I am not one of those bah hum bug types that dreads this time of year. For me, Christmas is, and has always been, all about my family; people who I am happy to say I am rather fond of and very attached to.

Yes, I am very much a family girl. Paradoxically, I always tend to live extremely far away from them. I returned from five years in Turkey only to haul ass across the entire expanse of the nation to Oregon. One would think I were making some sort of statement. It’s not the case. It’s just how my hand has played out.

The downside to this is that my one vacation of the year is usually spent flying home for Christmas. I don’t have to go into the headaches of flying during the holidays, or the additional expense of flying that time of year. But I will throw in the added crap fest of flying into a snowy place at that time of year and the flight delays and wing de-icings and emergency road closures. You know, just because I can.

In my entire life, I have only ever spent two Christmases away from my family.

The first was the year I was married (so so long ago!). Having gotten hitched and moved across the country, we were just too busted to fly home. We decided to drive out to Salt Lake City to spend the holiday with my sister in law, who was in similar financial straits that year.

Unfortunately, Salt Lake City freaked me the heck out. So white! So tidy! Everything closes at 6! The Temple is an ever present shadow! The beer is so weak!

We gave it a go. Honestly, we did our best. But I called home and whilst listening to the drunken merriment on the other end of the phone, proceeded to unravel entirely and curl into fetal position to cry myself stupid. It was a dark moment.

The last time I didn’t go home also involved a lack of funds: my first year in Turkey. I cannot tell you how incredibly pathetic it felt to be living in a country that didn’t even celebrate the holiday I would be missing so much. At first I thought the lack of Christmas-related ephemera would be advantageous. It only added to the sense of dislocation and alienation that I felt. I remember thinking that I was now living in a country in which one of the major celebrations involved the slaughtering of animals. It was another dark moment.

I won’t be going home this year. Again, it’s a matter of funds and the lack thereof. But I’ve made peace with all of this and am determined to do my best to make the most of what I do have ( an absolutely lovely man, two sweet kitties and a cozy home) and be happy for the people I love back home. I will miss them. I will yearn to be there. But I am determined not to fall apart and sob big baby tears.

I may even succeed!

She & Him – ‘The Christmas Waltz’

-

for Christmas, you should do something nice for yourself and join the ‘T w T’ Facebook page.

-

well, thanks, little nephew of mine.

it’s been a helluva year, since my last birthday…

let’s see:

- Josie and I spent my 34th cruising on Absurdity in the South of England, if you learn to sail, you can have her [boat].

- after that, I went to go see Nico [he'll be a quasi-uncle to you] in Paris and had the time in Paris that everyone wants.

- but I got into a little bit of trouble with the U.K. government, and had 30 days to leave.

- so, naturally, I dragged Josie to Vietnam. to live.

- we stayed there for a few months, but ended up going our separate ways. she to Australia to work. me to Oregon to finish a book.

- a few months into my stay in Bend, I finally got to meet you. and that very day, I started writing another book.

- a month of so after that, I flew to Perth to see Josie for her birthday. we took a campervan around wine country. it was fun.

- a few months later, I left Bend for a month in Oklahoma and the promotional run of the book would be released. it sold out.

- a few weeks after that, I got the call that I never thought I’d get – I was about to take a job in New York fuckin City! I’ve now been here a little more than 4 months and it’s been amazing. I’ve been sending you little postcards and stuff, hopefully one day you’ll be able to check them out.

- my birthday was spent with a lot of friends. which, considering how short I’ve been here, should tell you how lucky I am.

… so there you go, nephew – it’s been a fun 34th year. you just started walking and by the time my 36th [ugh] rolls around, you might even be able to talk with me on the phone a little bit. a lot of your and my birthdays will be spent on the phone, but I’ll try and make that up to you.

so, thanks for the card and the cheeky little grin. I showed this to a lot of people here and they all thought you were amazing.

and I think so too.

