A Mediocre Blog

there is nothing to manifest.

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 04:12:39 GMT

the last few months I have been stranded in honolulu. to say that I am mortified is the understatement of the year.

joe and I both have some new photography on display at trisolini and sau [dot] com. please view them if it finds you well. thank you.

Retirement Communities Before Preschool.

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 17:48:55 GMT

Downtown Albany is unfortunate. There is one coffeehouse in downtown that is shockingly vacant on a Thursday morning. The wireless internet disappears mysteriously even though there is only one user. The most exciting moment outside was a kid carrying a bottle a Mountain Dew almost as large as he was.

I should have packed lighter on my journeys. Carrying around two bags and a bicycle became overbearing and sometimes logistically unreasonable. If I had a touring bicycle my tour would have been dramatically different; my bicycle is so bare it does not have a brake much less space for traveling sacks.

Dave Flores and I had dinner with Nicole and her boyfriend in a quaint little Chinese restaurant in downtown San Francisco. Finding a place to eat in downtown was met with oddity – Nicole plus one chose clichéy places, Dave was neutral, and I wanted to eat at the most authentically dirty joint in the neighborhood.

So it was particularly grand when a fly flew by our table during dinner. Nicole was appalled, plus one was neutral, and Dave and I had a holler. It was after all, keeping it authentic in San Francisco. Everywhere Dave and I visited the prominent question for our actions were “is it authentic?” The best burrito I have ever eaten at a restaurant happened in the Mission District. It made my jowls pitter-patter.

Dave and I visited two museums, the Exploratorium and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMOMA). The Exploratorium was terrible on my attention deficit disposition (not disorder) and I found myself needing to focus on one activity or risk becoming overwhelmed. So I spent a disproportional amount of time attempting to balance an object despite my inability to balance.

At SFMOMA I found the Robert Frank’s Les Américains photo exhibition and was lost on the third floor for an entire afternoon. Words are expressionless as to my awe of the exhibit. Jenny Lewis was wrong, not any idiot could place the things he likes on display.

By the time I arrived in Monterey Bay I was ready to sleep. When Megan called me to ask where I was mid-day I responded with a “just woke up” snicker. One day Megan and I visited the world famous Monterey Bay Aquarium. I question how the aquarium became world famous.

There was an exhibit in the aquarium that was set up as a diner. And in a conservation-minded aquarium it was odd to learn how to eat better lobster and tuna. The words “what the funk” came into mind. It would be similar to seeing an exhibit proclaiming Hitler’s notions of Darwinism at the Holocaust Memorial Museum.

On my last day at Monterey Bay a white sports utility vehicle ran me off the road with two bicycles mounted on its hood. Again…“what the funk Monterey?” Megan the vegan chef made tons of delicious food. I probably gained ten pounds in Monterey Bay just from eating all the decadent fruit I could carry from farmer’s markets…and vegan cupcakes. And to top it all off, I got to see Sasha Grey make her big screen debut.

I almost missed my stop in Eugene. I had to shout at the conductor to let me off the train because I had been mindlessly staring out a window while everyone else deported. Then I hitchhiked to Corvallis with a Christian Evangelical met via Craigslist.

On my first afternoon in Corvallis I rode (walked) up a mountain. I met the group of fixed gear merry men lead by Eilif Knutson. I played bicycle polo for the first time. I even scored, and then rode into a fence. It was brilliant. A bicycle parade with boom box cemented my fondness towards Corvallis.

Jeremy Haines met me at the Union Square when I arrived in Portland. After unloading my baggage at Carrie and Martin’s luxurious living space in Downtown (in the middle of the bloody Pearl District!) Jeremy and I bicycled to Last Thursday. I found it humorous that I never attended a Last Thursday when I lived in Portland.

I met a lovely girl from Clarkston, Michigan who was selling her photography and hoping to get noticed in the big city. Her photo blog informed viewers that her dreams of grandeur were down to forty dollars, food stamps, and a pack of smokes. But as Carrie noted, “she should have found a day job first.”

