Archive for November 2003

411: In my living room before dawn Listening to: The crisp sound of a camera click I’m awake. I’m wide awake. It’s 4am and I can’t sleep. This doesn’t make a lot of sense, to me. In Seattle it’s 1am, I wouldn’t be up there. It’s 4am here, and I shouldn’t be up here either. I’m…

411: See that snowy, mountainous area we’re flying over? I’m contemplating which of my passengers to claims dibs on (for eating) when we crash land in those mountains. Music: “Hey ya”, Outkast “C’mon ladies, shake it, shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture” Another plane ride, another cab driver. Getting into the cab had…

That photo was taken a little later than 4am, but it has my godson in it, so you can afford me a little license. 4:31am: Jetlag is hell but it’s getting better. Like a clock that’s a little fast, I wake up a few minutes later every day. If I stay here long enough I’ll wake…

411: Somewhere over Iowa, on my way to my godson Ewan’s second birthday Soundtrack: “To Zion”, Lauryn Hill Checking in to my flight at Dulles, I’ve achieved the Zen calm that comes with traveling extensively alone. Without hurry, without concern for what time the plane departs, and with almost no luggage. The world opens up…

411: In the basement with Mosi, pushing weight. Listening to: The sound of the dehumidifier cleaning the air of my perspiration. I have to puke. No really, I’m gonna hurl right here in my basement. I’m not kidding. And I don’t think I could lift my arms to save my life. Like if a burning…

411: Ground Zero of the biggest disappointment of the year, the Red Sox’s home, Boston MA. Listening to: The quiet whirr of a brushless 80mm computer fan. Ok, listen up. This is why I love Sarah. I’ve been meaning to build Sarah an art PC for a while now. A few weeks ago in a…

411: Yeah, it’s my basement. My ex-wife is locked behind that door in the oubliette. Listening to: Outkast’s new album, “Speakerboxx – The Love Down Below” (The Love Disc). About a month ago I set out to build a weight room in my basement. I’ve got all this extra room, and usually, the discussion with…

It’s called Jasper White’s Summer Shack. It should be called, “big corrugated metal warehouse where sadists attempt to kill you by overfeeding you the best seafood they can find”. Ok, that’s over the top, but I’m speaking from experience. My friend and his wife introduced us to the Shack last weekend, and I’m pretty much…