love,

Uncle Aric

fuck me, I’m drunk. most nights, it’s a nice drunk – a controlled drunk. I know how much I can drink by now, but I wasn’t expecting a late night call from yesterday. I was happily having my cigarette in the backyard of my Brooklyn residence and I get a call. it was a call, but all I remember was a laugh, a laugh that immediately brought back the nostalgia of a decade ago. were we really such assholes? so sure we were meant to make a difference that we would take too many percocet and cry – embraced – over the fact that we had done nothing for the kids? I have no idea what we were meant to do for the kids, seeing how we were them, but we were heartbroken nonetheless. it was so long ago, but not too long ago that we had big dreams – of being pilots and weathermen and whatever the fuck I thought I was going to be… we had big dreams and we were inseparable because of them. I just had to spell check ‘inseparable’ because I’ve had too much wine. I don’t usually have too much wine, because I know my limit, but tonight, after talks of airport legalities and Mexican moped rules, I had to pour another drink. I had to because too much happened during those 3 or 4 years we were inseparable [fuck me, that's a hard word to spell]. we fought, too – once, funnily enough, because I didn’t know the meaning of a word one of them called me. I had to fight because I didn’t understand the word. we fought outside of the apartment I would be kicked out of because I spent all of my money on drugs and then, we’d Delta Force into the apartment building to try and get my golf clubs. fuck me, we were going to be big. I suppose we ended up that way, one flying planes, the other on television and me writing some book, but that laugh said it all, didn’t it? that laugh told me that we still remembered each other with big dreams. maybe that’s why we got along. there were too many pills and too many nights in the hottub to remember exactly, but we know there were nights. fuck! what was that word you called me? it pissed me off so much, I had to shove you up against the wall… you walked away and 30 seconds later, I had to run after you because I was sorry. borrowed phones, ruined ice cream sandwiches, shaved legs and arm wallets. can we get the band back together once more to remember the innocence? probably not, because there wasn’t a lot of innocence. but I heard the laugh and it was a laugh of someone who knew me before the bullshit, and I knew him. and somewhere, probably asleep, was someone else who could testify. if I wasn’t drunk, I could find a photo, but fuck… I am. and I won’t say ‘I’m sorry’ because I opened up that bottle of wine for innocent’s sake. I opened it up because I remembered someone who remembered me before it all became so serious. we did it, we did something, between the three of us, we did something. we’re still assholes, but at least we did something.  I needed that phone call today, I wrote, it was good for my soul. at this age, when memories are more of a conversation piece than something to make, I needed it. I needed it because I needed to be reminded of being a punk kid, with two punk kid pals. we were ready to set the world on fire, and we accidentally did. I forgot about my 22-year old laugh.

if you’ve ever wanted to drive me nuts – I mean, nuts – say something like ‘remind me to tell you something later’. I’m serious, that phrase alone, or one like it, does my head. I go crazy trying to figure out what it was, or what I’ve done wrong. same goes for me, I can’t keep my own secrets – even at Christmas, my parents have to buy presents for everyone else from me, less I end up telling them early what’s in the box.

it’s bad.

in fact, it’s so bad that I can’t even not come clean about the book I’ve started.

the other one is almost done, due early April, so please buy it – my self-validation is still dangerously in the balance.

but this one, this is one I kind of feel I was meant to write – as upmyownass as that might sound. but it’s true and I can’t keep a secret any more.

see, the birth of my nephew affected me so profoundly, I knew something special was happening. and then, this past Christmas, where I finally got to see him in real life, well, it became very, very clear to what my magnum opus was to be.

it’s called ‘dear nephew’ and, due to a certain amount of adult content, it’ll be given to him on his 18th birthday. with each place that I travel, with each fascinating person I meet, with every experience that shapes me and with each mistake I make, I’m writing it down in letter form to him. and, a quick look back on my first year of his first year on this earth will tell you I’m not with lack of content – be it for destinations or screw-ups.

and the best part is that I’m writing it to him and only him. in this last book, I wrote to an audience of friends, but this one is simply uncle-to-nephew… and I’ve never been more excited to write something. granted, I get to spend most of the chapter talking about myself, but in all honesty, ‘me’ is probably the only thing that will hold my written-attention for the next two decades.

and who knows? maybe that’s why I’m here – not just to live it, but to write it down for someone I love.

it’s somethin’ to help me cut back on the whiskey nights and chemical sunrises, that’s for sure.

I had a rather exciting year.

and, as of last Sunday, have spent this past 12 months literally around-the-world.

if this is your first time here, I feel the need to preface this with sure, from the surface, I might come across as an adventurer, which is great – no one hates being called an adventurer… and I do love a good adventure, but if you’ll take the time to read the stories and not just look at the pictures, you’ll see how surrounded I am with very generous, very kind and very tall people who let me stand on their shoulders to see The Big Show…even if that means that they’ll miss it.

and therein lies my gold.

but yeah, 2010…

sheesh.

