Finally, I've made it to the last school day before vacation. Thank God. I've been invited to Christine's family christmas this weekend, so I'm pretty excited about that. Ugh, I'm in school right now, this is such a pointless day. Let me go home. *on an unrelated sidenote, now that I'm done editing the book, I've started a new project. I've been assembling a book of collages representing my life as it stands right now (much akin to Keirsten Dunst's character in crazy/beautiful). The process is oddly theraputic.


I am considering accelerating my computer. When I do it, I'll probably accelerate the damn thing to about 9.8 meters per second squared.


I finally managed to get my form setup correctly on my "about me" page, so now you can insult me and tell me what you think of me. I also found an excellent shockwave game here. It's an interactive snowball fight, and great fun for wasting time at school or work. Enjoy


The HTML class is coming along good, I'm starting to be able to make half-deacent pages without the crutch of yahoo page maker. Christmas is coming upon me like a freight train, and I'm starting to scramble to try and find presents. My little christmas present buying high has passed, so now I have to face the cold hard truth. On the bright side, one act is starting soon. Unfortunately it sounds like we'll be doing a play about homophobics, not exactly what I had in mind. I was kind of hoping for either a new and innovative comedy or an old classic, but this is neither.


I've been adding some more to my web page, It's actually not all that difficult. I'm still shooting for better quality, but it will come


Woo Hoooo! Quite the day. Not only did I figure out my web page woes, I FINISHED MY NOVEL!!!!! I don't suppose anyone knows any really good book publishers? Let me know.


ok, ok, the story of my life link doesn't quite work yet. maybe I'm going a bit too fast with this html stuff
I changed the template, and I'm rather fond of the color. I did away with the hit counter, but I don't get many hits anyway, so it's kind of depressing. I haven't figured out the little bit of text in the bottom left corner of the page, but I'm on it.
I've gotten myself into a html programming class. As a result, expect a better quality page on the way, as well as forthcoming links to my pages that I'll have coming out. I'll probably keep the blog though, as much out of habit as anything else.


I've got myself into a christmas present buying frenzy. I'm trying to get presents for all my friends/parents/etc. I honestly want to be nice. Wierd. Anyway, I'm trying not to spend huge amounts of time obsessing about the right gift, but if a good idea pops into my mind i'll write it down. i guess this is the whole christmas spirit.


Another holdiday bulliten, from tomorrow to the end of the year, every wednsday night is lutefisk night at the cafe I wait tables at. The cooks hate it, because the stuff smells terrible when it's cooked. I'm actually a fan of it though, i make a truckload of tips.
Aaaah, snow, sweet snow. God dropped over a foot on us in the past twelve hours, school is closed for the day. It's especially nice, since I'm starting a big push to finish up the novel, plus I have some christmas shopping to do tonight. Yippie.


nothing beats a good old soul-searching to get things out in the open


I just got back from a trip to North Dakota with my dad and some friends. We were out phesant hunting, and it was a whole lot of fun. I could get into the whole pro-hunting/anti-hunting debate, but I really don't feel like it. All I know is that I had a good time, and I had phesants for dinner tonight. Hey, if God didn't want us to eat them, he wouldn't have made them out of meat.


Ugh, I was in a crappy mood for most of the day today. Then, at work, the last place I'd expect to brighten my day, actually left me in a better mood. Wierd. I told a few jokes, listened to a few stories, and I was fine. Strange how things work out like that.


Interesting. It's always strange to see female frontal nudity on prime time TV. I was watching some of the mini-series Uprising and they had a naked women displayed prominantly. She was dead at the time, so maybe that had something to do with it. Odd.
another interesting clip, at http://www.worldchampionshippunkinchunkin.com/pix/bigblaster.jpg is a picture of a giant air cannon designet to fling pumpkins over a mile. quite the sport.
girls are strange creatures


A: half a dog
What has two legs and bleeds?


I think if I wasn't an actor I'd be a theatre techie. I kind of enjoy working with tech-type work; painting, sound checks, figuring out lighting patterns, set construction etc. I like it, but not enough to get me away from the stage itself.
if not a jake, I would be a Tony...... or maybe a Tom
my new favorite palendrome: go hang a salami i'm a lasagna hog


i am now a fan of "Less than Jake" and "Saves the Day"


another interesting find (god bless metafiler) www.nowheregirl.com the first rewarding web-based comic, both in regards to artistic talent and writing, that I've found.
Found an interesting photo at http://dailynews.yahoo.com/h/p/nm/20011009/wl/imdf09102001085522a.html Look at the poster just behind Bin Laden's ear. Looks strikingly like our boy Bert doesn't it? I always knew there was something funny about him.
I've also become an advocate of our local college radio station, KVSC. It's nice to hear something besides Christina Agulerra and Santana once in awhile.
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, everything's just jake is back online. I've found an ingenious posting tool through AIM (my s/n is jetmanvos if you're wondering) which makes posting much much easier. Being lazy, I didn't really want to go through the problems of doing everything manually, but this works just dandy. As for my life, things are still going fairly well. I'm coming up on my 6 month anniversary with my girlfriend, and I'm kind of at a loss as to what I should do. I suppose I'll come up with something. I'm acting again, this time in our school's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I'm Lysander. Other tidbits: I've become a fan of the punk band MXPX as well as the band Saves the Day. It was an interesting revelation, my friend Rose and I were talking about growing up and going to college, and I realized how much I've matured since I was a freshmen. I've come a long way.
I'm trying a new posting system today, here's a little test to see if it works


As everyone has probably heard by now, today brought about a rash of terrorist attacks on key U.S. structures. We've been covering it all day in school, and it seems like everyone is sitll slightly in shock. I'm sure the analysis will go on for weeks, and I'm not sure if the festivities are over yet, but i think i will dispense my two cents. It's times like this when I wish I keep up with world politics, I don't know why anyone would want to do it, or what the motives would be behind it. It's a cowardly act by most measures, but proabably something that will become more and more common in the years to come. By most measures, there will not be a third world war. If there is a third world war, the fourth world war will probably be fought with sticks and stones. Terroristic attacks will proabably become the rule instead of the exception, as will small, low level skirmishes scattered over multiple locations. Then again, I may be wrong.
god i hate school sometimes. Here i am in the computer lab, practicing an excercize in futility. I'm compleating my packet for an internet liscence. An internet liscence that i recived in eighth grade, but now have to re-apply for now that i'm a senior. What, I forgot how to use the internet? Now that I'm a senior I'm going to be thumbing through porn sites on the school's dime? I guess i just don't understand it. Sometimes the face of american education is a scary one.


A life update for you all:
Well, things have been going well actually. I've finally gotten back to working on my novel, and as you can see I've been writing a bit of poetry as well. Things are still going well with Christiene, better than ever actually, and I see her about once a week. I apologize to all of you looking for updates...if you actually exist, I'll try and scratch something down a little more often. Until then.

A little poetry update for you. Please don't steal 'em, if you want to use something I write, just ask.

My Fault

It's hard to live a day
Now that she's packed and gone away
My life's in shambles
It's so pathetic
Why can't I change at all

This screaming hurts my ears
It defaces all my fears
Now that she's gone
I can't move on
Why is there so much pain

It's my fault
I threw it all away


A hundred twenty miles
Seven gallons of gas
Three CDs
And I'm coming fast
She's been waiting
But I'll be there soon

I die every day
I don't see her face
Please dear God
Don't le me die today
I'll be in her arms
By the time the sun goes down

She makes me feel alive
She's my best friend
She's the one and I'm not turning back
We're in love
And I'm coming home


I don't know how to explain it
But this feeling is always new
Beating hearts and eyes of wonder
I'd do anything to be with you

Everything feels so much better
Anytime that you are near
Though you're so far away
Don't ever fear
Just know I'm always with you
And I'll always be here




Ok, I'm sure you're not reading this to hear me gush about my girlfriend, but i'm going to do it anyway. I've just been coming to the realization that she actually compleates my life. I've been going through this entire year thinking that the one thing my life is missing is a girl who I really care about, and here she is. When I'm with her, everything seems right and good in the world. I get this feeling that everything's going to be OK. It's the kind of thing wars are fought for. Sigh.


Jake's 2 Cents on Long Distance Relationships:

Yes yes, I know, here I go...diving into the strange self-punishment of a long distance relationship. Sigh. She lives two hours away, and our one month anniversary is in five days (shutup, I'm just happy I can remember stuff like that). It's tough though, I'm so extremely happy when I'm with her, but that makes it that much worse when we finally have to leave. Being apart is hard, but it makes being together that much better. I still get sad sometimes. Is it worth it? Hell yeah. It's worth it if you find the right person. If you find the wrong person it's a waste of your time and energy.




