2016/2017

1/365  |  ugly furniture

This is a picture of a weird dead space that exists between my living room and my kitchen.  I really don't like it.  It's skinny, and awkward, and pretty much impossible to turn into usable space.  Right now we are using it to store the recyclables in between garbage pickup days and furniture that doesn't fit anywhere else like that weird half-sphere chair.  I fucking hate that thing.  The cushion is frumpy, the color sucks, the wooden frame reminds me of something you'd find in a bong shop, and I just don't like looking at it.  

But today it happened to catch my eye.  The orange of the tree made the fabric appear a little less sickly green than usual, and the soft light of the overcast sky created a few pleasant shadows.  I mean, the chair is still a piece of shit but there was something about the particularities of the moment that made it significantly less shitty to me.  It was a bit surprising, and my mind started trying to save this moment as a metaphor - you know, something about how you should be nicer to people or to love things for what they are.  That progressed for a little bit (i.e. ~15  seconds) until my skeptical side kicked in and reminded me that this is a piece of fucking furniture and that feeling anything for it is completely asinine.  

As usual, the skeptical side of me is right, in the objective sense at least.  It is just a piece of furniture, and it is silly to spend energy feeling anything as strong as love or hate for something so inconsequential.  

But the romantic side of me was kinda bummed Mr. Skeptical had to slam the door on that train of thought - because there probably was a metaphor in there.  And it probably was worth saving.  

8/365  |  labels

This election has really gotten me thinking about political labels.  It's easy to say you're "beyond labels" and that you think of yourself as transcendent of political divisions, and if you want to do that, fine. But I think it's a little lazy.  I'm not saying you have to conform to the Republican-Democrat binary, but at least learn enough about common political language to accurately describe yourself.   This election has demonstrated more than ever the heterogeneity of the two main parties, and the terms "liberal" and "conservative" don't mean much by themselves anymore.  Depending on the additional qualifiers someone chooses to use, I (a leftist) may share more values with a conservative than a liberal.

I guess I should follow my own advice before I start complaining:  I am a moderate leftist, a term I prefer to Democrat.  I believe that affordable healthcare and college education should be universal rights, but also that an appropriately free market can solve some problems faster and better than the government ever could.  I think that the racial tension in America runs far deeper than "racist cops" (but also that racist cops do exist).  I think the minimum wage needs to be raised but an instant jump to $15 scares me.  

For almost any issue, take the moderate stance, then take about two steps to the left and that's where I'll be - in case you were curious.  

11/365  |  reciprocity

Relational imbalance has always been a fear of mine.  The thought of either over or under-committing to a relationship, be it romantic or otherwise, makes me queasy.  It really is a lose-lose situation.  I don't think it has to be explained how much it sucks when you care about someone else more than they care about you, but the opposite scenario can be just as challenging.  

There's a lot of that going on in my life right now.  I feel like I care about certain friends far more than they care about me, but also feel that there are relationships I'm a part of where I'm the one who cares less.

It's unfortunate, but I'm starting to think that's just the way the world works.  

13/365  |  alcohol

Since graduating and entering the working world, I've gotten into the habit of weeknight drinking.  Usually it'll just be one or two beers (though they are Pyramid Outbursts at 8% ABU) or a splash of vodka in orange juice.  Usually drunken alone in my living room.  My god is it lovely.  A slight buzz to end the day.  This week I realized I had a drink every night of the week.  This is just how adulthood works, right?  It's not the start of alcoholism is it? 

...they're not the same thing, are they?

16/365  |  daylight savings

I've always liked having daylight savings kick in towards the end of October/beginning of November. Yeah, it sorta sucks that it gets dark at 4:30 now, but was anyone really planning on doing something incredible with that extra hour of daylight? Personally, I enjoy getting to see the sun at 7:00 in the morning when I wake up instead of having to wake up, get ready, and drive to work in the dark.  I like keeping the start and end of my day more or less in line with sunrise and sunset.  It balances my chi, connects me to Gaia, unblocks my chakras ya know?  

17/365  |  hardwood floors

I'm starting to look at apartments for when I move to Seattle in a little more than a month and seriously - why doesn't every builder just suck up the cost of installing hardwood floors? I know they're expensive, but with maybe a $30 increase in rent (something I'm sure people would be willing pay for) I bet it wouldn't take too long to cover the cost.  And then you wouldn't have to constantly be cleaning shitty carpet.  And it would make everything look so much nicer.  

Oh, and paint the walls white instead of beige while you're at it

18/365  |  "i'm fine"

I think it's a very understandable and human thing to feel that your problems are insignificant and to avoid seeking help for them.  But I honestly don't understand why help that is sincerely offered is so often casually dismissed.   Why do we do this? Is it because we don't want help from the specific person asking (something I'm certainly guilty of)?  Is it because we assume "how are you?" is always asked as a formality rather than as a serious inquiry?  Or is it that, even when prompted, we still feel that our day-to-day problems are unworthy of recognition. That our problems must surpass some threshold of seriousness before we allow them to be verbalized.  

As with all things, I'm sure the answer is a mixture of a lot of factors, but I find that third reason particularly heartbreaking.

20/365  |  future wife pt. i

I know that setting up criteria for a future partner isn't a great thing to do.  It keeps our thinking discrete instead of holistic, and often does nothing more than set us up for wild disappointment.  Still, it's hard not to do.  It's hard not to look ahead and wonder about the things we want and the things we need in whoever that person will be.    I've been thinking about what I want, but much more about what I need.  I don't think people are all that different in what they're searching for - we all want someone who's kind, honest, compassionate, and funny but we want them to have these qualities in our desired brand.  The question changes from "is this person kind?" to "does this person have the right type of kindness for me?"  

That, I think, is the trick.  Not necessarily deciding what it is you want, but figuring out how you will recognize it once you see it.

21/365  |  future wife pt. ii

I know that my future wife will be quiet.  I don't mean that she'll be shy or soft-spoken, but rather that she will possess a stillness and a firmness that nearly always expresses itself in a quiet way of living.  It'll be the kind of strength that knows itself, that doesn't need or want to be showcased in habit or mannerism.  

She'll know which spots in the house have the creakiest floorboards, and it'll be second nature for her to use the routes from room to room that minimize the number of these boards she touches.  When it's her turn to empty the dishwasher, she won't dump all the forks out onto the counter first, but individually place each fork, spoon, and knife in it's respective drawer.  She'll never have the TV volume over 25, and when we go on a drive to get groceries, neither of us will have to strain to hear one another over the sound of the radio.  She won't needlessly clang pots when she's cooking, she won't ever slam the door when she leaves for work, and when other company is present she'll almost always prefer headphones to speakers.  

But most importantly she won't do any of this for me.  She wouldn't do any of this for anyone.  In fact, I'm fairly certain she's doing these things right now, whether she's living alone or with five other roommates.  She's not doing it out of courtesy and she's not doing it our of timidity; she's doing it because she wants to, because she too believes in the value of barely noticable quiet in a world filled with so much noise.  

...

At least that's what I think.  Who knows, maybe she's Italian or something.  

25/365  |  easel

The easel that my aunt ordered for me as a graduation gift finally arrived today.  I'm excited because now I get to start painting and making art, but I'm also sort of uncomfortable because now I don't have an excuse to not be painting or making art.  

26/365  |  frozen pizza

About two hours ago I bought myself a frozen pizza.  I'm sure it hasn't been long since I ate a slice of frozen pizza but it's definitely been at least two years since I purchased one myself.  I preheated the oven to 400 degrees, slid the pizza in on a cookie tray, and put on an episode of House while I waited the 20 minutes for it to cook.  It was Freschetta brand, the same pizza that was served in my high school cafeteria and at WaterWorld, the disgusting waterpark that every Denver-area teenager visits at least a couple times each summer.  The incredibly processed cheese is already irritating the roof of my mouth the way I remember.  I don't think I've eaten this pizza in more than five years.  

Nostalgia is so fucking powerful.   Eating the pizza of my adolescence, watching the show that, for a while, convinced me that I wanted to be a doctor - if I close my eyes it's almost as if I'm lying on the tiny green couch in my parent's basement instead of the brown couch in my living room on Emerald Street.

And while I think you should exercise caution to not over indulge in these types of moments, I do think they're important.  I think it's important to reminisce every once in a while, to provide a space where the happy memories of the past can expunge the uncertainty of the present, even if it's just for a little while.  

36/365  |  ballard

I cannot fucking wait to move here.