-

• a year ago today, I was doing a little work with the [re]think:hawaii crew out in Honolulu.
• I used the money from that to head off again, stopping home in Tulsa, OK to revisit what I missed so much about it.
• from there to Philadelphia, spending Thanksgiving with some of my favorite [and funniest!] people at The Clovis Household. it was also my first time to the Eastern State Penitentiary, a now-new favorite.
• took the gorgeous train ride up to Boston where I got to spend a few short days in the presence of my favorite writer, Adam Cohn.
• and then finishing off in NYC, with too much fun. as usually happens in NYC with good people.
• another trans-Atlantic flight back to the UK for a few days and then to Berlin for Christmas. and I cannot tell you how much at least one Christmas be spent in Berlin.
• having never been to Turkey, I went to Turkey.
• tried twice to get into Syria. and highly, highly suggest it.
• ran out of money… again. and asked for help… again. and wouldn’t you know, I made enough to get me to where I wanted to go.
• which took me to Beirut – any texture-loving photographer’s dream.
• a quick stop in Israel to see an old friend. and an old friend.
• finally got to see and experience Petra. and could have stayed a week. jaw-dropping.
• and then had a second idea of how to do what I want to do.
• made it to Egypt. didn’t really like Egypt. except for one neighborhood cafe – which made up for everything else. I would wait for a week in talks with National Geographic about my idea. but in the end, it fell through. which sucked. and so…
• I packed up for Africa. but I wasn’t ready for Africa, and had to, at the age of 33, phone Mom and beg for money to fly out, as the Embassy in Ethiopia suggested I do.
• somehow, I ended up back in England. in a gorgeous three-story house on the coast. all by myself. got drunk on St. Patty’s and used the money I had earned – money that was supposed to get me back to America – to buy a boat. spent the summer trying to convince myself I could sail, and usually failing miserably. if it hadn’t been for Nick, I’d have given up.
• got myself a nephew, and he changed my life.
• lost an old friend.
• made a new one.
• met a redheaded Canuck and fell in love.
• and then lost another friend.
• got flown to Venice to photograph a wedding.
• then spent a week in Paris with a few besties – and had the experience everyone hopes for.
• was barely allowed back into England.
• and then convinced the pretty to move with me to Vietnam. things worked out fine there, jobs were had and stability was something reoccurring, but she needed a beach and I the mountains – both of us missing friends. so she left for Australia. and I for my extended-family in Oregon. give me a few drinks and I’ll say it was nice to halt a relationship on such good terms, but then give me a few more and I’ll tell you how much it blows.
• so now I sit in the middle of Oregon – between a theatre room and a chicken coop. there’s a light snow outside and some strong coffee in. I’m a few months away from being able to print a novel – one that’ll hopefully take me back to England next spring for The Big Trip on the little red boat.

-

14 countries.

32, 168 miles.

and many more highlights that I’m sure are being forgotten.

-

it was a good year, as was the last. and the one before that.

but, as stated, if you look closely, you’ll see that I had very, very little to do with it.

I live between a theatre room and a chicken coop. there’s really no other way of describing it.

-

4 days ago, I was stabbing my way through the streets of Saigon on a motorbike. and now I’m here, between a theatre room and a chicken coop. in Bend, Oregon.

jet-lag takes great pride in smacking me. what was it Spalding Gray said?  ’I refer to jet lag as ‘jet-psychosis’ — there’s an old saying that the spirit cannot move faster than a camel.’ and I’m feelin’ it, lemme tell you. if I hadn’t had torn down all the mirrors one night in a friend’s apartment and then stood in front of them whilst pissing myself asking ‘what is the matter with you?’, I’d be tempted to drop an Ambien and wake up refreshed – but does anyone feel bad for me?

you shouldn’t, as I’ve only described a small part of the new chapter.