I have realized that one thing that I really enjoy is streatching. For example, just now I was sitting here, and I decided to stretch my arms and my back. It felt really really really good. I also like sneezing, that's along the same lines as stretching. When you sneeze, it's such a relif. The worst is when you think you're going to sneeze, but then it kind of dies in your nose. Ack.


Well, here I am, the idealistic teenager out to write the definative high school novel. Seriously though, who better than myself? I'm experiencing firsthand what being a high school student at the turn of the decade/centuary/milennium is like. I enjoy writing. It seems to be a perfect match. I've almost filled my first composition book, that should be almost 1/3 of the entire book. I'm making pretty good time. At this rate, I may have a final draft by christmas. Probably sooner.


Yes yes, I know, I said I wasn't going to update anymore, but I must add something. 15 days ago I met the most amazing person I've ever known. She is beautiful beyond words, fun to be around, and even better, she likes me. Unfortunately, she lives in Morris. I do not. Sure, the distance will be a problem, but it won't be impossible. On top of that, we're going to europe together. EUROPE!! It's like one of those things you see in the movies. I guess I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, things are going so well. sigh. I am content.


My My, bad news for the readers of this fine site. I have realized that between my audio diary and my book, I find little time or initiave to add to this site. On top of that, I know maybe 5 or 6 people hit this site a day, but do you like it? I guess I only want to update it if people enjoy it. So, if you like this site, even one little bit, let me know. drop me a line at jvos@ecenet©com thanx


Wow, I've just had one of the most painful experiences of my life© My parents and I went over to our neighbor's house for a fish fry and it was horrible© He entertained us with stories of how his wife is divorcing him and running off with the no good lawyer, "that lawyer's gonna get his lights punched out©" If that wasn't enough the only other guests were my old bus driver, who laughs and shifts his weight back and forth when our neighbor talks about divorce, and some country bumpkin friend of his who doensn't say anything without adding dis or dat© I did nothing the entire time but wish for it to be over© Ah yes, and tomorrow being Easter, I get to deal with the relitives© Wish me luck©


When I look over the collection of CDs that I've accumulated, I'm both proud and saddened© On one hand I love my music, I buy discs almost every time I can and I have quite the collection© Then on the other hand I did the math the other day, my collection's worth over 500 dollars© That's a lot of cash I could have saved© I still want more though© I've gotten into the habit of mixing tapes for different occasions© Sometimes the tapes have a theme, other times it's just a group of songs that I think should go together© I would burn my own discs if I had a CD burner, but with things as they are I'd just rather buy blank tapes for fifty cents apiece© I'm going to have to start borrowing discs from my friends to record though, my bank account can't accomodate all of the albums I still want to add to my collection©


Well, after watching another episode of American High, I've made a decision© I am going to keep an audio diary© I've journaled on and off through the years, but it always took up too much time© Then, other days when I want to sort things out I'll walk across the roof of my garage and explain things to myself© Then I figured hey, whey not combine the two? So I'm going to buy a handheld tape recorder and record things for posterity© It'll be interesting to find out what I sounded like when I was a teen once I'm 40 or 50©


I am really starting to enjoy writing my book© The main character is beginning to be more and more like myself© I suppose that makes sense, the book is partially based on my own life© I couldn't make it a total autobiography though, my life is a bit too dull for anyone to want to read 300 pages of it ¥enter blog¤© I'm spicing things up a bit more© I have to be careful though, I don't want to turn the book into how I want my life© My characters have to have problems too© It wouldn't be much of a book if everything was hunkey-dorey all of the time© Things are going good though, I'm on page 117 handwritten© At this rate I should be done by thanksgiving©


Ah yes, the great outdoors© Finally I have a day where i can get outside, at least for a little while© I've been so busy between school and work that the only time I've been outside is walking to or from my car© Kind of sad really© I suppose there are some people who aren't outside for any period of time for months at a time© I think that would be horrible, I couldn't stand it© Even if I lived in a metro area I would want to go to a park or something, I couldn't stay cooped up inside for that long© Speaking of which, I'm headed out© Until later©


American High was by far one of the most influential programs I have seen on television in my entire life. It follows fourteen High School juniors/seniors for a year. The characters are so interesting, i liked each almost before I met them. In one scene a kid named (called) Kiwi has to kick the game winning field goal, I wanted to be there with him. Even though it sounds sappy, the show made me realize that some of their problems might not be so different from my own. An amazing show.
Interesting, I'm planning on catching part of a documentary tonight called American High© It follows 12 or so high schoolers for a year© They do video diaries, the whole nine yards© It looks interesting, maybe I'll be able to pick up some ideas for my book© One can always hope©


Aaaarugh! I'm trying to upgrade to netscape 6©1 and it's really starting to frustrate© Not a good day altogether© It just seems like I have a whole lot to deal with over the past week or so© At least I don't have to work tonight© I wish the snow were gone, I want to get back on my bike or in my boat© If I don't get out soon I think I'll go insane©


I found myself dazing off more often than usual today. Things seem wrong. I'm not sure why or how, but they just seem wrong. Maybe I'm due for a change. Anyone have any suggestions? I'm open to options. I should eat out or something. Maybe it'll give me some ideas for my book. I need to make it less of an autobiorgaphy and more fiction. Maybe listining in on some conversations will help.


Awhile ago a friend and I were discussing how we would modify men's bathrooms if we had the power. First of all, there would be dividers between all of the urinals; it cuts down on the wierd situations. There might also be cartoons or ads above the urinals so we would have something to read. There would be a shelf above the sink for contact solution etc. There would be a mirror above each sink and a light directly above each mirror. All of the toilets and sinks would be optically operated, as would the towel dispenser (yes they make them, I've seen 'em). Most of the stalls and dividers would be done in black, with the rest in chrome. If only the designers would listen.....


I saw my friend eight days after last tuesday. We were in a car accident, but I didn't kill him this time. The fall was beautiful though, all of the pretty colors on the leaves. The landing knocked the wind out of me though, and I haven't seen straight for ten days out of the last week.



The collecting of Beer mats is called Tegestology.

In Chinese, the Kentucky Fried Chicken slogan 'finger-lickin' good' came out as 'eat your fingers off.'

The word 'nerd' was first coined by Dr. Seuss in 'If I ran the Zoo'

In English, "four" is the only digit that has the same number of letters as its value

The most common name in the world is Mohammed

The longest non-medical word in the English language is
FLOCCINAUCINIHILIPILIFICATION, which means "the act of estimating as worthless". sort of ironic isn't it?


I realized that old music is as good or better than the new stuff. Vintage music like Simon and Garfunkel or Marvin Gaye really appeals to me. Unfortunately, it's hard to find a radio station that plays the stuff I like and not many people I know listen to the same stuff, so it's hard to know what to buy. I've also unearthed my parents old record collection, some of the records there are great. There's some CCR, early Aerosmith, Santana's first, Simon and Garfunkel, all kinds of great ones. Now all I need is a record player.


Just finished watching the Matrix again, possibly one of my favorite movies ever. The scenes are great, the dialogue is quick, and the whole thing makes you think. More movies should do the same. I saw traffic a few weeks ago and I hated it. The whole thing just made me feel crappy when I got done with it. Platoon is also on my viewing list, I'll eiather see it tonight or tomorrow. I'll be sure to keep you posted.


Wow, I'm actually glowing right now. I was chatting online, and I actually helped someone! And I don't mean like helped them get out a ketchup stain, I mean helped them with their life. It's nice really, to feel like you've made a difference. I rather like it.


does anyone know anything about cameras? In my novel my main character is trying to hit on a photographer, and I need technical jargon for her to say. any ideas? send to jetman_jake@bolt.com


I talk to myself a lot. That bothers some people because I use a megaphone.
-Steven Wright

There are only two actions I cannot tolerate. One is the act of beginning a sentence and refusing to finish it. The other is murder.
-Lucille Kallen

My uncle had a rabbit's foot for thirty years. His other foot was quite normal.
-Tom Griffin

I have a new book coming out. It's a self help book called "How to get Along with Everyone." I wrote it with this other asshole.
-Steve Martin

I'm going to keep taking pot-shots at the birds on my lawn until the bastards learn to shit green.
-W.C. Fields
Well, another birthday come and gone. I have decided to make this year better than the last, so I suppose I should make some resolutions. Let's see...
I will not give up on today
I will not quit because it is hard, I'll just work harder
I will only talk when I have something to say
I will have a girlfriend
I will think about the feelings of others
I won't worry about the things I can't change
I will ride my bike more
I will finish my novel
I will have fun in Europe
I will say what I think
I will try to realize the difference between what is important and what isn't
I won't let my friends down
I will live instead of merely surviving


Wow, busy week, I'm still trying to catch up. I've started my first novel, with a working title of What are the Odds? It follows a high school junior, such as myself, through six months of his life. I have the story line set up, now it's just the actual writing left, 30 pages of which is finished. Wish me luck!