The Original is a diner converted from an old bank in the financial district of Portland. Carrie and I had breakfast there; it is the only place you can get a donut burger or in my case: a side order of gummy worms with my omelet. The food was mediocre but the concept of an anything goes diner is fantastically Portland.

Last night I almost lost my old red Nalgene bottle. I dislike thinking that I could ever be sentimental, but I was somewhat disappointed when it was trashed while I was in the restroom. Fortunately the cleaning lady had just tossed it in her somewhat clean trash bin. All my material possessions are now accounted for.

Mediocracy. Happens to Everyone.

Closing Cup Of Blueberry Yogurt.

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 17:04:08 GMT

A farmers’ tan. This will be what I am leaving New Mexico with. I learned new lessons, met new mates, and lived in quiet chaos. But the most glaring remembrance I will have of New Mexico is a bloody farmers’ tan.

In two days I will be homeless. I have never been homeless, so it should be a neat new experience. In two days I will be hopping on trains en route to the Bay Area in California.

My anticipation for this trip has thus far been minimal. As appealing as the notion of nomadic life may be, realistically I need to seek gainful employment at some juncture. The good news is that I will continue to receive pay for most of the summer. The bad news is that traveling is like eating out, it is cheaper to stay home.

I am extremely anxious today. I have yet to box anything because I do not have a box – this is due to the reliability of depending on twenty-somethings during summer vacation. I feel like I need a checklist of all the small things I am already neglecting to do; but I dislike checklists based entirely on some ill-fated notion that lists are for old people shopping for groceries.

My little sister called me a to tell me that “Mom said you were planning to wander around California without a job.” I told her that was the plan. She politely informed that I was closer to thirty then twenty and that I should settle the f*** down.

I hate getting older. I need a stupid checklist.

Mediocracy. Happens to Everyone.

Amidst Thunderstorms And Disarray.

Fri, 29 May 2009 00:42:39 GMT

Dear Sau Hi How
are you? I am good
I am also sad tha-
t you are leving but I will not thro a
fit Love Maxwell

Tomorrow will be the end of my term at Mountain Mahogany Community School. I need to move again, the desert has gotten the better of me. It goes without saying that I will/am sadden that I will be leaving my first graders.

b-side photos have been emerging on my mediocre flickr. please visit if it finds you well.

wandering in the desert

Tue, 19 May 2009 04:11:37 GMT

joe moved out this afternoon. he will be spending his summer in italy once again. I am leaving new mexico in a few weeks. I have no bloody clue where.

twenty-eight photographs from the last few months: wandering in the desert and eight new photos from joe: structure located at trisolini and sau [dot] com.

Dress Rehearsal For A Destination.

Wed, 06 May 2009 02:00:32 GMT

I hate nature. This was something that occurred relatively recently when I ventured to the lake with a small group of mates. The dirt, sand, and dead branches everywhere made me peculiarly claustrophobic. Which I assume is the opposite reaction one should gather from the great outdoors.

When I was in middle school the class had an assignment to make a collage of their future. Included in this make believe destiny was the requirement of “where do you see yourself living.” While a majority of class cut out pictures of old Victorian homes (which was strange since we were all living in Honolulu) I opted for an image of Sim City. Yes, Sim City the video game that designs an operating city with municipals and parks. I bloody love pavement (encircled with manicured parks).

These feelings of resentment towards nature probably began occurring when I stated that the town of Albuquerque was not city enough for me; everyone told to visit the majestic New Mexico outdoors. And each time I went outdoors I would return home with a shoe full of sand, a sun burnt neck, and a mouth parched beyond words. And somewhere between hating nature, hating the sorry excuse for a city and terrible local fascination with green chile, I decided to relocate.