88/365|  hbd ben

Probably my favorite person in the world turned 23 today.  This is a pretty sweet pic of him, except that fucking smirk on his face is the least representative expression of his personality that I could have possibly captured.

103/365  |  don't tell anyone

Are secrets good or are they bad?  When does something even become a secret?  Are secrets the same thing as lies? 

Do secrets build trust or do they destroy it? Can secrets ever be truly benign or do they necessitate some form of payment? Assuming the latter, are they worth it? Will the cost always outweigh the benefit? The benefit the cost? Can we even come up with rules for secrets or are they strictly case-by-case? Do we have the capacity to define the boundaries of these cases? Do we even know how far out their effects can be traced? Do individual secret costs and benefits vary, but always cancel each other out over time?   

Does the world need secrets? Should we assume people will always be able to "handle the truth"? Is there "secret karma"? Do secret keepers end up doing better in life than secret breakers? Should secrets always be kept? Should secrets never be kept? Are we to decide, solely on our own, which secrets to keep and which ones to break? Are bigger secrets more valuable than tiny secrets? Are friends' secrets more valuable than strangers' secrets? 

Is honesty always better than loyalty? Is loyalty always better than honesty? 

110/365  |  half moon bay

Why have I been shitting on California for the last twenty two years of my life?

233/365  |  oil

I finally broke out the painting materials I bought a few months ago.  I was surprised at how unsettling it was. 

I think part of that can be attributed to the relatively high cost of oil as a medium - this size canvas filled with paint will probably set me back at least $100, so there's a financial element of concern that I think most people can identify with. 

The other part of it, however, is a bit difficult to explain but basically boils down to a single question:

Is this me?

How much intercession is there between thought and brushstroke? Is intercession necessary to produce something coherent? Do thoughts need to be refined in order to be understood or does this filtering somehow rob them of their consequence? And how much of these thoughts are even "mine" to begin with, and not the work or influence of others?

I could see this playing larger or different roles depending on style and medium, but at some level I think anyone that's aiming for self-expression faces this at one point or another.  There develops a very powerful desire for honesty, an honestly that can and needs be verified as deep as our conscious will allow.

I'm definitely not there yet - but let's see if some paint thinner and "Mars Black" can't get me a bit closer.  

278/365  |  chores

I was thinking the other day the most of my hobbies, the things that I actually enjoy doing in my free time, would probably be considered chores to a lot of people.  In fact I'm pretty sure that my teenage self would think the same.  

After the work day is over and I make the three step commute from my desk to my couch (shameless "I work from home" humble-brag), I find that the most rewarding moments of my leisure time are when I'm doing one of the following: cooking, cleaning, watering plants, and tracking, itemizing, and projecting credit card expenses.  For now I'm going to exclude that fourth item as I'm pretty sure the only reason I find it rewarding is because it's good practice for my job.  And of the four, it's also far and away the task I spend the least amount of time on.

So that leaves cooking, cleaning, and plant maintenance.  The most obvious reason for my particular enjoyment of these activities is they fit nicely into my affinity for routine:  plants need to be watered/fertilized on a more or less regular schedule; consistent tidying eliminates the need for sporadic "deep cleans"; and, as far as I'm aware, for most people eating is a daily necessity.  They also are conveniently connected, at least in my current set-up.  The herbs need to be watered so they're ready when I cook.  The kitchen needs to be clean (because it's so fucking small) before I can cook.  The kitchen needs to be cleaned after I cook so I don't have to clean it before I cook.  The apartment has to be cleaned after a watering/feeding because fertilizer is toxic and water puddles will damage the floors and then I'll lose my deposit.  And so on.  

The interconnected-ness and routine-based nature of these exercises are so satisfying to the type-A part of my personality that it's difficult to put into words.  It's sort of like several mini flow-states spread out over the course of the day.  Like a hit of focus that comes with each cleaned surface, each healthy looking leaf, each pot of darkened soil.

That, and the fact that tbh I watched "The Brave Little Toaster" way too many times as a kid and I think part of my mind is convinced that everything in my apartment is alive and that cleaning/cooking/watering is a way to make everything doesn't die.  

288/365  |  3:13 pm (give or take)

The exact time changes depending on the seasons and weather, but mid-afternoon the sun hits my windows at an angle that lights up my desk like this.  One of my favorite parts of the day.

296/365  |  miami

A lot happened on my trip to Miami this week.  Whether it was the copious amounts of caffeine consumed, the ungodly levels of heat and humidity, or the more-or-less natural tendency to notice minor differences in new places, the cogs in my mind were churning at a noticeably high pace.  

Unfortunately this trip was also very busy, and I didn't have the time or energy to get most of these thoughts onto paper.  So instead here's the main breakdown of the week (as far as I can remember):

• On the flight from SEA to ATL I sat next to a man with the biggest nose holes I have ever seen.  I say 'nose holes' instead of 'nostrils' because they were so big that was the phrase that first came to mind. 
• As a northwestern environmentalist, I can sometimes get on a high horse when talking about the desire/necessity for air conditioning.  Florida gets a free pass on this critique.  Down here, it is essential. 
• Hands down, the best part of company travel is getting a compensated rental car. 
• I can't speak for all Floridians, but the people of Miami deserve more credit than the rest of the Union gives them credit for.  Specifically, Miami seems to be the least ironic city I've been to in the US and I think that might be worth emulating by the northwest and other hipster enclaves.  
• There exists a context where tramp stamps are unquestionably SAF and not TAF ("sexy as fuck" and "trashy as fuck", respectively).
• As beautiful as the Oregon/Washington coast is, there is something to be said for beaches with soft sand and warm water.  
• White people look better when they're tan. 
• More places should invest in neon signs. 
• I had forgotten how much I like looking at clouds and I think its the one area of natural beauty that the northwest is actually lacking in.   
• Miami motorists have somehow perfected the art of being both slow and reckless drivers. 

That's all I can remember for now, but excited to have southern Florida on the travel docket for the next few months.  

309/365  |  august

Still on the pickled onion train, most likely never getting off.

311/365  |  fremont brewing

Drunk me was so proud.  

317/365  |  girls

A quick visit from the princess twins.  

327/365  |  portland

Hung with Peter and Karla for about a week after getting back from Bend.  

337/365  |  coupons

The grocery store in my area sent out mailings a few days ago for $5 off any purchase of $25 or more.  So even though I had enough food in my apartment and even though this particular grocery store leans towards the fancy side and is pricier than most, I decided I'd go stock up on some things since I'd be "saving" five dollars.  

I get there and, remembering that I need to hit $25 to get the deal, indulge in more impulsive buys than I normally would.  Sure, lets get the gouda that's $1 more a pound this time.  Is the $6 sour cream two times better than the $3 sour cream? Time to find out.  Et cetera.  I get to the register and my total hits $41.  A bit more than I was planning, but whatever.  

And like a kid about to spend the $5 he made from a day of mowing lawns, I pulled out my scrap of paper and said, "I have a coupon for that."

And the lady took it, skimmed it over, and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, this coupon actually isn't valid until October 1st."

And suddenly I realized, in such a real way, that this is why they do it.  This is why businesses mail out coupons and announce their sales.  Because suckers like me will go out and spend $41 just to save $5.  And they never read the fine print.  

339/365  |  sardines

Petition to make whoever designed this in charge of all food-related packaging bought and sold in the USA.  

349/365  |  more stupid nostalgia

My remote died today so I had to change the batteries.  I hadn't realized (because who the fuck would?) but the remote had been running off the same two double AAs since I bought it.

I started thinking of how few things (like real, tangible objects) I've had as long as those batteries.  And how I hadn't even realized how long they had been with me.  I got into the weird mood where you stumble upon a thought you hadn't planned on thinking, and one that for whatever reason hits you harder than you would have initially thought.  Almost like sadness, or longing, but not quite.

And then I looked around and saw at least a dozen things that had been in my life longer than those stupid fucking batteries: my favorite hoodie, the laptop sitting in front of me, some books, CD cases, couch blanket, etc.  

I wanted those batteries to mean something.  I wanted them to represent a rarely noticed flaw in the human psyche, some everyday occurrence that could be turned into a poignant metaphor or emotive allegory.  Specifically, a moment that reflected in it the larger landscape of nostalgia and time gone by.  I wanted another realization, another maybe more nuanced thought that I could add to the pile of evidence I want to exist that makes nostalgia an emotion worth recognizing and taking seriously.  