Back from vacation. Last night I talked to Rose for the first time in a long while. I see her almost every day, but we rarely have a long conversation. Last night I walked her out to her car and we had the best talk. We talked about religion for a long time. Suprisingly, we have fairly similar views. Personally, I do believe in
God, Jesus, heaven and hell. The part of religion I have trouble with is that it's so rooted in tradition the real meaning often gets lost. Also, each religion seems to think that they are right and everyone else is wrong. If you look at the big picture, most religions have a few common features. They all have a higher being, a code of ethics or rules, and all of them believe that there is something eternal in humans, be it a soul, karma, or a spirit. I also came upon a frightening thought; what if there was no afterlife of any kind? I can't even comprehend not living, to have my brain stop working. It just doesn't make sense. I guess that's partially why I believe in God, I do think something is eternal within us.


To all of you devoted readers to this site (ha, i'm funny) I'll be on vacation for the next week, and subsequently out of update range. Feel free to browse the archives, they should tide you over until i'm back.



EVERYONE should check out the sound file at http://plaza.v-wave.com it is the funniest clip I have ever heard; I'm still laughing about it, it's kermit and big bird stoned
Ah yes, wonderful essays, how I love them so. It's slightly disturbing, I'm actually gald when my teachers assign essays. I seem to be gifted with the ability to bs my way through almost any report within a half hour. It feels like I'm cheating. I'll take an easy essay worth buku points over a bunch of stupid worksheets any day.
I think everyone should have their own psycho-stalker. They're great if you feel like people aren't paying enough attention to you; you'll get unsolicited phone calls, letters, and drop-in visits at your home!! If anyone needs one they can have mine, I don't need her anymore. FREE!! Hurry in, get them while they last.


After considerable frustration tinkering around with the format, page layout, etc. of this site I have come to an earth shattering conclusion: I am a writer, not a web designer. On a side note, if any techie heads feel like designing a site, you can setup mine and I won't complain a bit.
CDs playing tonight: Everclear, Vertical Horizon, Blink 182, and Dave Matthews Band
Yesterday a friend and I were riding on a bus and talking about what the world would be like without inertia. Everything would stop once the force acting on it is taken away. You couldn't throw a ball because once it leaves your hand it would just fall, but it wouldn't bounce when it hit the ground. A car could be traveling at 100 mph, but when the driver takes his foot off the gas it would come to a dead stop instantly, but there wouldn't be any whiplash. Guns wouldn't work, but missiles would. Cars would accelerate instantly because there's no inertia holding them in place. It would be unwise to jump into the air inside a plane because you would be plastered up aginst the rear bulkhead, the plane is traveling at 300 mph and you're traveling at 0 mph. We then also figured out that it's inertia that keeps the earth from being sucked into the sun, so if you're given the choice DON'T eliminate inertia.


Herm, let's take a look see and find out how accurate my horiscope is today. "I'll need to do some more communication with some very unsusual and difficult people," nope, I didn't talk to anyone out of the ordinary today, the horiscope's 0/1. Are they pressing my buttons? I haven't even talked to them. 0/2 I'll make bright bold moves in love? Nuh uh, 0/3. Finially, red is your lucky color. I'm sitting here wearing red. The luckiest thing that's happened is that tomorrow is thursday. Horiscope batting average = .000


A little piece I picked up from a guy talking about his roommate:

He had a particularly anarchic chem class that seemed to involve an
impressive amount of pyrotechnics. On one occassion, someone threw a
fist-sized chunk of potassium metal in a sink full of water, which
destroyed it (both sink and water) with a great shower of sparks. Another
time his classmates covered an entire desktop with infamous nitrogren
tri-iodide, an unstable compound made from ammonia and iodine that explodes
when touched, leaving purple stains. They detonated it by throwing a paper
airplane, blowing the top off the desk. In an act of tremendous stupidity,
they filled an entire liter beaker with the gray incendiary material from
sparklers, and when some fool tossed in a match, the resulting column of
fire burned holes in both the table and ceiling. In an extra-curriculur
adventure, they piled a mound of thermite they'd prepared in class on a
particularly despised person's driveway. When ignited, it blasted a foot
wide hole through the concrete and down to the dirt. Their most notable
"achievement", however, was placing in someone's locker in a dish of water
a large chunk of some unknown material that gives off noxious odors when
moist. He said that the resulting nauseating stench spread through the
entire school. One girl barfed in mid-sprint to the bathroom, and the
school had to evacuate the building and cancel classes for the rest of the
day. In an entire semester of Chemistry class, his only remotely
educational experience was learning to make soap, and he had to repeat the
subject here at Purdue, minus the pyrotechnics.


canaries are just yellow mice with wings


I hate it when winters are like this. Yesterday it snowed 4 or 5 inches and I had to trudge out and shovel and scoop all of it off the sidewalks or else my dad would physically explode. Then what happens? That's right boys and girls, it snows ANOTHER six inches! I'm running out of places to put the damn stuff and it keeps piling up. If it snows much more I'm going to have to box it up and send it to some desert to melt.
This is so sad, I'm the only one that's signed my own guestbook. SIGN IT PLEASE!! thanx, it will help me feel a little less pathetic
Why is it that I can quote srange movies like Major Payne, High Fidelity, Blazing Saddles, Spaceballs, and Fight Club verbatem but I can't remember to fill the bird feeders or let the dog out?


Crazy Tim

“Oh no, am I really the last one to get to the van? Wait, Tim is driving today...
that means.. No no no, not shotgun, don’t make me sit in the front, ah, this can’t be
These thoughts ran through my head so fast I could hardly keep up. It was
January 25, and our high school one act play was headed home after a performance.
There were two vans, one was driven by our director, the other by Tim. Crazy Tim, as he
is affectionately known by the cast and crew, lives in a bus parked behind our director’s
house. Seen more often than heard, he is shrouded by myth and legend within the recesses
of our drama department. He also fills in as a van driver.
One that fateful January afternoon I slid into the passenger seat and prepared
myself for a quiet ride home. That’s when I noticed them; a father and a son with their
dog wandering through a frozen swamp. “I wonder what they’re up to,” I said, talking to
no one in particular.
“Yeah, I’ve been watching them for a while now,” Tim replied. I turned to him,
surprised. I hadn’t really expected an answer. “Maybe they’re looking for a body,” he
“Geez Dad, don’t ya remember where we left her?’ the boy’ll say. The old man’ll
mutter some and say ‘Shaddup boy, I had her lined up between the telephone pole and the
house, but I’ll be damned if I can find her now.” Tim continued his slightly twisted
dialogue, “Boy Dad, I guess we’re screwed huh?’ ‘Yep son, I guess we’ll just have to
cook the dog then.’ ‘Dad, do you even know how to cook a dog?”
On this note our van pulled out of the parking lot. I was amused by Tim’s speech,
but I wasn’t sure if I should show it or not.
As we drove onto the highway someone from behind me reminded me to buckle
my seat belt, and I grudgingly complied.
“Ya know, it’s good to wear a your seat belt,” Tim told me.
“And why is that?” I asked. That was my second mistake.
“ I drove an ambulance for Ramsey County,” Tim began, “and I saw lots of things
I didn’t want to. We would pull guys out of car wrecks all the time. If they didn’t have
seat belts they’d usually go through the window. Then they’d usually have chunks of
glass in there eye and the docs would have to pull it out with a stainless steel spike. ‘Quit
flinching,’ the doctors would say. The poor sap would just scream and yell ‘I’m flinching
because you’re shoving a metal spike into my EYE!” Tim snickered at the thought.
“Then sometimes they’d suck a penny or something out of the guy’s eye with a magnet.
After that none of ‘em ever left loose change on their dash ever again.” Then Tim paused
for a moment, sorting through memories. “Once,” he said, “I picked up a gun shot victim.
His name was Leroy. Well, that wasn’t his real name, but that’s all he was gonna tell me.
So I asked him if he’d ever been shot before. Leroy said ‘Nah, she’s stabbed me plenty
but I never been shot before.’ Yep,” Tim said, “I told old Leroy that he’d have to sit
down for a little chat with the police man after this little episode.”
I could only stare; I’d never heard Tim say more than two or three things at a time
in my entire life. I expected him to go on, but he said nothing. He only drove on, and the
rest of the trip was spent in silence.


85% of all United States one dollar bills have a trace of cocaine on them.



Slip on down to the ocean
Walk along the sands with me
Under the moonlight
Hold me

And I'll be
Holding you until the night is over
I will not let you go

I'll try
Try to be the one you want to be with
I don't want to fail this time

And I want
You to feel this burning deep inside of you
I want you to love me
I want to hear you laughing
I want to make you happy
I want you to be happy with me


Trust is an odd, elemental thing. A person cannot have a full existence without it. If you don't trust anyone you can never depend on anyone, and you spend your entire life being suspcious. The ability to trust someone is partially learned and partially instinct. It is extremely important to know who your friends are. One must also know the difference between school friends and true friends, and you should have some of each. The main difference between the two is trust. Sure, I can trust school friends to keep a secret or pass along a message for me, but my trust in them is limited. Real friends though, they can be trusted with anything. I would help my best friend bury a body if he needed me to, and I would do the same for him. THAT'S trust.