The other morning on route to work I went to the ghetto supermarket Lowe’s. I absolutely cannot express how much I hate Lowe’s, except to say that I would rather shop for food across the street at Walgreen’s. There is a sign at the door that states one MUST leave their belongings with the security guard at the door. The security guard carries a gun, a f***en gun. What type of asshole security guard do you have to be to carry a gun at a supermarket?!

So I ignore the sign. Because heck no am I going to leave my bag (even if there is not much more then dirty gym socks) with some overzealous gun welding “security guard.”

It happens almost immediately. “Excuse me young man!” he hollers. I walk past, head towards the string cheese (cheese, the number one reason I can never be vegan) and am confronted. The security guard informs me that that I cannot have my bag on me. I tell him that I will not steal anything, and welcome him to follow me around if he wishes. He tells me that I need to leave the store and that he is going to call the cops because I am causing a “ruckus.” Seriously, who says “ruckus” outside of the Texas?

At this point I inform this hardworking man that while he is so concerned about me the rest of the store could be robbed tenfold. This angers him, and he attempts to block me. I inform the security guard that unless he is a police officer he cannot legally touch me. So I walk into him. Another store employee comes to the “ruckus” and exclaims, “that’s gay dude.” The security guard looks at me and says, “yeah, he is gay.”

Wow.

How uneducated does one have to be to use “gay” in a derogatory manner in 2009? What a piece of work. So I pay for my string cheese (which I should have just walked off with now that I think about it) and head to work.

Luckily I love my job. I dislike almost all the adults (who circulate drama around the campus like junior high) but I love the kids. Which makes my inevitable departure much more painful. My original intention was to be emotionally distanced at work but the moment a six year old looked at me trustingly I knew I was screwed. On Teacher Appreciation day, I received a rose and note from Chalina’s mother, “Thanks! You know that Chalina adores you – I understand if you must wander, but you will be very missed.”

A few days ago my mother calls me and proceeds to inform me that my wandering life is exhausting me. I guess I am tired quite often, but my mother’s solution to everything is always “come home.” Home is not a concept I am able to understand anymore. I live in an apartment with Joe and I sometimes consider it our “home.” But neither of us wants to stay here in New Mexico so the nest is already partially abandoned.

I tell my mother that I want to move to Nashville, Tennessee with my aunt. My mother informs me that I am a strange person.

Pangs Of Youth.

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 11:54:41 GMT

...now it induces winter again? I am having a difficult time growing up at this moment.
joe has a witty blog entry about what occured during spring break via pulling blanks.

No Longer Winter.

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 10:44:21 GMT

Everything feels strange in spring. I went to Austin, Texas for the first time last weekend. Laughed with the Principal about abandoning ridiculous staff meetings. And just weeks before my detention in the desert is wrapped up.

Mediocracy. Happens to Everyone.

Unwashed Jeans and The Stories Held In Them.

Fri, 06 Mar 2009 17:09:33 GMT

The month of February was an experiment. There was a decision to not wash the only pair of jeans I wore; to see/feel what a month of living in them would evoke. When I finally washed the jeans it felt as though nothing happened in February.

The beginning of the month was filled with a lot of angst, as I celebrated one more year closer to the intimidating three-o. My venture in adulthood has been an accident at best. I spend most of my days consumed in the notion of regression.

Four-year-old Theodore – the son of the principal — was wearing his pajamas in his mother’s office at ten in the morning when I asked, “hey Theo, want to trade lives?”

“No,” answered the very intelligent human holding a toy rocket ship.

----------------

It took awhile, but I finally got around to perfecting my winter cycling wardrobe. Which would have been great had New Mexico not decided to welcome spring a month in advance.

I enjoy winter. There are scarcely people on the bike paths in the morning; sometimes the emptiness is addictive. A sheet of snow in the middle of the night will always be more beautiful then anything I ever witnessed when I lived in Hawaii.

When I had to retire my hoodie in February, it was unfair.

----------------

The honeymoon ended at work in February. I was called in during lunch break to have a serious conversation with the principal. It used to be a joke when I told kids who were in the office, “hey, try to avoid the principal’s office, its no fun.”