They sort of did.  I definitely felt some feels and thought back to when I was a sophomore in college and went to Costco with my parents to buy that TV and remote.  And I fell into that headspace where things feel like they were forever ago and yesterday at the same time.  And I thought about how much I've changed and how young I was and how I'll probably feel/think the same thing about who I am now in a few years.  

All that happened, and I did take a picture of them actually, just in case.  

And then I threw them away. 

354/365  |  cassie

And I got to see my shortest friend only a few weeks later! 

361/365   |  ever?

The more I think about the phrase "never say never" the more it fucks me up. 

363/365   |  bend again

Four boys, one gun.  

370/365 |  end of summer

I went for a quick bike ride downtown tonight and it was too cold to be in just shorts and a t-shirt.  Which for me means summer is officially over.  

380/365 |  sonoma county

Flying over the nor-cal fires this afternoon into SFO.  This is insane.  

386/365   |   almost minimal

When I moved out of my college house and into my current apartment I decided I was going to only buy one of everything as far as dish ware was concerned since it was only me and in theory that was all I would need.  I also wanted to buy my own dishes that I actually liked since the ones we had in college were disgusting.

Anyways, flash forward ten months to today and 90% of my meals are either eaten directly out of the pot or off of a $2 cutting board from goodwill.  I think I've drunken out of those glasses maybe one time each.  The mugs have not been touched.

At least they look nice. 

393/365  |  if only

Personally, I believe in God.  But if I didn't, the only evidence I'd need to support that claim is the fact that thinking doesn't burn calories.  

421/365  |  a funk

It’s been quite a few weeks (five maybe?) since I’ve last written anything substantial here.  I was in, I’m pretty sure, a funk. I don’t know if that word has a universal connotation of if it generally requires further description, but I’m assuming the latter.  

If my memory serves me right, I have never been in a funk before.  At least, not something I would ever describe as such.  Something about this phase just felt weird - not sad, or stressful, or lethargic, but more like a string of unexpected behaviors I was both playing out and witnessing in the third person simultaneously for month’s time.  Like smoking weed almost every night, or voluntarily working a shit ton, or listening through the entirety of Taylor Swift’s most played tracks on Spotify just to laugh at them, or actually being busy on the weekends, or going on runs through new cities, or suddenly finding the Khloe Kardashian attractive, or watching hours of videos about how to lay a concrete foundation on YouTube, or not reading or writing, or deciding that one day my underwear supply will be nothing but the heathered grey boxer brief from J. Crew.   

Basically, I’ve been doing a lot of weird, out-of-character shit lately, and I don’t know why and because I don’t know why I’m calling it a funk.  But I miss the productive feelings of reading and writing and not being high all the time, so either this funk has reached it’s natural end or I’m cutting it short but, regardless, goodbye mid-november-2017 funk, you have been strangely enjoyable and I will miss you just a little bit.  

431/365  |  daylight savings

Once again, they day of the year that only I seem to have a partiality for has arrived.  

My feelings on this haven’t changed much - I like that the mornings stay bright and don’t mind the longer evenings.  I like the way the extra darkness seems to coordinate with the cooling temperatures and stronger breezes, the sky greying in agreement, the christmas lights hung in protest.   

A human, if not political, contraption, but still, a reminder of fall. That it is here, that it’s been here, tucking away the last suspicions of summer into winter’s blanket.  It’s role forgotten, denounced no sooner than the browning of the last crimson leaf.

434/365  |  west seattle

It’s a tough call, but I have to go with the bottom one.  Even though it’s probably at least $1M and been owned less than three years, it feels a bit more middle class, “real American” to me.  Plus I have a thing for houses on hills with garages underneath.  

443/365  |  the saturday after thanksgiving

*in portland w/ pete (and ben)

460/365  |  skins

A typical Sunday night during root vegetable season.  

468/365  |  lds

472/365  |  us 1

The promised land.

475/365  |  key west

2/365  |  thought caroms

I was going to write about locked doors tonight.  All my roommates lock their doors when they're in their rooms and it unjustifiably bums me out when they do.  I was going to talk about why I feel that way and how it problably stems from my time in college as an RA where I had to always be conscious of my own door's positioning so that my privacy was respected without coming across as inaccessible to my residents.  There was going to be a long introduction to my time as an RA, an overly-detailed description of how it feels when I hear that "click" of my roommates pushing in the lock to their bedroom doors, and an incoherent conclusion about the frustration I feel when the symbols and non-verbal languages I've developed through my own life experience fail to reconcile with someone else's. 

But then I started thinking about how much I like the steering wheel in my Subaru Forester.  And from there I wondered what I would look like if I shaved my head.  And then I wasn't sure how my butt looked in these new chinos I bought, but I was too comfortable get up and go to the bathroom to look in the mirror so I tried looking over my shoulder from a couple different angles to see what was up.  And then I looked back at the screen with absolute zero motivation to talk about my feelings on locked doors.  That all happened in about 45 seconds.  

There has to be a word/phrase for this right?  A bit of googling and I found the word "carom" which refers to when the cue ball in pool contacts one object ball and then another.  That's close enough I guess.  

thought carom (n): one of a series of quick, unrelated thoughts that end up draining you of the energy you planned to use for a specific mental task  

5/365  |  caffeine fears

I've never really liked coffee.  One, it tastes terrible and two, caffeine is kinda scary.  Why?

Because it's a fucking drug.  

I should start off by saying that I really have no problem with drugs.  Drugs are fun.  Drugs are useful. What I do have a problem with is when we as a society refuse to call something by its actual name. Caffeine is just caffeine, and no one thinks of anyone needing a cup or two of coffee to start the day as particularly unusual.  But replace coffee with any other "real" drug and it quickly becomes cause for concern:

"I can't be productive until I snort a line of coke."

"Don't even talk to me until I've had my morning heroin."

"I just love curling up next to the fire and reading a book with my nice warm cup of crystal meth."

Hopefully it goes without saying that drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a bowl of crack are two completely different things.  And I'm not trying to argue that they aren't.  All I'm saying is that, as someone who doesn't drink coffee but does use other drugs (ok, just weed and alcohol), caffeine is nothing special.  In fact, for me at least, once I get past the taste a cup of coffee makes me feel fucking phenomenal.  Not that much different from an alcohol buzz, actually.  The veil of sleepiness dissipates, my senses sharpen, I get the slightest tingle in my toes and finger tips.  On the flip side, just like too much alcohol, too much coffee can be a nightmare.  When I was a freshman in college I would sometimes chug a Starbucks double shot from the dining hall to prepare for a night of studying.  The result was nearly uncontrollable shakiness, an almost complete inability to focus, and a severe headache when the high eventually subsided.  

So yeah, coffee is a little freaky, and I've avoided in on principle for a while (not keen of the idea of chemical dependency).  

That being said, I'm on day 14 of the 9-5 life and god damn if a cup of coffee doesn't make those first few hours of staring at Excel a bit more bearable.  Plus it's supposed to be heart healthy right?

9/365  |  fitness guilt

Ready to feel needlessly bad about yourself?  

Have you ever considered that while billions of people around the world struggle to meet their minimum caloric needs, we in North America and Europe not only regularly exceed ours (often times to a detrimental effect), but that we exceed them by such a great margin that it becomes necessary to engage in deliberately unproductive physical activity.  Like we literally have so much food and so little to do that we go lift weights and run on treadmills just 'cause.   

And no, that isn't exactly true.  People do not go and exercise "just 'cause." From mental, to physical, to emotional, there are lots of good reasons to hit the gym, and I'm not advocating that we all stop our exercise programs so that we can donate more food to Africa.  

This is just the type of irrational shit my guilt-complex decides to throw at me mid-dead lift at 6:15 in the morning.  More on this later.

12/365  |  octopus

I've been staring at this page for more than an hour now.  I've written a few introductory sentences for probably half a dozen topics but I haven't felt like fleshing any of them out.  I'm watching Anthony Bourdain on Netflix and he's eating octopus.  I've had octopus before, I think.  It was when I was in Tokyo and had to order based off of the pictures on the menu since none of the waiters spoke english.  It could have been squid but I think it was octopus.  

Anyways, I want octopus now.  

14/365  |  trump won

Donald Trump will be the President of the United States for the next four years.  The reactions I've seen on my social media range from Hillary supporters crying out of sadness and fear to Trump supporters crying out of joy and celebration.   Seeing all these reactions brings up a weird mix of emotions for me.  One the one hand, I am happy to see that so much of the country gave a shit - voters on both sides felt that there was actually something at stake, and I give a lot of credit to both candidates for developing and encouraging that sentiment.  I like it when people care.  But on the other hand, seeing the level of passion that both parties brought to this election makes me feel even worse about the political apathy I've been holding onto almost since the election season began.  