Once, a long, long time ago, I opened a package which contained a large assortmant of starved, rabid rats. As I opened the box they jumped out and started chewing at my face. I ran out into the street and composed a little diddy, it goes somthing like this:

AAARRRUUUGHHHHHH!!! getemoffme somebody help!!! aaaahhhhh their chewing at me geddem off!!


Sometimes life hands you lemons, and you make them into lemonade. Sometimes life gives you mountains, and you must chisel them down to molehills. Sometimes you construct a wonderful romantic plan which fails miserably and instead you end up typing on your computer at 10pm on a friday night half wanting to hit yourself over the head with a tack hammer because the whole thing never even gets off the ground.

I like analogies.

I hate having a bad day.


I was driving along one day and I saw a hitchhiker with a sign saying Heaven.

So I hit him

-Steven Wright
New York is the Land of Genetic Close Calls. There are a lot of people who missed being another species by one chromosome. Look, that guy could have been a badger.
-Kevin Rooney


Kind of a strange day for me:
A kid kept calling me "Mister"
I ate walnut cranberry bread
had my hair cut by a guy I hate
had both raspberry sherbet and raspberry iced tea in the same sitting
argued about evolution vs. creation
cut my index finger really bad and got blood on someone's door
possessed a referee's whistle for over half the day

yep, kind of a strange one


Water on the knee?


I was able to refocus things today. It seems to happen every now and then, I take stock of my life as it is right now. It allows me to decide what's important in my life and what's pointless. It's also a time when I usually set a few goals for myself and try to reach them. It's a good feeling really, I can see things more clearly now, and I can finially see where I'm going.


The other day I had a wonderful idea: idiot reservations. Children between the ages of 10 and 16 are given a simple, standardized test. If they fail the test they are considered idiots, and have to be placed on a reservation out in the middle of nowhere or leave the country. If someone fails the test but doesn't think that they are an idiot, they can take the case to court. These reservations would be set up very much like jails, but the occupants would work 8 hours a day doing manufacturing labor and other odd jobs no one wants to do. It would also have an extensive liberary for rehab. Every two to five years they would be able to take another test and they would have the ability to test out of the reservation. Also, to catch idiots who passed the test and are still in the general public, law enforcement officers could give out idiot offenses if they observe someone acting particularly stupid. If someone accumulates too many citations they are shipped off to the reservation. Maybe I should run for president with this as the basis of my campaign. Hmmmm.....
Yesterday, for the first time, I met someone who had lost all hope. She had been abused since the age of 8 and felt like she had nothing to live for. I was stunned. I tried to help her, tried to give her a glimmer of hope; but there was nothing I could do. I felt so helpless. I can only hope that I'm never so deep that I lose every bit of hope I have left.
The final few chapters in my book:
(note, check the archives for earlier chapters)

Dear Simone,
I went to the corner of 1st and 5th yesterday and I found the
Leviathan Manufacturing building... or at least I found what was left of
it. Simone, the building was being demolished, all that was left was the
front wall and a pile of rubble. I guess I could have the wrong place
again, but then I saw the Holsinger Gardens across the street. I walked
through the gardens, and they were beautiful, but you weren’t there. I
looked through the phone book and called all of the real estate agencies,
but none of them knew who you were.
Simone, this is crazy, it doesn’t make any sense. Are you hiding
from me? Do I just keep going to the wrong place? I don’t understand,
all I want is to see you again.
Listen, I’m heading into Minneapolis next Friday, can we meet for
dinner? My favorite restaurant in Mario’s, the Italian place over on
Nicolet. Could you meet me there around 5pm? I hope you can make it
and we can straighten this out.
Dragons on Tricycles,

Dear David,
This is getting ridiculous, I can’t believe we keep missing each other. The
manufacturing plant on 5th avenue is getting torn down, not my building on 5th street.
Anyway, Jenny loves Mario’s, we go there all the time. I’ll see you there at five on
Friday. You should get this letter on time, but I’ve got to go catch the mailman, I’ll
see you then.
With Love,

Minneapolis Star Tribune
David Bishop, 25, was killed yesterday in an automobile accident.
While driving down Nicolet Avenue, a delivery truck in the oncoming lane
lost control and jumped the median, colliding with Bishop head-on. David
was killed instantly. David grew up near Rodchester, Minnesota with his
mother and father. David graduated from Burlington University of Law and
was studying to be an attorney. Services will be held on July 30th at Forest
Hill Cemetery, with a wake being held the previous evening.


my quote of the day:
The first time I went skiing I wasn't very good at it, so I broke a leg. Thank goodness it wasn't one of mine.
-Michael Green


Well, I have the lyrics, now all I need is the music.

Don't Walk Out

I beg you please don't go
Don't walk on out that door
Just look at what we have
There must be somthing more

Don't go away
I say
I just can't lose you now

I won't let this get to me
I won't let this get to me
I won't let this get

I want you to be here
Or I want to be there
Where are you
Come on back to me please

We had our moment
Don't walk out
Don't do this to me

I won't let this get to me
I won't let this get to me
I won't let this get
I have decided that I want to write a couple of things. Poetry books seem to be fairly devoid of any reference to cheese, so I would like to write a poem about cheese. I am also determined to write a short story that ends with the word "mayonnaise." When I have accomplished this I will be sure to post it.
Here is my attempt at a formal entrance paper.
Riding the Wind

Waves breaking over the bow of a boat, a shift of the wind, the tug of the sails,
these are the things that draw me to sailing. It was early in the spring of 1997, the ice had
just melted off Mille Lacs Lake in central Minnesota, and my family had purchased our fist
sailboat; a 16 foot Windrider trimiran.
The boat was purchased at a boat show in late winter, and from that day on I read
every piece of sailing literature I could get my hands on. Finally it was time to sail. My
first time sailing was also my first time sailing solo; neither of my parents sailed. I paddled
away from the dock slowly, my mom snapping pictures as I went. I tentatively set the sail
and settled into the cockpit, and the little yellow craft started moving. Slowly at first, but
then with increasing speed, the sharp bow cut through the water. “This is all right,” I
thought, “but not very fast.” Then it hit.
As I cleared the point I was hit by the full force of the wind. The windward
pontoon was jerked from the water and I flew across the waves. The bow tore under the
breaking swells, covering my rain gear with white spray. After ten minutes of bliss, I saw
my parents waving from shore. I headed back downwind, surfing down the faces of the
waves, laughing as I went.
“Come in, come in!” they screamed from shore. I slid the little boat up to the
shores, only to hear the frantic clamor of my parents. “Wethoughtyouweregoingtodrown
Ican’tbelievethathappenedyouweregoingsofast...” and so on.
So ended my first sailing adventure. I’ve been out in the same boat and on the
same lake many times, but things have never been the same since. When I walk down the
street I notice wind shifts, and looking out a window on a breezy summer day I can’t help
but think about tearing up the lake one more time.


A little somthing i picked up off cybercheeze.com:

I see a walking child as one who can bring me my slippers from the other side of the room,
and a talking child as one whom I can intelligently warn about the dangers of life.

Don't pet that dog. It will eat your face off.

Don't crawl into the refrigerator. There is green stuff on the leftovers that is
growing faster than you are. By morning it will break out of the plastic
containers and beat you up.

Don't touch the knives. You'll cut off your fingers and then you can say
goodbye to things like ripping off your diaper, locking yourself in the
bathroom and poking the dessert just before the company comes.

Don't unbuckle your seat belt. You might get put in prison. You'll have to
celebrate your birthday with a bunch of murderers, perverts and lawyers.

Don't bite on that electrical cord. There's fire inside that will blow up your
teeth. You'll never be able to chew paper, old gum from the sidewalk or dog
kibble again.

Don't try to climb over the balcony railing. You'll flip over the top and die,
then go to a place where a bunch of other bull-headed kids will hit you on the
head with a plastic rake when the Lord is not looking.

Don't open the dishwasher and jump up and down on the door. Mommy will
have to call a repairman, then Daddy will die.

Don't put your tongue on that. A dog went pee-pee there.

Don't eat those mushrooms in the grass. Remember the king in the Babar
book? He did that, turned green and died. You hate green.

Don't try to kiss the goat. It eats garbage and will go after whatever that thing
is in your mouth.

Don't keep on wearing those old shoes. They're too small and your feet
willshrivel up like the potatoes in the vegetable drawer, and you won't be
ableto run away from me.