It is unhesitatingly no fun as an adult.

Meeting with the principal also opened my eyes to a lot of questionable issues that I previously did not see. My blissfully naïve eyes were awoken to a school to whose model of “compassionate campus” was more ideal then practice.

----------------

I went to Colorado for the first time in my life. It was an experience.

----------------

Haleigh and I finally got around to having dinner together. Sometimes I think my acquaintanceship with Haleigh was the only reason for my employment. Her mother, Becky happens to be my mentor/superior and part of the hiring committee.

Haleigh told me about her new job, her upcoming study-abroad, and how guys are complete jerks. I told her about my plans to depart New Mexico. Having human conversation was a pleasant; I am aware that I have become more and more reclusive.

----------------

I was having a conversation with Molly – who is the handiwork/knitting instructor at the school – about immune systems. Neither of her two children has gotten chickenpox yet and Molly wants badly for them to receive it. I was telling Molly how I think my immune system was so tough (typical man talk) that I rarely got sick.

Coincidentally I became sick the next day.

At least my neighbor Alex was kind enough to make tea and tomato soup. I am certain that it helped my psyche if not my cold shivers.

----------------

For Valentine’s Day, I amassed the largest collection of cards in my lifetime. While I have never authentically celebrated a single Valentine’s Day (which raises the question, how Hallmark does Valentine’s Day have to be?) and as a child I cannot recall receiving a single Valentine’s Day card from my peers.

But there I was, with an envelope full of notes from children, including my favorite:

“Happy Valentine’s Day Sau…wear a helmet beCause I Care about You.”

After school that day third grade Ysirdo came up to me looking as glum as an eight-year-old could possibility look. I asked him what was wrong, and he confessed that he was glum because none of the girls had given him a Valentine’s card.

I told him girls are nothing but trouble. And when they get to be women they are catastrophically nuclear.

I do not think that comforted him. I am terrible at comforting people.

last evening in colorado.

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 02:07:37 GMT

last evening in colorado photo set located at trisolini and sau [dot] com

quite possibly the most authentic and revealing photos ever. thank you for viewing.

The First Memories Of Yesterday.

Wed, 11 Feb 2009 02:24:50 GMT

Mediocracy. Happens to Everyone.

All Those Quiet Mornings For Nothing.

Tue, 10 Feb 2009 02:46:25 GMT

There are five boys in my classroom that have been plotting their dream house together. All five have agreed that the house would shelter only boys; two girls told the boys that they could call them and they would bring them food. Amidst their discussions one of the boys exclaimed: “we want our house to be like Sau’s.” I have no idea what kind of house these boys think I live in, but I do not even own a television.

During a particularly lively conversation about the amount of plasma televisions (one in each room, the kitchen, and several in a hallway) Gabe realized that the house would need a bathroom (Gabe only realized this when the boys wanted a plasma television to watch while bathing).

“It has to be big!” exclaimed Daniel, referring to the size of the bathroom.

What I would not do to be bloody seven years old again. All obstacles in life were tangible and not metaphorical.

Everything is wrong in this desert town of Albuquerque. At least it feels that way in my realm of reality. The people here are different but not in a quirky, kitschy type of way. It seems profoundly difficult to meet good people, despite my belief that all people are inherently good (I think I expressed this in middle school once to the school bully who asked “why are you still so nice to me, I take your lunch money?”).

There are five men in my gym’s locker room talking about the woman they all had intercourse with. The conversation is obscene and mildly disturbing that these are men in their early forties. All the men seem to have modest forms of employment as their conversation encompasses new automobiles to oral sex behind a diner.

----------------

There is a church less then a block away from where I reside. The church has a bell tower that chimes on the hour for most of the day. One of the first days Joe and I moved in I remember Joe happily stating, “Hearing church bells reminds me of Italy.”