I’m with two of my best friends - no, hang on, I use ‘best friend’ term a lot and, while I mean it when I say it, the two people I’m living with are so far beyond that – they’re family. so I’m living with two extended members of my family in the most ridiculous house I’ve ever set foot in – my room’s location should be an indicator of that. walk out past the theatre room and there’s a fully-stocked bar. to the left is an old arcade game that plays all the old arcade games. and then there’s a breakfast nook where I’m sitting as we speak. behind me is a view that I’m actually holding off on photographing until it’s absolutely clear, just so you can understand the ridiculousness of it.

okay, no – I at least have to show you what it looks like from the balcony at 7 in the morning.

so yes, I left Ho Chi Minh. it was fine and I was making money and 6 months there would have made me more than enough for the big sailing trip next year, but one night, Josie and I had a wonderful grown-up talk about her not really liking it there and, while we were fine – more than fine, actually, we were really good – there’s no substitute for happiness in the place where you are personally and I cherish finally being of the mental maturity to not take something like that personally. she’s doing a great job of documenting her own journey and I highly suggest you delve into it a little.

she left for a beach and I left for some cold mountain air. the book is the priority as it’s going to pay for my little trip – more on that in a bit as well.

but if we’re going to talk book, then I should mention something that’s been a huge catalyst for my constant revisions of this little memoir I’m penning. see, ever since I was given a nephew, I’ve started realizing who, and what, is important… and it’s him. and while Uncle Aric might have been able to sell 1000 more copies of the book if he left in the original amount of drugs and sex, 1000 copies is nothing when you consider his parents might [rightfully so] not want him to read it. so it’s being cleaned up and I can’t wait – mom and dad will be happy with that. as will some of you.

does this make any sense, this entry? it kind of does to me, but I’m also walking under water right now, what with living in the mountains, being surrounded by people I love, and people who love me, and mircobrews that would make even a non-drinker weep.

so yeah, I’m all over the place.

but the more I write about it, the less I think it’s jet lag.

in fact, I’m sure it’s not jet lag.

my body is just experiencing another vicious case of fortune.

someday I’ll say

and then try to explain everything that went on.

but it’s not today.

I can’t write that well.

fortunately, my man Nico was taking a few photos.

none of the 4am bike rides through the quiet streets of Paris

both of us in tears - some for a friend, and some for the bikes.

the most unfortunate accordion player is just a blur

as was his switching from Edith Piaf to Radiohead without missing a note.

earlier macaroons

and even earlier petanque.

so you get the pictures.

and can fill in the blanks as you go.

because, well, that’s basically what we’re doing.

aric

-

Every now and again, we all earn the right to just blow it out.  This feeling can erupt suddenly or it can be a creepy sneaky thing that pokes its head around the corner and retreats, only to come back when you least expect it.  When we feel as though a little celebration might be in order, it’s important to first recognize how beautiful that feels; that piece of knowing.  It’s a something that deserves to be savored because it encompasses so many things.  Maybe it’s a lot of hard work that you’ve put into a project.  It could be that a lot of sacrifices you have made to some end have finally produced fruit.  It may well be the satisfaction that one feels when they understand with absolute certainty that they “finally get it.”

Epiphanies are surely as good a reason for a little celebrating as anything else.

When I was home for Christmas, my father tried to have one of his words-of-wisdom talks with me.  This usually happens about every five years or when I seem to have fallen off track a bit too much for his comfort.

What he said to me this time around was that his greatest wish for me was that I could take some time just for myself to think about what I wanted out of life and not allow someone else to dictate the direction in which I moved (literally and figuratively).  I knew what he was saying, of course, and it hit me like a ton of bricks, but instead of reacting like an adult who appreciates the knowledge and love of her father, I got overly emotional and acted as though I had missed the point entirely.  And my dad is a pretty typical guy in that once the waterworks start, all bets are off.  He backed away and we rode in silence until the subject had dissolved into the air.

I’ve just recently come to the realization that I am presently doing exactly what my father suggested that I do for myself.  Not only do I have the luxury of time for self reflection (in my currently unemployed state), but I have the benefit of people in my life with whom I can relate these discoveries and victories.

The long and the short of it is that I am feeling pretty darn good about myself these days. I am beginning to feel validation about my most recent life choice to give up the comforts of life abroad to come home and start from Square One.  It took a lot of courage, but courage I have always had in spades.  What feels so glorious about now is the fact that everything seems to be falling into place for me and I have a sense of harmony that I may never have truly known before.  Years of crying and struggling and confusion and paying my dues in ways I never imagined have all apparently paid off.