If all of my clothes were made out of one fabric, I think it would have to be hemp. That or canvas (i.e. canvas shirts and kakhis). Those are the main fabrics that I can think of that can be both warm and cold. Also, if I could only wear the assorted hues of one color, the obvious choice is black. That allows me to wear anything in the grayscale between black and white. My suits would be awsome, a combination of slate greys for the tecno crowd, a nice black number for the traditionalists, and all white for the James Bond or Mark Twain fans.


One of my favorite jokes:

This truck driver hauling a tractor-trailer load of computers stops for a
beer. As he approaches the bar he sees a big sign on the door saying
"Nerds Not Allowed - Enter At Your Own Risk!" He goes in and sits down.
The bartender comes over to him, sniffs, says, "You smell kind of nerdy.
What do you do for a living?" The truck driver says, "I drive a truck,
and the smell is just from the computers I am hauling." The bartender
says, "Okay, truck drivers are not nerds." and serves him a beer.

As he is sipping his beer, a skinny guy walks in with tape around his
glasses, a pocket protector with twelve kinds of pens and pencils, and a
belt at least a foot too long. The bartender, without saying a word,
pulls out a shotgun and blows the guy away. The truck driver said, totally
shocked, "Why did you do that?" The bartender said, "Not to worry, the
nerds are overpopulating Silicon Valley and are in season now. You don't
even need a license."

The truck driver finishes his beer, gets back in his truck, and heads
back onto the freeway. Suddenly he veers to avoid an accident, and the
load shifts. The back door breaks open and computers spill out all over
the freeway. He jumps out and sees a crowd already forming, grabbing up
the computers. They are all engineers, accountants and programmers
wearing the nerdiest clothes he has ever seen.

He can't let them steal his whole load. So, remembering what happened in
the bar, he pulls out his gun and starts blasting away, felling several of
them instantly. A highway patrol officer comes zooming up and jumps out
of the car screaming at him to stop. The truck driver said, "What's wrong?
I thought nerds were in season."

"Well, sure," said the patrolman. "But you can't bait 'em."


A blood curdling scream shattered the pleasant silence of the peaceful mountain
bed and breakfast. I lurched out of bed, threw on my robe, and ran downstairs
to see what the commotion was about. The fifteen or so guests gathered in the
kitchen to see what was wrong. At first I couldn’t see anything, but then I heard
Professor Plum call for me.
“Inspector Smith, come here please,” he said. I worked my way to the
front of the crowd, and a ghastly sight was laid out before me. Mr. Body, the
owner of the bed and breakfast, was lying on the floor in a pool of his own
“Everyone back away please,” I said, and began searching for clues. Near
the body lay a wrench, which was obviously the murder weapon, judging by the
large wrench-shaped indentation in the back of Mr. Body’s head.
“That wrench was obviously the murder weapon, judging by the
wrench-shaped indentation on the back of his head,” I said. “Now who was the
first to find the body?”
“It was I,” said Ms. White, the maid. “I went outside to empty the
garbage, and when I came back, I found Mr. Body, dead on the floor.”
“Do you think anyone saw the murder?” I asked, looking around the
room. “The murderer must be someone right here in this room, being snowed in
as it is,” I deduced.
A small gasp rippled through the crowd, as the guests looked around the
room nervously.
“Professor Plum, are you not a specialist in mortuary science? Where
were you at the time of the murder?” I asked.
“Yes sir, I am, but I was in the library reading a book. Ask Mr. Green, he
was there,” Plum replied.
“Is this true?” I asked, shifting my gaze to Mr. Green, a local surgeon.
“Yes Inspector Smith, he was helping me find a book not five minutes
before we heard Ms. White scream,” he replied.
“And what book was that?”
“Merely a journal on anatomy”
“Where were you Mrs. Peacock?” I asked, looking over to the Swedish
“I was jus over dere fixin’ the pipe under da sink, I jus finished ‘er up
when I heard da scream,” she said.
The crowd slowly dispersed and Ms. White covered the body with a
blanket. I thought of the possible suspects as I walked up to my room and got
dressed. Odd, since the Christmas party last night I hardly remembered a thing,
not even getting into bed. It must have been fun though, I spilled what
appeared to be some Cabernet Sauvignon ‘86 all over the front of my jacket.
I was still contemplating the facts of the murder the next morning when I
heard a man shout from downstairs in the vicinity of the billiard room, but
when I arrived it was too late. There was Professor Plum, his head smashed in
with a lead pipe. Mr. Green and Mrs. Peacock were there when I arrived.
“My God, what happened?” I asked.
“I heard da scream and ran over, when I got here he was dead,” Mrs.
Peacock replied.
“I arrived shortly after Mrs. Peacock, I heard the scream too,” added
Green. Then Ms. White showed up, glanced at the body, and fainted,
crumbling to the floor. I merely shook my head and headed back up to my
room. Now the body count was up to two, both killed by plumbing
paraphernalia, and both murdered during the early morning hours. Upon
arriving to my room I found a bag of tools lying in the middle of the floor. Upon
further investigation they turned out to be plumber’s tools, stained with a sticky
red substance, which appeared to be blood. I ran down the stairs and
questioned Mrs. Peacock as to the whereabouts of her tools.
“It looks like dey been a’stolen,” she answered.
“Then why have they been placed in my room, covered with the blood of
your victims?!” I asked.
“Well, maybe you’re da von who stole ‘em,” she said, taking a step
toward me.
Ms. White joined into the conversation, “And what about those red stains
on your jacket? They looked like blood stains to me.”
“Why, are you accusing me of these murders?” I asked. “The stains were
from the wine we had at the party, and I just found the tools in my room, I
didn’t put them there. It was she that did it,” I accused, pointing to Mrs.
Peacock. Unfortunately they didn’t believe me. Six hours later, after the roads
were cleared, I found myself in a psychiatric ward of a local hospital. I was
trying to get them to understand that I was framed, but it was no use. Many
people would come by and peer into my cell. I blanked out a few times and
couldn’t remember anything. It must have been from all the medication they
shoved down my throat. Why couldn’t they understand? Only yesterday I
heard some doctor say I had a ‘multiple personality disorder’ and that I ‘couldn’t
control my actions half the time’. I can’t believe this. Soon they will see the
truth. Drip, drip, drip, when will that leak stop? Where are my tools when I
need them, drip, drip, drip. I must stop the leak, drip, drip, drip. I need my
wrench, drip, drip, drip.


Hacksaw's Tech Support

A Texas Biker/ Tech Support Guy and his TALES OF IDIOTS

wow i told a guy.."we must refresh your ip, type in w i n i p c f g...so
spewed coke all over my pc i laughed so hard i about choked
An interesting foreward I recieved from a friend:

Great Lessons

Most Important Question

During my second month of nursing school, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I
was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions, until I read the last

“What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?” Surely this was some kind
of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark haired and in her
50’s, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question

Before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our
quiz grade. “Absolutely,” said the professor. “In you careers you will meet many people.
All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and
say ‘hello’.”

I’ve never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy.

Always Remember Those Who Serve

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10 year old by entered a
hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. “How
much is an ice cream sundae?”

“Fifty cents,” replied the waitress.

The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied a number of coins in it. “How
much is a dish of plain ice cream?” he inquired. Some people were now waiting for a table
and the waitress was a bit impatient.

“Thirty-five cents,” she said brusquely.

The little boy again counted the coins. “I’ll have the plain ice cream,” he said. The
waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy
finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and departed.

When the waitress came back, she began wiping down the table and then swallowed hard
at what she saw. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five
pennies - her tip.

Giving Blood

Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at Stanford Hospital, I got to know
a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare and serious disease. Her only chance
of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had
miraculously survived from the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to
combat the illness.

The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the boy if he
would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment
before taking a deep breath and saying, “Yes, I’ll do it if it will save Liz.”

As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all
did, seeing the color returning to her cheeks. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded.
He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, “Will I start to die right

Being young, the boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to
have to give his sister all of his blood.

I’ve Two Choices

Jeff was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and
always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing,
he would reply, “If I were any better, I would be twins!”

He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him
around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jeff was because of
his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jeff was
there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.

Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jeff and asked
him, “I don’t get it! You can’t be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?”

Jeff replied, “Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Jeff, you have two
choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens,
I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.
Every time someone comes to me complainant, I can choose to accept their complaining
or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.”

“Yeah, right, it’s not that easy,” I protested.

“Yes, it is,” Jeff said. “Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk,
every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how
people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or a bad mood. The
bottom line: It’s your choice how you live life.

I reflected on what Jeff said. Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start
my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice
about life instead of reacting to it.

Several years later, I heard that Jeff did something you are never supposed to do in
a restaurant business: he left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint
by three armed robbers. While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from
nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily,
Jeff was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma center. After 18 hours of
surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jeff was released from the hospital with fragments of
the bullets still in his body.

I saw Jeff about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he
said, “If I was any better, I’d be twins. Wanna see my scars?” I declined to see his
wounds but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place. “The
first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door,” Jeff
replied. “Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose
to live, or I could choose to die. I chose to live.”