A few weeks ago I was walking around the neighborhood and stared up at the bell tower for the first time. To my dismay the bells that should have hung were empty, occupied by amplified speakers slightly hidden along the edges of the tower.

What the f**k.

Everyday I learn something new about Albuquerque. And everyday I resent this retarded place of existence even more.

Last Days Of Youth.

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 04:17:44 GMT

Today was my birthday. I have now lived in New Mexico for a year.

Everything Is Just Sunny. All. The. Time.

Thu, 22 Jan 2009 02:08:30 GMT

(left to right: Ms. Heather’s fingers, Jessy Bear, Chalina, Sau, and Gabe)

I have not laughed in a very long time.

It came to my attention momentarily. Somewhere between listening to some old Modest Mouse songs and staring at the blankness of my ceiling.

I have snickered, smiled, grinned, and probably acted out a few chuckles. But absolutely nothing seems funny anymore. And everything seems a bit more serious then I last recalled.

It has been approximately a year in New Mexico. And this bloody desert is driving me insane. Flores was looking at my wall mural recently and commented towards the concert posters, “you saw a lot (in Portland).” I really do not know what is more valuable: living poorly in a rich city or living richly in poor city. The latter has become ill fitting.

There is an interview of Mike Giant where he comments: “After living in places like Amsterdam, San Francisco, New York and London, the harsh reality of continuing to live in Albuquerque got to feel unnecessary and unhealthy.”

Mediocracy. Happens to Everyone.

riding the greyhound to arizona.

Sun, 11 Jan 2009 14:36:48 GMT

farewell to mike thompson photo set at trisolini and sau [dot] com. thank you for viewing.

a steady trail to a funeral.

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 03:47:04 GMT

winter in a desert photo series located at trisolini and sau [dot] com. thank you for viewing.

An Illusion Of Comfort.

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 04:37:20 GMT

The road trip to Las Vegas never did happen. My darling Avis Rent-A-Car agent, Maggie apologized as if it were her fault. Somehow a credit agency halted the rental agency from loaning me an automobile despite the fact I had just rented and returned an automobile two days prior. It was somewhat disappointing, but Flores and I used our newfound wealth to invest in substantial amounts of grocery.

The last few days Joe has been in San Francisco and I started a routine of loud music and thinking out loud. I began talking to myself into a lot of things; “I need a haircut, at least a trim,” “I should check on why in the heck a credit agency denied me…I should try to lease an automobile,” “should I renew my contract and stay in New Mexico longer?”

My thoughts were so random these last few days that it would be safe to say that any judgments I have made were questionable at best. Lori said that my life is like a sitcom, and that all my problems may be resolved in twenty-two minutes…after commercials.

I am already restless of holiday. Not being preoccupied gives me too much opportunity to resent my existence. There is a sinking suspicion that any depository I had of good karma has all but run dry. And I am very perplexed lately, which I assume has something to do with my birthday approaching. I really bloody hate my birthday; it has become an annual reminder of my mediocracy.

This morning I biked with Flores up to his worksite in Tramway. It was so cold that Flores’ sweat condensation became ice on top his hoodie. I was ill prepared (per usual in cold weather it seems) and lost all feeling in my feet and hands by the time we reached the Sandia Mountains. Then I biked home and felt every small gust of wind shredding through my neglectable windbreak jacket. The adventure really clamored further respect for Flores. Because no matter how tough my morning commute may be, it will never be as epic.

My sitcom feels far too lengthy.

The Roads Of The Southwest.

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 16:14:49 GMT

Every once in awhile it dawns upon me that my parents’ actions have evolved into my own. All the lessons that were viewed as negligible have become applicable. Therefore I am still striving to be as bold as my parents.

Mae came to visit me in Albuquerque recently. As part of the plea agreement, I rented an automobile and took her road tripping around the vastness of New Mexico. My comrade-at-arms Joe joined me for our longest adventure in this desert state. New Mexico is amazing once one exits the atrocity that is its cities.