I tried to convince myself that this apathy was a mystery, that I didn't know where it was coming from. But it didn't take much thinking for the answer to become clear.  Deep down I knew that as a straight, white, upper class, educated, employed man, I would walk away from this election unaffected.  I knew that it would take someone far worse than either Trump or Hillary for my interests to be genuinely threatened.  I knew that the system was so biased in my favor that the inauguration of a new executive wouldn't be enough to spark real change.  I knew how high the stakes were and how important it was to care but still didn't - privileged liberalism at its finest.   

I've tried explaining this attitude before to my friends, and, not surprisingly, wasn't met with much understanding. And that's to be expected.  Because while they were actively defending their vision of America's future in some of our political discussions, I essentially became a personification of the ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ emoji (except maybe without the smirk).  And fuck that guy right?

I really tried to care.  I read Trump's book and then read Hillary's.  I started watching the news and made sure it was from a variety of sources from Fox, to NPR, to YouTube channels both liberal and conservative.   I went through countless Reddit threads to try and see where each side was coming from.  I wanted to surround myself with impassioned voters from both sides in the hopes that some of their enthusiasm would rub off on me.  

And it worked - but not in any way that was helpful.  The more I read, whether conservative or liberal, the more I empathized.  I found myself deeply identifying with the sense of abandonment felt by many Trump supporters while simultaneously supporting and agreeing with the fears of women and queer, racial, and other minorities on the left.  I could see the danger of Trump's rhetoric, but not nearly the number of racists and bigots the left claimed were in his constituency.  I saw and was moved by the compassion of Hillary and her supporters, but understood the trust and transparency concerns of those on the right.  I began to see past the political divide of Trump supporters and Hillary fans, and into the cultural divide between the right and the left.  It was messy, confusing, and more often than not completely illogical,  but as I my understanding increased I felt that sense of apathy slowly begin to retreat.  Now I was invested, but didn't have a clue which way to vote.  

In the end, I went with Hillary.  Despite her flaws, my own personal values and beliefs lined up closer to hers than they did Stein, Johnson, and certainly Trump.  It was close, but Trump won.  One part of me is very sad, because I had become somewhat fond of Hillary and I was excited to see where she would take us.  I'm also sad because I see the result as an example of fear conquering love.  And I'm scared shitless about what will happen to the momentum of the environmental and climate change movements. 

Another part of me, while not excited, is hopeful.  I am hopeful because now that the "shakeup" has occurred, now that the "revolution" is over, perhaps the divide between electorate demand and governmental action will start to shrink.   Now that it's been proven that the establishment can be effectively challenged, maybe now we will start challenging it more often.  Now that Trump has proven he can beat the odds, maybe we won't roll our eyes the next time someone like Bernie gets on stage.  

The next four years will be interesting to say the least.  I think that the people who are feeling scared have every right to be.  But we can't let that fear be our fuel.  We can't let our fear (and in some cases hate) of one man translate into fear and hate of our red-voting neighbors.  

This isn't the election many people wanted, but that unfortunately is the price of democracy.  For better or worse America has spoken, I guess.

22/365  |  bed making

I made my bed yesterday and today. I don't keep it perpetually unkempt, but before yesterday it probably hadn't been made in over a week.  I've heard that smart/successful people make their bed everyday and since I want to be smart and successful I'm going to try and make it a habit.  So far I can only say two things for sure.  One is that it definitely looks nicer, and since I spend so much time in my room I can see the long term benefits of being around something that's visually clean instead of messy. The second is that getting under the covers of a made bed is unbelievably more pleasant than scraping together sheets and comforters from various corners of the mattress at the end of the day.  It feels like sleeping in a hotel bed (in a good way).  A small luxury for sure, but one that is well worth the three minutes of early morning tidying.  

35/365  |  overpass

Last weekend I was in Seattle signing my new lease but I didn't want to stay two nights and I also didn't want to hit traffic heading out of the city.  That meant waiting until about 8:00 pm till traffic cleared to head back down to Eugene.  

I like driving at night.  But I love driving through cities at night, especially on interstates.  My family did a lot of road trips when I was a kid - for the most part interstates are boring.  They're long, straight and purely functional, designed to cut through the less interesting parts of the country as quickly as possible.  In cities though, they're different.  Speed and efficiency are still important, but the obstacles of cities, both natural and man made, force these roads to curve, and bend, and do interesting things to keep traffic moving.  

During the day you don't notice any of this.  It takes 30 minutes to go two miles and your primary concern is getting into the right lane in time to make your exit.  In other words, there's no flow.  

At night though, there's nothing but flow.  It seems counter-intuitive, but it's only when you're going fast that you start to notice the details - you start to move beyond the discrete and into the continuous.  

It's a good time.  

95/365  |  pride

My best friend just landed his dream job and I couldn't be prouder of him.  Ever since he told me a few days ago, I'll remember during some random lull in the day and I just get the biggest grin.  

I think we all know how good it feels to have the people we care about be proud of us, but we (or at least I) often forget how good it feels to be proud of them in return.  It's such a special kind of happiness because it's happiness in one of it's least selfish forms.  You could probably even get away with saying it's not all that different from love.

It isn't completely selfless.  As happy as you are for your friend, SO, or family member, a part of you will also be happy for yourself.  It'll be happy that, of all the people that have come in and out of your life, for some reason you chose to keep this one.  Its like getting to say, "This is my friend, and he's incredible, and here's the proof." 

But still, it's mainly selfless.  So many of the good things you feel are completely independent of yourself.  It's a happiness that finds it's way into your veins through the pores in your skin instead of the chambers in your heart.  A happiness felt from the outside in instead of the inside out.  

Goddamn does it feel good.  

105/365  |  flower picking

Sure it's trite, but definitely something I need to work on.  

121/365  |  hot fudge sundaes

Why does anyone ever eat chocolate ice cream? Hot fudge sundaes are better in every way.

199/365  |  737

I honestly believe that out of everything humans have ever made (save a few buildings perhaps), airplanes are the most beautiful.  There is something so poetic about the fact that, in the pursuit of function, speed, and economy, we created a machine with such perfectly placed angles, gracefully crafted curves, song-like symmetry - I could spend hours watching them take off and land and would hardly even notice the minutes passing by.  

235/365  |  pickled red onions

Buy some onions.  Pickle them.  Never be without them again.  

264/365  |  praying

The walls in my apartment are thin.  It's a nice building, and the neighbors are courteous, but there are still moments in the day where sounds pass through the drywall that were probably intended to remain private.  

Yesterday morning, some of these sounds were of my next door neighbor crying.  

I was initially taken aback by the time.  People don't cry alone in the morning, right? In my head at least, crying was/is generally a nighttime activity.  For a few moments this presupposition elbowed it's way through my thought process as I tried to figure out what it could be, but it clicked soon enough.

And before I really knew what was happening, I found myself praying for her.  And even though it surprised me, and even though I haven't prayed in a long time, I knew exactly why I was doing it - I wanted to help.  

A lot of my current friend group didn't grow up religiously like I did, and have, for lack of a better word,  a bit of an "anti-prayer" mentality.  At best they're atheists and just think it's pointless, and at worst their cynical atheists who lump prayer together with virtue signalling along with #pride t-shirts and french flag profile filters. 

And yeah, I get where they're coming from.  But I also think it's a really superficial look at what prayer is.  Even though I was raised Catholic, and even though that makes the following assertions inherently biased, I really do think there is a place for prayer in an increasingly secular society.  

At the end of the day, prayer is just an encapsulation of intention, a single unit of will.  And regardless of creed or practice, the quasi-stream of consciousness that  good prayer nearly always achieves is good for you.  Articulating your own thoughts, hopes, and desires whether it be in a pew at church or a pillow in bed brings your head and your heart closer together.  Things just have a way of making themselves clearer.  The love you feel for someone flies into focus when you start praying for them to get better.  The anxiety you feel over finances dissipates when you start praying for money, but realize it's stability that you really want.   Tempers quickly cool when it's healing that is sought instead of payback.  

I could say more, and do want to.  But I'm starting to get tired and confused and will probably just start spewing nonsense if I go much further.  But this is interesting - hopefully more to come. 

280/365  |  bbq

Recently I've been really into BBQ.  I was planning on writing a whole big thing about how great it is but I don't feel like it anymore.  But I will say this: you should try making it.  Obviously most Americans are familiar with the style and have eaten it on numerous occasions, but I don't think very many have made it themselves (this was my first time). 