“Weren’t you scared? Did you loose consciousness?” I asked.

Jeff continued, “The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to
be fine. But when they wheeled me into the emergency room and I saw the expressions
on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes I read, ‘He’s a
dead man.’ I knew I needed to take action.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Well, there was a big, burly nurse shouting questions at me,” said Jeff. She asked
if I was allergic to anything. “Yes,” I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as
they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, “Bullets!” Over their laughter,
I told them, “I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.”

Jeff lived thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing
attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully. Attitude, after
all, is everything.

Work like you don’t need the money--Love like you’ve never been hurt--Dance like
nobody’s watching.


Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '99.....Wear

If I could offer you only tip for the future, sunscreen
would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have
been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice
has no basis more reliable than my own meandering

I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; Oh
nevermind; you will not understand the power of beauty
of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20
years you'll look back at the photos of yourself and recall
in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay
before you and how fabulous you really looked...

You're not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that
worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra
equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in
your life are apt to be things that never crossed your
worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on
some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing that everyday that scares you.


Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up
with people who are reckless with yours.


Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're
ahead, sometimes you're behind...the race is long, and
in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the
insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank


Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do
with your life... the most interesting people I know didn't
know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some
of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium

Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have
children, maybe you won't, maybe you'll divorce at 40,
maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th
wedding anniversary...

Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much
or berate yourself either- your choices are half chance,
so are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can... don't be
afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it's the
greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance... even if you have nowhere to do it but in your
own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines, they will only make you
feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll
be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the
best link to your past and the people most likely to stick
with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the
precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge
the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older
you get, the more you need the people you knew when
you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes
you hard.

Live in Northern California once, but leave before it
makes you soft.


Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise,
politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when
you do you'll fantasize that when you were young prices
were reasonable, politicians were noble and children
respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you
have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse;
but you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess to much with your hair, or by the time it's 40,
it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with
those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia.
Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the
disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and
recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen...


Winners of the Worst Simile/Metaphor Contest

He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind
because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes
around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse
without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors
and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.

The little boat drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when
you’re on vacation and Jeopardy comes on at 7 pm instead of 7:30.

Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried
in the credits as something like Second Tall Man.

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each
other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 pm traveling at 55 mph, the other
from Topeka at 4:19 pm at a speed of 35 mph.

The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken
during the storm scene in a play.

His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without
Cling Free.

The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola Crayon.


Man: I know two hundred ways to kill a man
Little Boy: You could glue an open jar of rats to his face, then blowtorch the end so the rats have to eat their way out through his face.
Man: Two hundred and one
subtle poetry from the movie fight club

this is your life, good to the last drop.
it doesn't get any better than this.
this is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
this isn't a seminar!
this isn't a weekend retreat.
where you are now, you can't even imagine what the bottom will be like.
only after disaster can we be resurrected.
it's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything.
nothing is static.
everything is evolving.
everything is falling apart.
this is your life.
it doesn't get any better than this.
this is your life.
and it's ending one minute at a time.

you are not a beautiful and unique snowflake
you are the same decaying organic matter as everything else
we are all part of the same compost heap
we are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world

you are not your bank account
you are not the clothes you wear
you are not the contents of your wallet
you are not your bowel cancer
you are not your grande latte
you are not the car you drive

you have to give up
you have to give up
you have to realize that someday you will die
and until you know that
you are useless

i say, let me never be complete
i say, may i never be content
i say, deliver me from swedish furniture
i say, deliver me from clever art
i say, deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth
i say, you have to give up
i say, evolve,
and let the chips fall where they may

this is your life.
it doesn't get any better than this.
this is your life.
and it's ending one minute at a time.

you have to give up.
you have to give up.

i want you to hit me as hard as you can.

welcome to fight club.
if this is your first night
you have to fight.
Once there were three guys traveling in the amazon jungle, when they were captured by a group of natives. The natives said that they were going to kill them and turn their skin into a canoe, but the men could chose how they wanted to die. The first chose a knife, took it, and stabbed himself in the heart and died. The second chose a gun, took it, shot himself in the temple, and died. The third man asked for a fork. "A fork, it'll take you forever to kill yourself with a fork," said the natives. With that the man started stabbing himself all over, screaming DAMN YOU NATIVES AND DAMN YOUR CANOE TOO!!!


Dearest Simone,
I’m a little nervous sending these to you, please don’t get all freaked
out or anything, I don’t want to scare you. I guess I’ve never shown the
subject of any of my poetry what I’ve written about them, it just never
seemed right. Well, anyway, the events in this one never really happened,
but I envisioned you while I was writing it.
You dance within the fading twilight
Fireflies ebb and flow about your body
I smile and watch
A still observer in a sea of motion
You dip and sway in the music of the night
Your silky hair swirls about your face
You smile
And I am bathed in your warmth
With your deep eyes
You beckon me in
But I can only watch
A still observer in a sea of motion

I wrote this one after watching my little niece fall asleep in my arms on
Christmas Eve.
Come gentle sleep
Kiss me with your serenity
Drape your tranquil blanket
Over my weary body
Free me
From this waking torment
Allow me to drift into your ecstasy

Let me sleep

I have many other pieces, but most of them still need some more
revising. When I finally get the finished I might even try and have them
published together, or maybe have a column in a magazine or something.
I’m not quite sure yet.
I realized something yesterday, the more I think about you and
write about you, the less I’m interested in other women. Even the pretty
ones, and even the pretty ones that flirt with me, I’m not even interested
in pursuing them. At first I was worried, I thought I was sick or
something, but then I realized what it was. It was you. You’re the only
one I want to be with.
If all of this seems weird or strange, please tell me, I want to know
how you feel. If you just want to be friends that’s fine, but tell me now
before I get in too deep. It would still hurt, but not as much as it would
if I built up any more hope.
When can I see you again? I want to talk to you. Can I come over
sometime? Please, let’s meet somewhere for dinner, or something, soon.
Dragons on Tricycles,

Dear David,
Let me give you a little bit of background about my past relationships. I had
my heart broken when I was seventeen years old. He was a foreign exchange student
from Spain. We knew that he would have to go away, but at the time it didn’t matter.
We had four beautiful months together, and when he left I was crushed. Eventually I
got over it, and about a year and a half later I met Griffin, and we were together for
over a year. I became fully committed to him, and then I caught him cheating on me
with one of my friends. I guess what I’m getting at is that I don’t want to rush into
anything. David, I care for you deeply, but I don’t want to throw myself into
something I’m not ready for.
I thought your poetry was beautiful. I read them over and over, they show so
much of what’s inside of you, it’s really amazing. When I went to sleep last night I
had Drifting running through my mind, and I felt so peaceful... it was wonderful.
Am I really the one in Twilight? I felt so pretty after I read it, is it really about
me? Even if it’s not, reading it meant a lot to me, and I’m glad you let me read them.
When should we meet? We could spend a day in Minneapolis, then one of us
doesn’t have to drive the entire distance to see the other. We could also have dinner
here, then we wouldn’t have to be around other people. It really doesn’t matter much
to me, as long as I see you soon.

Dear Simone,
I was in the neighborhood yesterday, so I tracked down your
address and I thought I’d stop by your apartment, only it wasn’t your
apartment. You had said that you lived in a renovated industrial
building, but all that was there was a run down townhouse. I walked in,
and it was abandoned. I asked some of the neighbors if I had the right
place, they said that I did, but they had never heard your name before.
What’s going on? Do you have two different addresses? Is the post
office screwing up? Obviously all of my letters are getting to you, but
how? I guess I could have had the wrong place, but I’m almost positive I
was right... I don’t get it.
All that aside, the past few days have been going fairly well for me.
I bought a new pen, a blue marbled Waterman, just the other day. I’m
very particular about my pens, maybe it’s because I write so much. I
really liked the outside of the Waterman, but the ball point cartridge in it
didn’t work very well, I didn’t like it at all. To fix it I cut down an
Optima roller ball refill to fit and used that instead. I was very proud of
I finally took the BAR exam last week, I felt pretty good about it
but we won’t have the results back for another couple of weeks. I took a
leave of absence from my job so I could study for it, I’ll be back to waiting
tables a week from Wednesday, but until then I really don’t have much to
I understand why you don’t want to push things, especially after
what’s happened in the past, and I totally agree. I promise that I won’t
force you into anything you’re not prepared for.
Mark (the bum) and I talked about the future of the human race
today. We both agreed that humankind will eventually destroy itself.
Mark compared it to the Bugs Bunny scene where he and Elmer Fudd go
back and forth, threatening each other with increasingly larger weapons.
He thinks that’s exactly what the world’s governments are doing, but
eventually someone is going to pull the trigger. Once that happens
everyone pulls the trigger, and then everyone dies. It’s a very pessimistic
theory, but it does have some logic behind it.
Anyway, when you write back give me directions to your
apartment, and I’ll be sure to drop by.
Dragons on Tricycles,
David Bishop
PS I have some more poems almost done.
PPS You are the subject of Twilight.