Along the trip Joe and I learned valuable new lessons. Amongst these lessons was to keep one’s feet warm and dry. We trekked a few miles in snow on the Jemez Mountains in search of elusive hot springs and found our feet completely damaged. I experienced frostbite on both my ankles and bled through my sneakers and ankle socks. The occurrence was not exactly pleasant but oddly exhilarating.

The next day we headed to the city of Santa Fe and lurked at the photo-eye bookstore. We conversed with the associate Ben, whom told us that he was headed to the island of Molokai with his fiancé. We were baffled that anyone would visit the wayward island. Joe and I purchased works by Alec Soth, Erwin Olaf, and Eric Weeks after spending far too much time in the candy store of photo books.

On the last leg of the journeys, we visited the Bisti Badlands in Navajo territory. The rental automobile would be at capacity with Mae, Alex, Joe and I. We found an outpost midway that sold fireworks, small weaponry, gaudy souvenirs, and free cheeseburgers from the in-house Dairy Queen with gasoline purchase. Probably the strangest rest stop I have ever witnessed.

After driving four hundred miles in one day, my lower back felt absolutely terrible. On Monday I dropped Joe off at the airport en route to San Francisco. Then I dropped Mae off at the airport en route to Philadelphia. The next day I realized I was on paid holiday from school and decided to spend most of the day catching up on television shows on my queue while napping myself into oblivion.

I think I may be road tripping to Las Vegas with Flores tomorrow. Bloody brilliant.

Long Naps And Everything To Show For It.

Wed, 17 Dec 2008 04:16:33 GMT

The first time an automobile struck me on my bicycle I thought to myself: I deserved that. It may well be a warped sense of karamatic justice or self-loathing, but it was likely a necessary occurrence.

One day last week I somehow found myself as the only adult in charge of a roomful of first graders. And to my great dismay, my first graders actually listened to me. I was baffled, because until that moment I figured that the children viewed me as the adult anti-model.

Later that week there was the weekly faculty meeting and the principal decided to ask faculty what was working in the school and what was not. We were all paired into groups of two and I was paired with the principal. Afterwards the faculty reconvened and we discussed our answers. I have never been a fan of these discussions because as Joe once said, “that’s the thing about lefties, they may be liberal but are oddly conservative on many topics.”

Somehow during the discussions the principal proclaimed these words: “everyone should talk to Sau; he is very inspiring.” My jaw probably dropped at that point. Adults seeing me as another adult was something rarely experienced.

As my professional life may be developing (knock on wood), I find my personal life in conflict. I am more easily aggravated now then I may remember ever being. I try to take as many trips as possible perhaps to divert my attention somewhere far away. Ian said the other night, “that is why I started doing drugs, because although I understand it is way to keep the masses in check I have noticed it is a way to cope with our society…I have noticed that a lot of people who live sober have a lot of pent up aggression.”

So it was an essential detour when I visited Portland, Oregon for a few days in November. I saw some old mates, woke up late, walked around the foggy city and visited old grounds. I was surprised to find Roxanna residing and studying in Portland. When we visited the coast with Yu Xing on Thanksgiving morning I dared Roxanna to run to the pelicans. With no hesitation Roxanna stripped her drawers and ran freely amongst the birds. The principal was wrong: everyone should talk to Roxanna; she is very inspiring.

That evening we had dinner at Quentin’s apartment in Downtown Portland. Quentin is living the dream of a lot of twentysomethings. He resides in a beautiful loft in the heart of Portland, a block from where Elliot Smith attended high school. Quetin’s entire apartment is decorated meticulously yet still seems rummaged. An impressive vinyl record collection ascents his living room. I was admittingly envious.

Today was my first snow day. School being closed on account of snow was something that I never experienced growing up. I remember vividly how yesterday evening time stood still. There was nary an automobile on the street and the snow was illuminated in the streetlights. To quote Calvin, “its magical world Hobbes, ol’ buddy…let’s go exploring.”

Everything Burns In A Warehouse Fire.