The Head and The Heart – ‘For The First Time It Sounds Like Hallelujah’

this is the sad story of a boat gone too soon.

christened ‘scuffboat’, the name coming from the neglected home she came from – abused. cast aside. abandoned. if boat-abuse was a movement, this poor soul would have been pictured on a print ad in the rain, with a soft ‘why???’ as a caption at the bottom followed by a toll-free number. she was basically given to us for free [read: given to us for free]. it wasn’t a good place she came from.

but that all changed when we adopted her. told her she was special and different from other dinghys. and I think she even believed us. we cleaned her up, put some wood on the side and her dirty bottom and voila! a new boat arose from the ashes of a hard English Winter. she was the first boat to take me to my bigger boat. a family of misplaced orphans we were. I took her out when I was blue and she nicely tipped over to make me realize just how important things like ‘getting wet’, ‘being broke’ and ‘falling out of love’ were.

she knew.

and she didn’t deserve to… well, see, this is where it gets hard. not emotionally – I mean, yes, emotionally, but hard in the sense of I don’t exactly know what happened to her.

I lost her.

as in – I lost a boat.

thought my boarding the wrong plane was impressive? yeah – me too.

but, well… she’s gone.

I tied her up one day out on the mooring to go sailing and decided to – seeing how some bad weather was on the way –  tie up next to the boatyard – one of my favorite places in England. came back the next day and headed back out the next morning.

there was no scuffboat. no ropes. nothing.

some say she blew away.

other’s say she sank.

I prefer to think she, like the rest of her family, fancied an adventure.

and went to have one.

or, that’s what I’ll tell myself.

-

there’s a new tender now.

‘scuffboat II – the revenge’

we lover her. a good boat. could possibly be even better…

but, much like The Godfather Part I and II – even though the latter might be a better film, you can still never like it more.

the eldest sibling in me would like to assume this is how the birth-order works as well.

and this is not the first scuffboat.

that’s why my mentor has a more solemn look in the second photo.

shit got real.

such is our predicament.

-

Nick bought me a big book of knot-tying the other day… I tried not to take offense.

]]> http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/07/r-i-p-s-b/feed/ 4 http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/07/trippin/ http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/07/trippin/#comments Thu, 08 Jul 2010 10:41:47 +0000 admin http://www.aricwithana.com/?p=2205

I have lots to catch-up on. lots, I tell ya. stories of Venice. stories of England. loads of interviews for the friday cinco. life. grubcrawling™. the-girl-with-the-great-name. and how I managed to lose a boat.

but all I can think about is the big trip. if I believed in writing in capital letters, the big trip would be capitalized. it’s going to be a very, very big trip.

now, yes. any scan through this little site of my hopes-and-dreams and what happens when I plan will tell you it ain’t gonna end up like this – but keep in mind, that was before. I was young. misguided. unaware. without direction. and without boat.

at least now I have a boat.

see, this time next year, I’ll be a few months into the big trip [seriously, feel free to capitalize it in your mind]. and brother, what a trip it will be.

can I at least list the highlights?

thanks.

may-ish, we take off – I say ‘we’ because I’ll be following Mel-and-Nick’s journey. pretty much crashing their party. but hey, when you squat in their homes for the better part of a decade, what’s one more annoyance? they did front me the money for the boat – it’s the least I can do to thank them.

okay, yes – the path. the plan. the Bi… ah, see how excited I am? damn near went against all of my grammatical beliefs there.

the big trip.

[may-ish. but I've said that. I'm on fire.]

- leave the UK for France [Mt. St. Michel - maybe?! have been trying for years]; spend a month or so making our way down the coast to…

- the Bay of Biscay; hopefully stopping in/around San Sebastian, which is one of my favorite cities in the world.

- from there, it’s down around to Portugal, where hopefully someone can tell me what my tattoo means.

- and then across to The Azores. I’d never even heard of these islands before, but the fact that a large number of ‘scholars’ think it to be part of Atlantis is enough for me. and they’re gorgeous.

- then, the second-to-longest stretch, down to The Canaries. have a peek. good stuff.

- Mel and Nick will stay here for a few months, I’m going to grab a flight [not a sail, mind you - have been warned] to Morocco for a month or so.

- …and then. the Atlantic Crossing. 40+ days at sea*. just me and my little red boat.

- ending up in The Caribbean. not sure exactly where, but I’m not fussy when it comes to The Caribbean.

… and that’s it, the big trip. the very big trip. should be about 13-15 months in total. a lot needs to be done by then, saving some pennies [shockingly cheap, when you consider everything - 6 grand for the whole year], fixing up the boat [she's getting prettier by the day. except for the day when I had her tied up against a big stone wall and a storm came and slapped her around. but we're not talking about my negligent parenting right now]. and oh yeah, learning how to properly sail. I’m slowly getting better at that as well… slowly.

so – I leave the U.K. around the middle of September. head home for a few weeks to see the fam and my brand-new nephew. and then back to Oregon, as I miss my closest friends, the O’Sisneys. and they’re going to speak to the entire city about finding me some work. this is also the time when the book will be completed [tired of hearing that? me too. thus - a real deadline. more on that in a bit]. I’ll stay there until late winter/early spring, when I’ll come back here and have a few months to work on Absurdity and then…

well…

away we go.