Dear David,
I’m surprised you didn’t find my apartment, are you sure you wrote down my
address right? My building is on the intersection of 1st Avenue and 5th Street,
right on the corner. It’s a big building with Leviathan Manufacturing Co. written
across the front. I have the only second floor apartment, and the key’s in the potted
fern to the left hand side of the door, drop by anytime you want. If I’m not at home
I’m probably at work or across the street in Holsinger Gardens, it’s where I get
away from everything. I go through there almost every day, it gives me a little time to
relax before I have to face the world again. Almost every time I go there I run into
the caretaker, Jerry. If I’m not in a hurry I stop to talk, we usually talk about the
weather or what new flower has bloomed recently. I used to think gardeners got into
the business only because they can’t find any better jobs, but Jerry changed all that.
He was a broker on Wall Street for twelve years, and he made a bundle of money
but he was always stressed out and unhappy. Now he’s doing what he loves and
enjoys every minute of it. I hope I can do that someday, to be able to go to work not
because I need the money, but because I want to go to work.
I’ve reached an impasse with my sculpture, I can’t think of what I should
sculpt. I’ve tried just working clay with my hands to see what develops, but all I end
up with is a bunch of shapeless globs. Maybe what I need is a large sculpture to
work on, something I can put some effort into and work on over a long period of time.
Or maybe not.
How long have you been a writer? I mean, did you start when you were young
or is it just a resent hobby of yours? Well, I guess I should get to work, stop by
sometime, and I’ll see you soon.
PS Be sure to send me your poetry as you finish it.
I don't think there are many things more enjoyable for a writer than writing a new piece of prose or poetry with a truly good pen.


I finially came to my senses about somthing today. Don't you love it when that happens...when it feels like someone has taken off your blinders and your finially free to take a look around and see what's happening? That's how I feel today. Goody goody.


A couple of days ago a friend and I were sitting around, and out of the blue he said, "You know what would be strange? A house made entirely out of wicker." It struck me as an odd comment, but I found myself thinking about it throughout the day. It would be a huge fire hazard, I think wicker is fairly flammable. It would also be extremely hard to heat. It may not be all that private eiather. I think that it's because of these reasons we don't see many wicker houses.


A house made out of wicker would be very flammable. It would also be fairly...revealing.


Morning At the Sportsman's Cafe

Today is July 18, 2000. It is 4:57 AM and I am standing in front of my bathroom mirror.
Why would a lazy high school student such as myself wake up at such an un-Godly hour
in the middle of the summer? The answer is simple: girls. Essentially, they are the sole
reason that I do most things. Sometimes the connection isn’t obvious. But the connection
is there. For example, the reason I am awake is that I must be at the Sportsman’s Cafe at
5:30 AM to open at 6 AM. I have to get there on time so I can be paid. I want to get
paid so I can buy things, like gas for my car. I want gas for my car so it can move. I want
my car to move so it can get me to girls. Waking up early = getting to girls. The
connection is there if you look for it.
The Sportsman’s Cafe is the gathering place for the over sixty five crowd in town.
Most of the patrons are regulars, we see them more than two or three times a week. Then
we have the true regulars, who we see more than two or three times a day. The cafe itself
is typical of it’s kind, with animal mountings hanging on the wall and a constant smell of
old cigarette smoke and frying grease. Now, you may ask, why would a bright kid such as
myself want to be a waiter in such a hole? The answer to this question is simple as well: it
beats the available alternatives. This is a small town, and the career choices for a sixteen
year old are basically limited to working at a restaurant or bagging groceries at the
supermarket. Being a waiter makes the most sense; why work for minimum wage when
you can work for minimum wage plus tips?
The work isn’t all that bad anyway, the main downside is that I smell like smoke
and grease every time I walk out of the place. Then of course, there’s working with
Mary. I swear, I think she is the missing link. First there were the apes, and later there
were the humans, and in between...Mary. No one wants to work with her and no one
wants to be served by her. She never smiles, and she walks around like something straight
off Planet of the Apes, huge puffy mouth and all. She is lazy, rude to the patrons, and
downright disagreeable. She also has some of the ugliest children on the planet, who I see
on a daily basis as they come into the cafe asking for money. I get to look foreword to
seeing Mary and her ugly kids almost every day of the week.
All this, just for girls.


It’s too bad you can’t come with us, we would have had fun. About your
friend Eric, do you think he would be willing to help me with my art, or at least give
me a few tips? It feels like I have all this ambition but I don’t know what to do with
it. I’ve thought up a few ideas for sculptures, but I don’t know how to make them
look like I want them to when I finally get around to working with the clay.
It took me so long to get up this morning; I woke up late and just dozed away
the hours. I have a bunch of errands I still have to run, but it was just so nice to lie
there, thinking. I let my mind wander for what seemed like hours, jumping from one
idea to another. When I dozed I had some strange dreams too, I think one of them
included a pirate, but I don’t remember exactly. I thought about you a lot, and about
what you said about art and your stories about Mark and Eric. About Mark, it’s
strange how interesting some people can be if you just sit down and talk to them.
Some friends of mine came over a few days ago for a party. Things were
going well until Jenny and her boyfriend Nick walked out the door. She’s been
dating him for almost a year now, but I never have liked the relationship. He’s so
committed to his job that he hardly ever has time for her. Then when he does have the
time it seems like she has to plead him to do things with her. It’s a very one-sided
relationship. Anyway, he was going to drive her home, but ten minutes later she
walked back in the door, sobbing. He dumped her, and he dumped her hard. He
didn’t even show any emotion, he just said that they were too different and that it
wasn’t going to work out. She sat in the car crying, and he just stared straight ahead.
I guess he always thought that if you ignore the problem it’ll go away. All of us
knew it was going to end sooner or later, but it didn’t have to end like this. She
collapsed on my kitchen floor, shivering. Everyone knelt around her, we brought
blankets and pillows and made a little nest for her. I just knelt down and cried with
her. Luckily, I had enough ice cream and chocolate, and the eight or ten of us tried to
cheer her up. All of us went between crying and laughing for hours, talking about
how much of a jerk Nick is and how she deserves better. She didn’t want to go home
that night, se we all stayed at my house and called in sick to work the next morning.
By daybreak she was better, and I think she’ll be back to normal in no time. She
took a tough hit, but she’s a fighter, she won’t let it get her down. But at any rate,
that’s my big news; the best break up party ever (which isn’t really a great title once
you think about it...)
I should probably get to work, the errands are piling up as I write this. Take
care of yourself, and write back as soon as you get this. My best days are the ones
when I get a letter from you.


I’ve been writing a lot more lately, it seems like I’m on an
inspirational high. It’s been poetry mostly, all free verse. I’ve written off
and on for awhile now, I have quite a collection of good and bad poems.
I’ve even had a few of them published, but I’ll never make a living out of it
or anything. I even wrote a few about you. I’ll send them to you if you’d
like to read them. If you don’t I understand, but I thought I’d offer. I
gave Eric your address, he said he would send you some sculpting ideas
when he can. When I talked to him about you, he asked me what kind of
relationship we have, and I couldn’t really answer him. What kind of
relationship do we have? Obviously we’re not dating, although I really
would like to. Maybe it’s just a relationship you can’t put a label on, I’m
not sure.
When can I see you again? I’ll drive to you, if you tell me where you
live. I’d just really like to talk to you again.
I went walking late last night, it must have been about 3am. I
woke up because of something or another, but then I just couldn’t get
back to sleep. All of these thoughts kept running through my head. I
thought of all these things I want to do, and all of the things that we
could do together. I even ended up making a list of all the states I’ve ever
traveled to. I finally gave up trying to sleep, threw on some clothes, and
stepped outside. This town is so calm at night. It had rained, and the
streets still shone from the water. The last few drunks were clearing the
sidewalks and everything had this pleasant, summer night warmth.
Everything seemed so soft and warm... it was beautiful.
Dragons on Tricycles,
David Bishop