Which I think is sort of a shame because (and this becomes a lot more tangible when you do actually make it), it really is the American cuisine.  French, Italian, Chinese, Thai, Indian, Mexican, countless others - they all have distinct culinary heritages.  Each has it's own recognizable flavor profiles, cultural contexts, and techniques.  And while we can conjure up a vague image of "American food" when we hear the term, there doesn't seem to be a unifying theme we can all ubiquitously rally behind.  Except for barbecue. 

Pizza, hamburgers, hotdogs - they're all derivatives, imports from other countries that have been given that good ol' American twist.  But BBQ is one of the few (if not the only), dish that is truly ours.  Born, bred, and raised in the US.  

And even though I live in a tiny studio with an electric oven and no way of properly containing and controlling eight hours of smoke, and even though I live almost as geographically far away from the origins of BBQ while still being in the US as possible, I felt connected.  I felt "American" in a deeper sense than I usually do, like I was participating instead of mimicking.  

Plus it was cheap, easy as fuck (sorry BBQ devottees), and fed me for a week so, yeah, definitely gonna be making more of this stuff.  

298/365  |  texting

Texting is pretty stupid in general, but the worst part about it has to be the messages that get sent by inebriated typists.  

source: an often inebriated typist

303/365  |  specificity

I was talking to a older guy at work today (who was sort of a "higher up" which always makes me a bit nervous) and he asked me how old I was.  And without skipping a beat, I responded, "twenty-three and a half." 

. . . 

Another day, another successful social interaction with a stranger.   

305/365  |  smoky

All the smoke from the fires in BC has been blowing down to Seattle and it's extended the sunrise and sunsets by at least an hour or two the past few days.  Pretty, but also quasi-apocalyptic.  

313/365  |  gas works

Millennials and their phones ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

316/365  |  scheduling

One of the more unexpected things I've found myself enjoying about work life is the attitudes most people (at my company at least) hold towards emails, feedback, and conference calls.  Since pretty much everyone is busy with client-billable work, there's an unspoken assumption that people are busy and you and your project are most likely not their top priority.  This makes it so that both requests and responses carry more weight than they do in personal life.  Requests are only initiated if something is actually needed which, in turn, means they are taken seriously by the responder which, in turn,  means confirmations may as well be gospel since both parties have put thought and effort into the time, place, and subject matter.

Personally, I've always operated more or less under these assumptions.  I tend to have a five day schedule in my head at all times and try my best to ensure any spontaneity fits into the preexisting confines.  Going hiking on Saturday? Better plan to have a three drink maximum on Friday.  Friend's birthday next month? Better only give out tentative "yes's" if other people want to do something the weekend before or after.  Etcetera. 

And while this system worked for me in the past, it did have it's drawbacks.  Friends both jokingly and non-jokingly call me boring.  I've probably said no to too many things.  Sometimes I committed to something I didn't really want to go, went anyways out of a misplaced sense of responsibility, and ended up being a grumpy guest.  

It's awesome that I have a part of my life now where my own disposition lines up with the mainstream expectations, but I've started noticing that it's made me even less tolerant in my personal life.  Emails are always replied to within 24 hours which tinges each unanswered text with a hint more annoyance.  Meetings don't change once they are set which makes cancelled plans all the more frustrating.  Respect feels both received and given, even though it's not respect at all but rather corporate policy and professionalism.  

And hopefully this isn't coming off as a slide against any of my friends.  It's not.  If anything, it's a slide to myself for assuming that other people want to pack their office's communication policy into their briefcase along with their lunch tupperware and phone charger before heading home.  It's a slide to myself for still being such a tight-ass that I actually allow myself to get frustrated with people I care about just because they don't answer every question with a detailed yet concise reply within X amount of hours after I ask.  

So yeah, I've tasted the sweet fruit of timely interdepartmental memos and a 100% dependable Outlook calendar but sorry to all my friends if that's just made more of a tightly clenched asshole.  

325/365  |  eclipse

One of the few pics I got with my phone.  Definitely one of those experiences where constantly snapping photos seems to cheapen it a bit, so I tried my best to stay in the moment and just enjoy/appreciate the event and not worry so much about documenting (as much as I wanted to).  

336/365  |  westbound

The other thing that I love about Florida is that on the way home I get to fly west for about 6 hours.  The flights back to Seattle all leave almost exclusively in the late afternoon which means the sun starts to set about 1 or 2 hours into the flight.  And since you're flying west, the sunset lasts a lot longer.  The sky looked like this for at least an hour with it progressively, but much more slowly than usual, dimming down from pink to orange and eventually red.  

I wonder if pilots ever get tired of flying or if things like this eventually become commonplace.  I personally don't see how it could ever get old.

345/365  |  meatloaf  

Honestly . . . what the fuck America? I've been trying to be less of an asshole when it comes to food and embrace the "domestic culinary tradition" but I have to draw the line here. 

It started out fine enough.  Sauteing onions,  adding stock, simmering to reduce - the usual.  But then things got weird.  Like measuring out two cups of ketchup and mixing warm onion water with cold meat and raw eggs.

Weird, but still manageable.  Eventually thyme and breadcrumbs got added to the mix.  "Ok cool," I thought.  "This is kinda like making meatballs." Then came the part where you add the "loaf" to the "meat."

It was awful.

Shoveling lukewarm meat mixture from bowl to oven tray, fistfuls at a time.  Gently shaping it from slop, to pile, culminating into its final loaf form.  God what a terrible word. “Loaf.” I’m pretty sure saying it out loud hits the same muscle in your throat you use when you’re trying to hold back shot-vomit.  And the ketchup.  Fucking smearing it around in each little meat crevice with your fingers and palms because “hands are a chef’s best tool.”

And what do you have to show for it at the end? Nothing more and nothing less than exactly what you expect – a pile of meat, smothered in ketchup, waiting for the oven [see above]. 

It did turn out well though.  The seventy-five minutes in the oven worked its magic as it often does with the result being basically one giant, bun-less hamburger.  It was good. And cheap.  And made an absolute shit-ton of food.  So yeah, I get it.  And I’ll try and withhold any elitist distain towards the moms of the 1950s responsible for its inception. 

But at the same time, god damn.  A pile of meat, inundated with tomato syrup, thrown into an oven.  That’s what we came up with. 

God bless you, America. 

356/365  |  indoor guns

I went shooting with Ben today and it was really intense.  The sensory experience alone was almost overwhelming.  I was mainly focused on the target and remembering all the gun safety rules and focusing on all the different parts of your body you have to be aware of to keep your aim steady, but there was one thought that stuck with me for most of the day.  And that thought was:

"Thank God I'm not a cop."

I don't really feel like writing out all the details, but there is so much power in your hands and so many stimuli you have to be aware of when you're firing a pistol.  I can't imagine what it must be like if you threw in an unfamiliar environment, a high level of uncertainty, or someone violent. 

I tend to be pretty critical of police violence but goddamn that job must be hard.  

373/365   |  a memoir

At work this week we had a team building exercise and one of the questions was 'What would the title be of the book about your life?' It was pretty casual and most people (including myself) just gave a quick answer.  But I've been thinking about it the past few days and think I've settled on:

Playful Teasing vs Sincere Annoyance: Which is this Person Feeling?   

376/365   |  start of fall

Fall hit Washington like a fucking truck.

381/365  |  @thefatjewish

The mental image of Elon Musk slumped in his couch liking memes on instagram makes me very happy.

385/365  |  pixel xl

I recently updated to the pixel (just the 1, not the 2) and this camera is ridiculously nice.  I don’t miss the Galaxy camera for a second, and that includes the 16:9 aspect ratio.

390/365  |  paint more

I need to paint more.  I wasn’t feeling well the entire weekend but I’m on such a high after finishing this quick piece.  Truthfully, I don’t even like it that much.  The eyes aren’t nearly as expressive as I wanted them to be, the irises are a mess, and the whole composition feels very cartoony.  But still - just the act of creating instead of consuming feels great, especially being able to have a finished product so quickly (this took maybe 30 minutes max).  

Definitely something I should try to work into my routine.  

429/365  |  mid-funk catch up

I was in a funk but there were cool things that happened mid-funk.  Entries 430 through 435 are some of them.

430/365  |  charleston

In early November my team and I went to Charleston for a three-day work retreat.  On the first morning, I decided to go for a run through downtown.  Looking it up on my phone beforehand, it looked like it was going to be about four and a half miles roundtrip from our AirBnb to the beach and back.  This wasn’t a client trip, and I wasn’t sure how much of the city we’d see since our days were relatively full, so I thought this might be my only chance to get out and explore for a bit.  