-

*I could talk ad nauseum about how much a 40-day solo voyage excites me. in all seriousness, there’s not a lot of sailing, per say, going on. the Trade Winds blow you and, funnily enough, the people I’ve spoken to who’ve done the trip say ‘boredom’ is the biggest challenge. that, and having to wake up every 15 minutes to check the horizon. but I’ll be taking no booze, no ciggies, no Facebook [!], no music, no one. on a very tiny boat. they psychology of this entire thing fascinates me. of course, I say this, but have never been alone for so long, not to mention with no vices. might get out there and find some stuff out I don’t want to. which would be funny… in time. but I want to do stuff – fish. read. shoot off messages in bottles with my information and then promise to visit whoever finds it. and find the humor in making twosies in a bucket. etc.

[I'm also going to try and find a sponsor who'll foot the bill for a satellite phone so I can send little Twitter updates along the way - I think that'd be a good read.]

so, you know. stuff like this.

adventure is out there!

or… so I hear.

I am at what I believe to be a distinct crossroads in my life at the moment. I’ve come home and it doesn’t get more literal than that.  But even more, I think I am attempting to finally grow the hell up, quite honestly.  I have come to a place where I am no longer content to be self-absorbed; where I want to honestly give myself to a truer listening instead of running my mouth all the time.  God knows I have talked and  been listened to.  I want to now give my ears and my heart to others in a much more meaningful way.

I have always been a compassionate person – I was raised that way.  My parents have taken in so many lost souls over the years. When I was growing up, it wasn’t uncommon for my parents to be sheltering one of our friends from school or a wayward cousin.  To this day, my parents run into people who thank them for helping out their child at a time when they needed it.  So I was raised that you open your heart to other people and reap the benefits of a richer life because of it.

I have always tried to be a good sounding board for my friends.  I am often the go-to person when someone needs a good kick in the butt.  I am known to be a straight shooter, doling out the ugly truth.  I am no sugar coater and people who aren’t ready to face the facts avoid sharing their problems with me.  It’s a role that I am happy to play. I think we ass-kickers have our place in the world.

But there were times in my life when helping other people proved to be problematic.  For the longest time, for example, I gave to others with the expectation that something would be returned.  And in a perfect world, that would be the case.  I don’t need to tell you that it is not only naïve, but just the wrong motivation altogether.  Inevitably with this attitude, you are bound for heartache.  People will often disappoint us or take advantage of our kindness.  This is a risk that you run when you offer to help others. Better to be pleasantly surprised when a kindness is extended to you in return one day.

Another misguided attitude of mine was becoming a bit of a compassion junkie.  I’ll admit it: fixing other peoples’ problems, lending an ear, being sought out for advice, all of it became a way for me to get high.  Even when people weren’t coming to me directly, I was always on the lookout for a wounded bird; someone I could repair; a place to put all of my energy [instead of doing  something boring like dealing with my own life].

I think one of the benefits of getting older is the ability to have this sort of perspective about ourselves.  I know I have done a lot of soul searching in the past few years.  I have managed to see both things I love about myself and things that I would really like to dig out, or at least tame.  You have to look at yourself as honestly as possible before you can get down to this kind of deconstruction.

I’m not going to lie to you: this process is often painful and uncomfortable.  While it may be rewarding, you are going to end up with some bruises.  There will even be days when you don’t like yourself very much.  There may well be tears and silent apologies into your pillow.

In the end, I think all we can do is keep our eye on the prize and that, for me, is knowing that by investing in the cultivation of our higher selves, we will one day reap the benefits of a much fuller, happier life.  As far as carrots on sticks are concerned, that one’s not half bad.

Bon Iver – Talk To Me

-

Tara. now officially brilliant in two countries.

this a picture of a cow.

I’ve been busy.

and not writing.

well, not writing here, at least.

shame. for shame.

I’m sorry.