I would love to read your poetry, please send some to me. I don’t like poetry
in books that much, it’s hard to hear the poet’s voice. If I know the author or if I can
meet him, it all becomes so much more intimate. I guess I’m especially interested in
the ones you wrote about me, what are they like? Back in High School one of my
friends tried to be a songwriter, boy was he bad. He had this big book of bad songs
that he could never get anyone to play or sing. Eventually he got the idea and
gradually quit, but for awhile there he thought he was about to be the next Bob
Dylan. We still give him some grief about it every now and then.
About us, I don’t know what we are. I wish we could do something together,
just to see you again. I wish I could say where we’re at in our relationship, but I
can’t define it very well either.
I finished another book yesterday, it was a novel about an English colony in
Central Africa and how they struggled to gain a foothold in the area. I don’t read
very much these days, but if I get into a good book I can’t think about much else. I
especially liked how this one described the environment so well, it made you feel like
you were in the depths of Africa, baking in the heat. Good writing has a lot of power
in that respect, making you see a place you’ve never been to before.
Well, I really should try to get some sleep tonight (unlike you and your
midnight wanderings). Send some of your writing soon, I can’t wait to hear from you


stories of my death are greatly inaccurate


Do you think it’s possible to have the wrong feelings? I mean, to
feel things that you shouldn’t be feeling, but they’re still there anyway?
I’ve been puzzling over that one for the past few days, I want to know
your opinion on the matter. I kind of think that the heart feels what it
feels, and the mind decides what’s right or wrong. One part can’t have
much of and influence on the other, but they both play big parts in your
life. Any way you look at it, the heart wants what it wants.
I’ve been going to the same newsstand for the past two years. It’s
between my parking lot and my house, and I’ve bought a paper there
almost every day for the past two years. Yesterday it was closed. Jeff,
the guy that owns it, didn’t say anything unusual before, but yesterday
the doors were locked tight; no note, no nothing. I thought maybe he was
just sick, but it was locked up today too. Maybe he just took a vacation or
something, but you’d think he would tell everyone about it. I guess some
people don’t seem very important until they’re not there anymore.
About the play, I don’t think I can be there. I want to try and
make it, but we’re having a family reunion on the 15th in Duluth, it’s
kind of an annual affair. Everyone stays at my uncle’s cabin for the
weekend. I’m sorry I can’t make it.

Dragons on Tricycles,

Dear David,
I ran into Jenny the other day, and she invited the two of us to a Christian
music festival down in Wilmar. They’ll have over 45 bands on three stages over a
three day weekend. We’ve gone almost every year since we were fourteen, and Jenny
wanted to meet you, so she wants you to come along also. Could you meet us there?
The dates are July 15th, 26th, and 27th. We’ll be camping in tents on the concert
grounds, we can decide where to meet when we need to. Can you come?
I was thinking about how important music is to me today. Whenever I get
home I always turn on the radio or throw in a CD, it’s just second nature now. I
always keep an eye out for new record releases or fresh mixes. I dunno, maybe it’s an
obsession, but at least it’s a healthy one.
I’m trying to get into sculpting again, I picked up some red clay from the art
shop, it’s firing temperature is only about 500 degrees so I’ll be able to fire it at
home. Now my only problem is that I’m not sure what I want to sculpt. I’m feeling
flowy-ish, maybe I’ll try something to do with water, but I’m not sure.
It’s been raining here for the past few days, maybe that’s why I’m feeling
flowy-ish. Rain drags most people down, but I like it. It makes everything feel so
fresh and clean. Yesterday Artimis and I went running and splashing through the
puddles. Some people looked at us like we were crazy, but I still enjoyed it. Today
my shoes and my dog smell funny, but it was well worth it. It reminded me of how I
played in the puddles when I was a little girl.
Well David, I hope to hear from you again soon, and I hope we’ll see you in

Dearest Simone,
The music fest sounds fun, but I’m afraid I can’t make it (I really
haven’t been having very good luck with these scheduling things). My
parents and I have a sailboat rented for that weekend up in the Apostle
Islands. They wanted to spend a week swimming and sailing with some
of the family. Sorry.
I know what you mean about the importance of music; I think
songs are just a part of us. Music is part of just being human, it’s part
of our nature. If you look at the cultures of the world, every one of them
has music in it; it’s part of who we are.
It’s great that you’re getting into sculpture, Eric and I were just
talking about sculpting. We decided that some sculptors and artists try
too hard to recreate reality. We thought that artists should try to reflect
life, but they don’t necessarily have to copy it. If you can create a
sculpture that reminds someone of an object or makes them think of a
part in their own life, than you’ve accomplished everything you can. On
the other hand, if the sculpture is so abstract that it doesn’t remind them
of anything, then it has no purpose.
I ran into Marcus in the park again today. Mark’s a bum that lives
around my block, a grimy little man who’s usually dressed too heavily for
the weather. I’ve known him for awhile now, he usually camps out on my
usual park bench. I sat next to him for a long time before I finally talked
to him though. I was sitting next to him one day, eating my lunch, when
he said, “I’ll bet that young woman is quite the slut.” “Excuse me?” I
said. “I said, I’ll bet that young woman is quite the slut,” he replied,
pointing to a scantly clad woman walking down the path. “She probably
has problems with her self esteem too,” he continued, “why else would she
wear something like that?” “Have we met?” I asked. He introduced
himself as Mark.
We sat there for the rest of my lunch hour, making up stories about
all of the people that walked by us. I’ve returned to that bench on many
more occasions, and Mark’s always there to share a joke, a story, or a part
of my sandwich. Then, one day, he was gone. I had to eat alone for
almost a week. Today he was back. As things turned out, he was
arrested for trespassing after sleeping in a woman’s garage the night
before. It sounded like he didn’t mind jail that much, and the meals were
good, but he didn’t plan on going back anytime soon. I was glad he felt
that way, I didn’t like eating my lunches on my own.
I guess that’s all the storytelling I have in me today, write back
when you can, and I hope we can see each other soon.

Dragons on Tricycles,
David Bishop


If dolphins are as smart as everyone thinks they are they wouldn't be getting caught in tuna nets.


Dear Simone,
I’ve always thought my friends and family are the most important
things in my life. My best friends are Eric and Zoë. I’ve known Zoë since
kindergarten and I met Eric my first year in high school. Zoë is easily the
most interesting person I know. She’s working for a phone sex agency to
get through college, but eventually she wants to be a clothing designer.
Her parents don’t know about it though, they think she’s a telemarketer.
For years we’ve been going on our “adventures.” At any point in time
during any given day, one of us will show up and take the other
somewhere to do something. Sometimes we’ll go on a picnic or we’ll head
off to race go carts. It keeps things interesting. I can always loosen up
when I’m with Zoë, she’s fun that way. Eric has been my best friend
since H.S. He’s a natural born artist, always has been. He’s in his seventh
year of college and is a couple credits away from two or three majors, but
apparently he just likes college. Luckily, his parents have more than
enough money to keep him there. He’s been looking into being an
advertising designer, but you can never tell what he’ll end up doing
eventually (apart from bumming around the campus coffee house, that
As for my family, I’m an only child, and for the most part I’m a
perfect compromise between my parents. For example, my mother is
messy, dropping things where she last uses them, and my father thinks
there’s a place for everything and everything should be in it’s place. My
mom is always late and my dad always early, but I’m usually on time.
My father works as a defense attorney for the state, and my mom is a
college professor in the English department of Carrolton. They are both
thinking of retirement, now that I’m almost out of school. They are in
the process of selling our house and moving up to our lake cabin, it’s a
plan that’s been in the works for years. We bought the cabin back when I
was ten years old. It’s up on Long Lake, and we’ve been going up there
almost every weekend since we bought it. You should come up sometime, I
still go up there every now and then. I guess that’s all for today, I hope
I’ll hear from you soon.

Dragons on Tricycles,
David Bishop

I’m happy to say that I have another pleasant party experience to report to
you. I was at a company gathering a couple days ago and I talked to a couple women
that I’d seen before but never really talked to, Jenna Timmer and Jamie Morris.
Outside the house there was a bonfire, we sat around it and talked for hours.
Actually, the entire conversation started with a hypothetical question, Jenna asked the
two of us “If everyone you know died right now but one person survives, who would
you want to live?” It struck me as an odd question, but I answered it anyway.
After that we talked about all kinds of things, different bands, relationships, and all
sorts of made up situations. Eventually they asked if I wanted to go to a production
of McBeth down in Minneapolis. They said they had two extra tickets, and wanted
to know if I wanted to go along. I told the two of them about you, and they invited
you as well. How about it? I think that it’d be fun, and I’d be able to see you
again. Can you come? The tickets are for July 15th. I hope you can come.
Today I finished the book I’ve been reading, The World According to
Garp. It was surprising, I really liked it. In the beginning I didn’t think I would,
but I ended up really enjoying it. It’s a fairly long book and a lot of things happen in
it, but it moved fast enough to keep me interested. I would explain more but if you do
end up reading it I don’t want to spoil it.
I saw the most beautiful thing this morning. I was out roller-blading with
Artimis in the park, and a man was playing with his son. They were in the middle of
some game or another, when they started laughing and wrestling. He held his sun up
to the sky, and he looked like the proudest man alive. I thought about it all day, and
I started to paint the scene tonight. I’m going slow, but I want to get this one right.
I guess I’d better get back to my painting.

PS What kind of work does Eric do? Did he take any classes when he was
starting out?