Wed, 10 Dec 2008 05:45:03 GMT

A few months ago Ms. Heather handed me a knife and told me to carve a pumpkin for the lantern festival. I glanced at the knife, then at the pumpkin and looked up at Ms. Heather.

“I do not think I have ever carved a pumpkin.”

Ms. Heather smiled and said, “exactly.” Then she gave me very brief instructions and explained how easy it was. Five minutes later I had carved my first pumpkin and it was brilliant.

If someone had asked where I would have ended up in my late twenties I would never have said, “the deserts of New Mexico.” Yet here I am, more perplexed then ever.

Today was the first day of snow this winter. Nothing makes any sense.

Mediocracy. Happens to Everyone.

Today Is Moving Day.

Sun, 02 Nov 2008 12:33:10 GMT

Apparently today is also bloody Daylight Savings. I awoke gawdawful early.

Earlier during the summer, a kitten followed me home. Flores took a photo during the brief moment when I considered adopting the kitten. Then I realized that I could barely take care of myself, much less another living being.

Mediocracy. Happens to Everyone.

Lléveme Al Alboroto

Wed, 29 Oct 2008 02:54:55 GMT

At some point “a few weeks ago” became a distant memory. It was barely two weeks ago that I was attending my first wedding in New Mexico. There was a brilliant red sunset that evening, the clouds cleared for a brief moment in an afternoon of gray. I remember driving two very inebriated mates down a mountain in a hailstorm. And now the car that was used that evening has been stolen and set ablaze.

For two weeks I worked without a day off. Everything became a blur: school during the week, and grocery co-op during the weekend. Last week was particularly difficult as the school is undergoing major transitions. Joe had to go to court for skateboarding. And I received a fraudulent charge from some unknown company known as “photo depot” based in New York.

Amidst the riots that be, I found myself in many small nuances of illustriousness.
An afternoon of scouting produced the missing string for my borrowed kinder lyre. I survived biking in thirty-degree (not including wind chill) weather defying almost all my coworkers’ expectations. A Sunday afternoon hike in the Sandia Mountains was like a breath of fresh air.

The best part of the last few weeks was when one of the children and I conversed in silence. We wrote an extended dialogue on the basketball court via charcoal. It was a sight to behold, and probably my favorite bonding moment thus far. It showed that sometimes the pen is mightier then the mouth. The thought processes of children constantly amaze me; my mediocrely educated brain is obsolete.

A parent asked me the other day, “are you interested in pursuing a career teaching?” I replied that it was never my intention, but it seems to be fitting.

space for absolutely nothing.

Fri, 10 Oct 2008 05:10:53 GMT

an autumn sunday displayed at trisolini and sau [dot] com.

photographs from this year's first day of autumn in albuqueruque.

Feeling The Mondays On Wednesday.

Thu, 09 Oct 2008 04:12:30 GMT

Autumn arrived in Albuquerque by way of thunderstorm. From Saturday evening until Sunday morning, rain fell upon the desert as if to cure a summer’s worth of dehydration.

Early Sunday evening, my comrade Joe snapped his back while fixing himself a late snack. This meant our adventure to the Albuquerque International Balloon Festival was indefinitely postponed. Coincidentally the balloons would not lift off the following morning due to storm clouds. These combined events were a vivid indicator that the festival was not meant to be.

That morning I set off to purchase whiskey from the neighborhood drugstore only to be educated that New Mexico law delayed liquor purchases until noon (and only on Sunday). It baffled Joe and I, as New Mexico may well be the drug state of the southwest. After obtaining whiskey, I duct taped the cutting board to Joe’s back. Then the whiskey treatment knocked Joe right out for a long Sunday afternoon nap.

When I told Erin about the homemade treatment she exclaimed, “you went Alaskan on Joey!” Autumn is my favorite season.

an introduction to conclusion.

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 20:02:55 GMT

distance as a diversion b-side photos here.

trisolini and sau [dot] com.