-

here’s what’s happening:

Tara moved back to her home to warm arms – she’ll be back next week. she also wants you to listen to this because she thinks it’ll make you happy. or, maybe understand… be excited for her. I am.

the sailing is coming along nicely – still scary, I still don’t know a fraction of what someone should know by this point, but it’s coming along. Mel bought me some pretty fabric to pretty up the not-so-pretty inside. it’ll be very pretty soon.

Nick is doing a good job of blogging; including this one about the ‘big plan’. which I’ll be following in my little red boat.

I’m sunburnt. it’s a good feeling.

this song came on the radio today and it made me happy. I don’t care if it doesn’t make you happy, because it should. Tina Turner on back-up vocals, for gosh-sakes.

bi-sexual people confuse me… and I think that’s kind of the point.

the World Cup. it’s all about the World Cup. only in England would you have 3 years and 300 days of eternal optimism only to constantly be followed by a ‘we never win anything‘ all-truism.

I’m headed to Venice in a few days. being flown there and put up. crazy.

Converse called today – they want more stories. I took that as a big compliment.

there’s a very good chance I’ll be watching ‘Up In The Air’ tonight.

‘your Mom is still incredible’ and ‘I love you and am glad you’re my son’ – two excerpts in an email from my Dad… of all the fortune I’ve had in my life, two parents who adore each other outweighs them all.

there’s a certain girl who’s giving me a bit of trouble. not bad trouble, per say, like… throwing rocks at me, but trouble-trouble, like… well, throwing rocks at me.

my sister comes to visit in a few weeks. she’s bringing her new boyfriend. I love when a new boyfriend comes to meet the older brother. it means I drink free.

The Inkspots will make your life a better life. pretty sure that was the band’s name but they had to change it as it wouldn’t fit on vinyl. I probably listen to them at least once-a-day.

CBS emailed me today asking if I ‘knew anyone in Berlin who was a neo-Nazi’… always though that was more of a Fox News question.

is it me or is there a recent epidemic of people spelling ‘losing’ with two ‘o”s?

there has not been one cigarette in my mouth now for 3 weeks. there will be again, but it should still be mentioned.

4000+ people visit this site every day. I don’t know most of them [you]. I find it strange. hi, by the way. I won’t ask you to introduce yourself, but just please buy the book. even you, my stalker[s].

speaking of my stalker[s] – rest assured you’ll get to meet a few of them. quite soon, actually. not the new one just yet – but a few old favorites.

the other day in the cafe, I told a party of three that ‘there was no room’. and there wasn’t. but that didn’t stop everyone from shouting at me. apparently, we always have room for P.J. Harvey. sorry, Polly, I’m not used to seeing you not being weird.

if you need a quick fix to a crap day, or a quick top-up to a good day, or a… you see where I’m headed with this. revisit this guy.

one of my best friends of my teen years passed away a few days ago. he left behind a wife and two kids. he was halfway into being interviewed for ‘the friday cinco’ when he passed. he will be, and is already, missed.

~a

thanks for nothing, Dad.

I say ‘nothing’ because when someone does something they usually mention it. or make a big deal out of it. or draw attention to it… but my Dad did it all quietly. humbly. we barely noticed it. all while being an incredibly sweet & romantic husband.

so, thanks, Dad, for doing the greatest thing you could…

simply setting an example.

[your firstborn]

I can’t tell you how much I love this shot – it was sent to me today, after talking with the few friends still left in China.

Don Yap, photographer, named it ‘The Last Supper?’ and you can kind of see why.

this was every night.

of every day.

-

there will be a time when I hope my nephew asks ‘what was it like?’ and I’ll show him this.

it was like this, nephew; drinks and smokes and sex surrounded by writers and producers and thinkers and cocktails… movie-makers and musicians that could talk backwards, artists and dancers with food piled high, high, high. we had no tomorrow, I can’t seem to remember one. late-nights were the nights, nephew, I didn’t see all that much of the a.m., and that probably is what kept us somewhat sane. there were no consequences, or so we all told ourselves, none there, at least – maybe later on. and there was love… maybe not the real kind, but it was there anyway. people were doing, people were doing – it’s something I think we all miss, the people who do. this magazine and that fashion line and this recipe – some failed, some didn’t, but that didn’t matter, because we were doing.

it might have all been too much, nephew – but this shot seems to sum it up.

we were there, before it all went crazy.

when they wanted us in.

and let us do what we wanted.

this was Shanghai, circa 2006.

and nephew-of-mine, someday I’ll tell you all a few of the stories.

’cause this, this…

was our sixties.