The thing is, I hadn’t run in months, possibly a year.  

By the time I got back, my feet had a few, pulsing blisters each.  My calves felt ripped.  Stairs were a physical impossibility.  The urge to dramatically collapse was very strong.  Luckily, I got up and was back before everyone else was out of their rooms so no one saw me red-faced, out of breath, and limping.  

I’d say “never again” or “lesson learned” but I’m trying to limit how much I use the word “never” and if I hadn’t gone I wouldn’t have seen this goddamn perfect southern garden in the early mist, or netted enough of a calorie burn for an extra drink that night so I’m chalking this up as a win.  

433/365  |  bellingham

One of the warmest, kindest people I know - always a pleasure to get to see Em.

441/365  |  thanksgiving

Actually kind of pleased(?) with some of these lines I made from refrigerator magnets while waiting for Max's oven to preheat.

449/365  |  sort of like onions

In case you were curious what vegetable is the most appealing shade of green, the answer is the middle half/third of a leek.  

453/365  |  capital hill

I'd say this was a good bar, but it was here that I dropped my phone and cracked it even more :(

465/365  |  snoqualmie

469/365  |  arches (1)

473/365  |  xmas eve

477/365  |  REUNITED

.  

3/365  |  pauses

Well placed pauses can be powerful tools.  It's definitely taken practice, but when I sense an important or enjoyable conversation dying and I feel like I need to say something, anything, to keep it alive - I don't.  I've found that in this brief stillness, behind a momentary curtain of silence, something deeper begins to build.  It's like holding your hand under a running faucet, allowing something of substance to amass between your palms before it's inevitable release. The release will come, and unlike the consistent flow of the faucet we are used to, it will be noticeable, substantial, and those mere seconds of deliberate quiet will fuel the conversation more than a word or phrase ever could.  

4/365  |  funny phases

One of the ways I would describe my best friend/roommate is "phase-centric." I'm not quite sure if I'm using the "centric" hyphenation correctly, but basically I mean that he is constantly moving in and out of intense, short-lived phases, and it's so funny to watch.  I say "funny" because of how different it is to the way I operate.   I've always thought that if you were to plot our lives as two sine-graphs on an interest-vs-time graph his curve would have a huge amplitude and and short wavelength while mine would be the exact opposite.  Like a short, tight zigzag versus a long, smooth curve.  

For example, he's eaten some combination (i.e. one or the other, or both) of bacon and eggs every day for probably the last  three weeks.  And it's not just for breakfast, he's eating them at lunch and dinner too.  I swear 60% of his current caloric is just these two foods.  Another time he probably watched two movies a day for a solid week and a half.  I think he's maybe watched two movies since then.  A few months ago he bought a video game console, played it 12 hours a day for five days straight, then promptly returned it.  

That's not me.  For me it takes about a week to even mentally prepare to try something new, and when (or if) I do decide to move forward it's always done slowly and cautiously.  I remember we both got into running at about the same time.  I started researching shoes in mid-November, waited until Christmas to get them, and then gradually started going for one mile, then two mile, eventually hitting three mile runs from January to March. He put on an old pair of his training shoes and went for a four mile run his very first day.  

And I don't know why but that just makes me laugh.  Not a laugh of arrogance and not a laugh of jealously. Just a laugh of recognition and gratitude that humans can be built so differently.

6/365  |  safety net

I am by no means qualified to give cooking advice, but through significant amounts of trial and error I've discovered that no matter what happens, if you cover something with enough high quality Parmesan cheese everything will be OK.  

7/365  |  lying

Find a spare two hours, read this book, and do exactly what it says.  

10/365  |  lavender & thyme

My two favorite scents in the world are lavender and thyme.  When/if I ever have a garden some day, I swear that's all I'm gonna plant.  I probably go through a container of thyme a month because I put it on everything, and lavender is in everything from my deodorant to my desk candle to a vile of oil I have in my room that I sometimes rub underneath my nose while I work or study.   I think smell is easily the most unappreciated of the five senses, which is a shame because you miss a lot of the world if you're not paying attention to scent.  

15/365  |  post-election

With 24 hours since news of Donald Trump's victory, I am angry.  But not in the same way most people are, I think.  Though I'm sure my current sentiment is a product of my safety under any presidency as a white, straight man, my anger isn't directed towards Trump nor is it directed towards his supporters. For now at least, my anger is directed at the Left.

Many commentators are calling the results of this election a "white-lash." This is incorrect.  Other's are calling it the result of deeply rooted American racism/sexism finally having it's day.  This is only partially correct.  Though undeniable that Trump's constituency is composed of dangerously prejudiced individuals, they did not deliver him this win.  

The blame for this loss can be almost entirely attributed to the vocal, highly educated, predominately white individuals on the far left.  Individuals who successfully welded novel (and complicated) ideas of gender identity, institutional racism/sexism, and new interpretations of religious freedom onto the Democratic platform.  Individuals (often with bachelor and master degrees in their respective fields) who for years through both physical and social media have established a widely accepted narrative of ignorance equaling misogyny, unawareness equaling racism, naivete equaling bigotry.

Since about the beginning of Obama's second term, these individuals began to get louder.  And as they got louder, their ranks got bigger to the point that their identifying ideology became integrated into mainstream liberalism.  Moderate Democrats and left-leaning independents soon saw the party the identified closest with transformed into something they didn't recognize.  And when they asked questions or made mistakes, they were met with accusations of "racist!", "bigot!", and "sexist!" with judgement and dismissal nearly always taking precedent to education or understanding.   

In the years leading up to this election, the far left was enormously successful in indoctrinating those who would listen, and alienating everyone else.   Four years of this leftist elitism included dozens while it excluded thousands.  People can only take so much blatant character-attack before they decide to leave.  Well-meaning individuals can only take so many claims of sexism, bigotry, and racism before  they switch sides.  

Hillary did not lose this race; her radical supporters did.   And I sorta feel sorry for her.  

19/365  |  paying attention

I can't believe people didn't pay attention in high school.  I know it sounds braggy, but that just wasn't something that ever crossed my mind.  The willful decision to not learn, to choose a C over an A was a concept unknown to 14-year-old pjab.  

None of this was self-motivated of course.  Like a lot of my peers, the validation of teachers, the self-worth associated with a 4.0, the aspirations of Ivy-League, the fears of the future, and the competitiveness I felt with my peers were sufficient enough external drivers to get me to take notes, make study guides, and read text book assignments.  And while 22-year-old me wishes the motivation for this studying had less self-interested and petty intentions, he is extremely satisfied with the outcome.  

I can't tell you the details of modern genetic therapy, but I know what researchers are talking about when the mention DNA helicase or other enzymes/processes of gene replication and expression.  I can't give you a thorough synopsis of 19th century literature, but I know to laugh at a joke where someone suggests Republican congressmen pass a bill requiring abortion clinic workers to give red name-tags to patients in the waiting room.  I can't write out a play-by-play of the revolutionary war, but I know that being called a Hessian isn't exactly a compliment and that "no taxation without representation" was at least a partial lie.

I'm far from the smartest of my friends.  I can barely make it past two sentences when one of them starts talking about computers, one of them knows people in the music and art industries I've never heard of, and one of them can drop philosophical bombshells that rack my brain for days. 

But as for me, there are few conversations I can't take part of.  Few articles were I have to Google definitions as I read.  Few arguments where I don't have at least some perspective to offer.

And that feels fucking great.  

23/365  |  cold feet

I'm not nervous about anything.  My feet are just really fucking cold.  

24/365  |  wool socks

All of my roommates (myself included) wear exclusively wool socks.  I think that's pretty common for people living out here in Oregon and Washington; wool socks or no socks.  My socks are all SmartWool brand, another roommate's are all Costco brand, and the third roommate's are primarily REI brand though he does mix it up every once in a while.  I know this because in our living room we have a couch, a love seat, and a chair that all surround a coffee table on three sides, and whenever we're all sitting down, we all put our feet up so if you look at the coffee table you see three pairs of feet each wearing a different brand of socks. 

I'll be moving out soon and I'm suddenly starting to notice all of these little things.  Well, I shouldn't say "suddenly" - I noticed this difference in sock brand preference within the first month of moving in (more than two years ago).  What is "sudden" is how all of these little things, these tiny, insignificant observations, are starting to get filed away as memories.  It's as if the deeper parts of my mind know a milestone is approaching, that something very good is about to end, and have started battering down the hatches, ensuring that the happy (if mundane) moments that our conscious mind so often ignores are at least given the chance to be preserved.

