows, is a little strange. He told me that he was a comedy writer and for a living he writes comedy for comedians. He said he writes jokes for Larry the Cable Guy. I thought he was weird. Apparently he sits around in his underwear all day, and thinks of jokes, and emails them to people, and gets paid tons of cash. Again I thought he was weird. We started talking about music, everything from The Strokes, to The Good, The Bad, and The Queen. He seemed very opinionated about music.

Then Camera Obscura came on. I always love the moment when a band comes on stage because for the first time, you see these people come to life. You realize that they are people like everyone else and it's fun. She said in her very Scottish accent that she was impressed that there was so many people at the show. They had heard that Incubus was in town on the very same night. She said, "we were at the bar last night doing karaoke and everyone was singing these Incubus songs. We don't even know who Incubus is." I thought it was hilarious that they didn't know who Incubus was. I laughed again. They then proceeded to play an absolutely brilliant show. Being alone allows me to enjoy things more sometimes. Since I have no other distractions, I can focus wholly on the band and listen to the intricacies of the music. It was nice to do that. If you ever get a chance, I recommend them in concert.

3 things

that I am happy about.

60 degree weather.

Lost tommorrow.

Camera Obscura in Denver on Thursday.

Downtown Blues

Standing on a street corner.
A ragged man stumbles by pursuing no direction.
"How you doin?" I mumble.
He glances at me turning the other way.
"Where'd you get that Navy coat?" he asks.
"I'm not sure, I got it as a gift."
"I bet its real warm."
"Yeah."

If You Think About the Bible Enough, It's Insane.

I find it necessary sometimes to read the Bible as if you were reading it for the first time. Like it was a brand new thing, fresh and thick and brimming with all sorts of strange data. I was fed Bible stories from a very young age so it often becomes difficult to look at these tales with a sense of authenticity and presence.

The music of The Beatles offers an idea akin to this phenomenon. I and almost the rest of humanity have been so highly exposed to the sounds of The Beatles, that we forget just how good those sounds were when they came out. Since I wasn't around in February of 1964 to experience The Beatles for the first time on The Ed Sullivan Show, when an estimated 40% of the U.S. population watched them, I can't fully understand their significance, and never will. I've grown up with these catchy songs and give almost no heed to them when they appear in various commercials and movies. I felt pretty apathetic to The Beatles for a long time and never really understood what everyone else seemed to get so easily. For me its like thinking about the atomic bomb. Yeah I know there was the huge bomb that blew up in Hiroshima and killed a bunch of people and it was real crazy and whatever. But if you actually think about it, I mean really sit there and allow the facts to present themselves, your head about blows off. To envision 90,000 people dying instantly becomes almost too much to handle, too insane.

The same is true of The Holy Word. I was reading in Acts ch. 5 today and thinking about the deaths of Ananias and Sapphira. Let me see if I can refresh your memory on this.

1But a man named Ananias, with his wife Sapphira, sold a piece of property, 2and kept back some of the price for himself, with his wife's full knowledge, and bringing a portion of it, he laid it at the apostles' feet. 3But Peter said, "Ananias, why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and to keep back some of the price of the land? 4"While it remained unsold, did it not remain your own? And after it was sold, was it not under your control? Why is it that you have conceived this deed in your heart? You have not lied to men but to God." 5And as he heard these words, Ananias fell down and breathed his last; and great fear came over all who heard of it.

Three hours after this, his wife comes in and is struck down dead as well. If you have any knowledge of the book of Acts, you know that it is the beginning of the church immediately following the Ascension of Christ. The disciples had just been given the Holy Spirit and thousands were being added to their number each day. They were all living together as a community, selling all they had and serving one another. Ananias was trying to help by giving some money to the disciples, but lied about giving it all. Several things seem to be at work here. It is highly unlikely that this was the single reason God chose to take their lives. I can think of several purposes of their death.

1. They were most likely engaged in more serious sin.
2. They were probably giving for the wrong reasons, otherwise why would they lie?
3. To make an example of those that don't fully submit to God.
4. To instill the fear of God into the possibly prideful disciples.

Despite these reasons, this whole thing seems totally unfair. Don't you wonder where these people are? I mean are they in Hell because of this? Everyday I am selfish and don't always do what the Lord tells me. Do I deserve to be immediately struck down? I'm trying to decide where the forgiveness is. People die all the time but you don't ever know it was because they sinned. Here you know they died because they sinned once.

This gets me back to my first point, that The Bible is insane. Its a good sorta insane though. At least it makes me think about things, which is good for me because I like to think about insanity. If you havn't read this way in awhile, I advise it. If you also want to rediscover The Beatles like I did, listen to their newest release "Love." The all too familiar tracks have been remastered and remixed to allow for an open mind. So go and read and listen and have your head blown off.

Its pretty hard sometimes

to organize your thoughts and expell them onto a computer screen. I often find myself staring blankly at this glowing box, analyzing every possible way I could convey an idea. I usually get really confused with verb tenses and get so frustrated that I just quit, and move on to other things.

Today I am attempting the describe the old man that operates the elevator in my building. eMi is housed in a very old building most likely erected circa 1926. There is this ancient elevator that is immediately to your left after you enter the front door, and move up a flight of stairs. When I first saw it, I passed by quickly and gave it little notice, as I was too busy rushing into my soon to be office. When I looked at it more closely later, it was revealed to me that this was not any old elevator.

The elevator is built inside of a screen, much like the Arabic window opening known as a mashrabiya. This opening allows for people to see out of the structure when within it, while hiding them from the view of others. This concept is predicated on the nature of our eyes, and our inability to see dark areas, when viewing them from a bright place. This is all somewhat irrelevant to describing this elevator, but it seemed an interesting tangent. Back to the vertical circulatory device. It is really old and has to be manually operated by someone that is familiar with this ancient technology. This someone is a very old man, that looks much too old to be doing anything other than eating or watching cool tv shows.

This man sits there all day and transports people between floors. This is his only responsibility. He sits in a chair in the elevator and watches people pass by all day. When I am an old man I hope to do something rad like that, just chill and hang out with people. He seems less than content than I would expect however. Every time I see him, he seems to get older and sadder and less friendly. I wonder if this is because he realizes he is dying and is left alone everyday at the elevator to think back on his long life and all the oppurtunites he missed and the shots he never took. I think this might be what he is feeling but I have no way of knowing. After all, I'm not an old man. I think I will become friends with this guy. Maybe he can tell me some cool stories about the old days, and sneakers, and how he used to be a good boxer. I would like that.