The coffee table is pretty empty these days.  Adulthood has relegated us to our offices or our rooms for most of the day, but I try to stay in the living room a good amount of time in case one of them wanders by.  They may have even started wearing different socks and I wouldn't know it.  I'm sad to see things change, but I'm happy to know that I'll have these little things to look back on. 

I'm happy to know that I'll have a connection to this time through something as stupid as branded wool socks.

29/365  |  a break

Writing every day has been great but it's also been exhausting.  It's a bit of a double edged sword.  On the one hand, forcing yourself to write forces you to think.  But on the other hand, forcing yourself to write sometimes forces ideas out of you before they're fully formed.  I like writing but I like thinking more.  

So I'm not going to strive for a post a day anymore.  Instead I'm going to just try and make sure that when I've thought something through, when I feel like I actually have something to say, I'll pull out my laptop, open up this editing page, and write it down.

87/365  |  fifty-one days

It's been fifty-one days since I last posted.  I was originally gonna put something up once the holidays were over, then once I got back to Eugene, then once I was done moving to Ballard, then once I was "settled" - whatever that meant.  

Moving sucks.  Especially moving alone.  Logistically there just wasn't anyway for my friends/family to help out and there wasn't anyone I knew well enough in Washington to ask.  The parts I was ready for went smoothly - I only had a desk, chair, mattress, and a few boxes to actually move.  It took a few trips, but those items got into the apartment relatively easily.  It was the unexpected parts that really sucked.  Like realizing there's no fucking parking anywhere near your building and every time you go to the grocery store you'll have to walk 10 minutes each way to get to your car.  Or burning your first three meals because you're not used to the electric stove.  Or wanting a beer after you burn your meal so you walk 10 minutes to your car, drive to the liquor store, drive home, walk 10 minutes back to your apartment only to remember that you don't own a bottle opener. 

It's been almost a month exactly since I moved, and there's still a lot to get used to.  But I found a hidden spot that's usually open so my car is now only 5 minutes away as opposed to 10, I bought a bottle opener and stocked the fridge, and figured out the stove so that the chicken breast I make here is just as good as what I made in Eugene.  I impulsively bought a mirror and closet organizer from IKEA along with some plants so now there are a few living things that depend on my existence.  I'm looking at couches and have spent the last two weeks going back and forth between two identical grey fabric options for its upholstery.  I found the optimal temperature zone on the shower faucet.  I signed up for the gym.  I'm eating green vegetables.  

I wouldn't say I'm "settled" yet, but I am starting to develop at least some semblance of a routine which for me is pretty necessary to not live like a pile of garbage. 

106/365 |  vvvvpt

There are a lot of things I like about swimming.  Practically, getting to work out and not have to deal with sweat is reason enough for me to never get on a bike or treadmill again.  Getting to focus on breath, technique, and form without needing to wipe your brow or move your hair off your forehead is a definite plus.

There's also a type of mental clarity that comes with swimming that I haven't experienced with other types of exercise except maybe yoga.  A lot of it has to do with the emphasis on breath.  Knowing when and how to breathe is a big part of the sport and is often the difference between an enjoyable few laps and a stomach full of pool water.  The dimensionality of water is also weirdly a big deal in how it affects both your physical and mental approach.  You get on a treadmill, get on a bike, get on a bench rack but you get in a pool.  And when you run or lift or bike your resistance is either gravity or some sort of physical tension.   But with swimming, the resistance is space itself.  The thing you're trying to push past is also the only thing moving you forward.

All of this makes for an exercise that is physically demanding yet rhythmically pliable, creating a bodily state in which your mind can't help but become comfortably blank.  

But that isn't my favorite part of swimming.  No my favorite part of swimming is the "vvvvpt" sound of the water rushing past your ears after you push off the back wall.  Swimming has a lot of background noise that you tune out for the most part; the splashing, the sound of your own exhaling, the echos of other swimmers off the tile walls and ceiling.  Kicking off, whether it's as the initial push or on a turn-around, is the only time your whole body is submerged.  The noise that you've become accustomed to momentarily dissipates as your head falls completely beneath the surface, then the briefest instance of silence as your body turns to reorient your feet behind your head and finally - vvvvpt - as you push off and begin the next lap.  

It's a sound that I can't even replicate in my head - a noise that I forget all but the broadest descriptors of almost instantaneously as the vibrations leave my eardrums.  But also one that I get to rediscover and enjoy continuously for 30 minutes a day.

225(?)/365  |  back

I really don't have a clue as to how long it's been since I started this but I would guess today is somewhere in the 220s.  

It's difficult for me to explain why I stopped.  One of the only "rules" I made for myself when I started this was for it not to be a diary - I wanted to have near-daily entries that mainly served as a kind of forced practice to get better at translating thoughts to words.  No emotional rants.  No "today I did"s.  No venting sessions.  

There were times I definitely skirted the line of this.  There are a couple posts down in the double-digits (and later) that I can't help but cringe at now.  They are forced, and a bit over-revealing, but the main reason I can't help but recoil as I reread is that I'm not saying anything.  They're just rambles, limbic impulses that somehow slipped through the cortex and into my fingertips.  

And they're exclusively negative.  

I don't think it's bad to write from a place of negativity.  Shitty days happen whether we can come up with a good reason for them or not.  And there have been a lot of shitty days between day 121 and now. I could try and describe them, but I don't want to.

The point of this is that, shitty day or not, writing about my thoughts instead of my feelings feels good.  But I gave myself too much of a leash (see post 29) and thought I'd be fine with a little more slack.  And for a while I was.  Eventually though, I kept pulling and as I pulled, the slack never tightened - it just kept giving way.  It's strange that we do this: allow ourselves so much deviation from routines and rules we know are good for us.  I don't know if that desire for more slack ever goes away or if we just get better at ignoring it.  

But anyways, I'm back, hopefully with some things worth saying.  I'm reigning in the couple dozen yards and going back to a few feet.  I'm hoping that means more frequent posting, but we'll wait and see.  

239/365  |  this

wtf was I talking about in 225? This is totally a diary.  

249/365  |  tattoos

I think I'm going to get another tattoo soon.  I have a few ideas floating around in my head - it'll be small, and most likely on my upper calf or the back of my triceps.  

I've had an interest in tattoos since I was about twelve.  While my parents never had any strong opinions on them, my extended family (and almost every other adult I knew) definitely didn't like them.  I was impressionable, and for a good chunk of my childhood tattoos were bad and people who got them were scary.  

But this stigma eventually relaxed and dissipated as things like that tend to do in high school and early college.  And while I may never reach the coverage levels of some, I'm definitely hooked.  

I'm hooked because, as I think about the design and placement of my next piece, I think also of my 35-year-old self noticing it as I put on my shirt for the day and how he may starting thinking about me at my desk now, contemplating whether the letters should be capitalized or small, the lines bolded or thin, the placement centered or offset.  I think about my son or daughter waking me up early on a Sunday morning, seeing my side and asking "what's that?" And how after enough viewings and explanations, they may begin to realize that their dad used to be someone else. That these markings, though potentially cryptic or silly, are windows, relics left behind by previous iterations of my perceived self. 

I like tattoos because I like documentation.  I like them because I like the idea of a visual archive.  That there might be a way to track the passing of time besides they graying of hair or the sagging of skin.  

265/365  |  hair

Very OK with this level of bedhead.

279/365  |  don't know why

After ten years and probably thousands of listens, today I learned that the lyrics to "Don't Know Why" by Norah Jones are "don't know why I didn't come", not "don't know why I didn't call" as I had always thought.

I'm sure there is some sort of bias at play here, but I like "call" better than "come."  It feels sadder.  

287/365  |  seattle center

I can't really explain it, but all the trees suck up in Ballard - I wish the parks here looked more like this.  

297/365  |  ufc 214

Ben(jamin) is making me chicken wings while I sit on his couch drinking vodka and peach fresca and it is delightful.

304/365  |  london, baby

One of the things I do when I get a little bored at work is go onto Google Flights, pretend scheduling/PTO isn't an issue, and see where I could fly and for how much.  

One thing I've noticed is just how cheap it is to fly from New York to Europe, particularly Heathrow and sometimes Charles de Gaulle.  Depending on season and day of the week, JFK-LHR flights can be as low as $325.  So why the fuck aren't New Yorkers always flying to England for vacation?  

Idk, if it were me living there I'd be overseas every other month.  So, PSA I guess for the half a dozen friends I know living in Brooklyn at the moment.

307/365  |  new normal

I don't often get shit faced, but when I do, it almost always ends up looking like this.

310/365  |  fuck it

Yoga was getting too goddamn complicated.

314/365  |  a crowd

Ben lent Peter his spare grey hoodie which made it so that they were wearing the exact same outfit and drunk me got such a kick out of it - one of probably 30 photos I took over the course of ~10 minutes.  

318/365  |  moleskin

I've been doing these fifteen minute acrylic paintings in my notebook (mainly as a way to get some practice in with color and form) and I finally made one that I really really like.

331/365  |  south beach 

Had to fly down to Florida for a last minute trip but it was cool because I got a chance to explore more of the city, specifically South Beach.  It's surprising, but Miami is really growing on me.  I know I couldn't live here long-term, but I would seriously consider trying it out for a year or two.  It's just so different then anywhere else I've had the chance to really explore in the US.   

And for whatever reason, that difference has taken a bit of a hold of me.  People here speak Spanish who don't look like they should.  The Nicaraguan/Haitian/Cuban restaurants outnumber the Japanese/Thai restaurants four to one.  Jeans are still commonplace even though it's 90 degrees.   One square block here has more variation in skin tone than Portland and Seattle combined.  Drivers are both slow and aggressive.  There isn't a hill in sight, and if you go just a few miles too far east you'll end up surrounded by swamps, mosquitoes, and alligators.

 What's weird is that I hate most of these things.  I prefer mountains to beaches, I hate the heat, I hate mosquitoes, I hate jeans even in winter, and I have gone on the record saying that if I could only eat one cuisine for the rest of my life it would be Thai.  

I think what it comes down to is that, at least in the short-term, difference is fun.  It's fun to be forced to into a new way of life for a bit and see how you react.  It's fun to readjust for a few days and learn to deal with bug bites, and the effects of salt water on your hair, and shitty pad thai.  

So maybe I should take back that claim about living here for a year or two.  Odds are I'd be pretty miserable after a few weeks. But still, for the time being at least, I'll be looking forward to more Miami trips and the time I get to spend pretending to be a Floridian.  

341/365  |  mary

Got to see my tallest friend this weekend !

351/365  |  wilsen

351/365  |  wilsen

I got to see one of my favorite bands last night.  They're called Wilsen and all their songs are sad and the main singer has this soft and haunting voice and there really isn't a time when I'm not in the mood to give them a listen.  They played at this really small venue called the Sunset Tavern and I was maybe one of sixty people in the audience.  

I know liking and vocalizing about how much you like small, relatively unknown bands is a cliche, obnoxious hipster thing to do, but I am all for it.  I actually think more people should do it - as in, go out deliberately of their way to find a band they like that isn't well-known.  Get off the iTunes top download list or the Spotify trending page and start exploring SoundCloud, BandCamp, or Spotify pages with less than 1,000,000 listens.  

The reason is twofold.  The first is that there really is something special about finding a band not very many people are into.  They start to feel "yours" in a way larger artists don't.  And that may be selfish and a bit stupid, but I don't think many people can deny that it feels good and different, no matter how much you love Taylor Swift, or Green Day, or Fleet Foxes.  

The second I only found out about last night.  And that is that seeing a small band in a small theatre with a small crowd is awesome.  I don't think I can really describe it (to add to all the hipster nonsense in this post).  I think I could if I end up going to a few more of these types of shows, but for now it's still feeling very surreal.  Just an awesome time at an awesome show with an awesome band that only I and sixty other people in the entire state of Washington knew about and got to experience.  

Try it.  

357/365  |  it's always sunny

I've had a few man crushes in my life, but none have ever hit as hard or as fast as the one I have for Charlie Day.  

365/365   |  almost

It definitely hasn't been a year since I started this - I think that anniversary is in another two or three weeks.  It doesn't really matter though because I've pretty much just been estimating what day it actually is.

I also realized it was dumb to start a "365" type naming system that doesn't line up with the calendar year, so I'm going to just keep guessing at what day it is until 2018 starts before resetting.

366/365  |  hbd pete

And so the year of 24 begins (for my friend group at least - Peter is the oldest in our year).

379/365 |  shoegaze

At 23 years old I heard about "shoegaze" for the first time a few weeks ago.  I'm not sure if that's strange or not, objectively speaking, but a lot of people out here were surprised that I hadn't heard the term.   For the uninitiated like I was, its basically a subset of indie rock that bleeds into the emo/punk scene somewhat substantially.  You could easily get away with just calling it generic "indie" but it definitely has its own sound that you would be able to distinguish from other parts of the genre.  There's also something about foot pedals involved but I don't really understand that part of it.  

Anyways, I love it.  Love love love love it.  

Aside from the sound itself (which really is so satisfying and cathartic) I think the real draw for me is that it sorta sounds like the soundtrack I would want my life to play to.  Which is probably an annoying thing that's been repeated ad nausem by white suburban kids since the mid-90s - but still.  I listen to these songs, and they effortlessly filter themselves into high school flashbacks and prevailing daydreams.  Something about the sound just fits.  there's enough variety in mood to keep it interesting, but no major deviations from it's hard-to-describe familiarity.  They lyrics are often obscured by instrumental components so you sort of have to strain to hear what exactly they're saying, but you also don't have to if you don't feel like it. 

Idk.  It's new, it's different from the electronic stuff I've been listening to for the past few years, and it's pretty fun to rediscover that 14-year-old feeling of diving into a scene that you can really only articulate as "so fucking cool." 

382/365  |  more fall

388/365  |  orange                                         

391/365  |  that's amore

The past nine days have been spent mostly back with my family in Colorado but the last two were here in Seattle.  And during that time I've eaten frozen or leftover pizza for at least one meal every single day.   

392/365  |  texting

I was on r/AskReddit the other day (which I am on way more than I’d like to admit - it’s basically the same questions and answers every week) but this particular thread was about texting, which is weirdly something I think about a lot.  At least for me and my friends, it’s far and away the most popular way we communicate.  And yet no one is one the same page when it comes to basic etiquette.  That’s not to say people are being rude or intentionally impolite, but rather that there isn’t any standard from which you can even start to judge.  One person’s “rude” is another person’s normal which is another person’s “annoying.”

As with most things, there are lots of points of view on this that are often times in direct contradiction with each other but equally valid*.  Some people don’t want to be tied to their phones.  Others don’t want to want to wait 7 hours for a response.  Some people expect a phone call if it’s urgent.  Others would be hard pressed to dial a phone even for 911.  Some don’t think anything of the 23 seconds it takes to stop, open, and respond to a message.  Others can’t split their focus as easily to a new task or conversation.  And so on.

All the comments I read made sense once explained, even if initially I would have perceived that behavior as rude/inconsiderate/annoying/etc. So, for anyone just dying to hear my views on textual messaging, see below:

• Believe it or not, your phone still has the capability of calling people.  Use this for  anything urgent or time sensitive.  It is undeniably faster and easier to talk through potential plans than text for an hour trying to figure it out.
• Do not call for anything that is a yes/no answer.
• If you are sending the first text of an unplanned conversation, do not expect an immediate response.  
• Only respond to a text if you’re actually willing to continue the conversation (i.e. if they text at 8:00, you wait to respond (for whatever reason) till 10:00, and they respond at 10:02, you should respond by 10:10)*.
• Enough with the “I’m going to wait a half hour so I look busy” bull shit.  If you can and want to respond do it.  If you don’t, don’t.  But if you can and want to but also want to put on airs, stop.  

And really, that’s it.  Half the frustration I saw on the thread was from trying to make plans.  If you call for that stuff, that stress goes away.  Another common sentiment was people expecting the other person to be as glued to their phone as they were.  Accept that people are busy and will get back to you when they can.  And for four and five, that really is just basic respect - wait as long as you want to reply, but once you do, participate.  

*There was some discussion of “but sometimes I just like to reply at my own pace.” That was the one sentiment I saw that I do not think is valid.  That is called being selfish, and unless someone else who feels this way can articulate it better than some of the morons did on reddit, I call BS.   

432/365  |  macleod's

435/365  |  vashon

The islands are where it’s at.

442/365  |  black friday

Old pick up + window fog from dog breath + one dog lick

458/365  |  uw

I want more of the staircases in my life to look like this.  

467/365  |  salt lake

470/365  |  arches (2)

474/365  |  xmas day

481/365  |  fairplay