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.

… are up here. if you like them half as much as I liked being there, then I reckon you’ll like ‘em a whole lot.

a few days ago, my Brazilian friend Luc and I were making fun of how Brits have hung onto 1966 ever since it’s been 1966. as I mentioned earlier, every World Cup is ‘England’s this year!’ and every year [aside from 1966] it isn’t. there’s a certain charm in the country continuously backing their boys and then, a few days later, continuously moaning about how ‘they invented every sport and continue to be shit at it’… but rest assured that whoever says that will more than likely be the first to throw St. James Cross on their back the next go-around and believe – truly believe – that this year is England’s.

today I was invited over to a neighbor’s party, a mostly-older crowd which meant they had no qualms about being drunk on Pimm’s at 3pm in the afternoon. we watched England barely beat Slovenia and they even offered up a genuine cheer when the announcer announced [thus - doing his job] that the ‘United States had scored in penalty time to defeat Algeria’. considering this put us above them in our respective bracket, it was a very nice thing indeed. I came home and celebrated throughout Facebook and Twitter as only people my age can do – and then the talks went to if we could actually pull it off… and it got me thinking.

I hope we don’t.

and that is me being more patriotic than you think.

look, I could write paragraph-after-paragraph on what it must be like growing up in poor countries where all you have is a dirty ball to kick around. the spirit that surrounds every nation as that every-four-years begins – no doubt many before me have written about it. and everyone pretty much knows what I’m getting at here.

if this finds you with any doubt in your mind what the world’s most popular sport is, then, well, let me help you out:

it ain’t baseball.

sure, we have the World Series, but let’s be honest, it’s hardly a series of the world. same goes for the Super Bowl the Finals and anything else that can easily be punctuated with an exclamation mark to make it exciting… but this is the only event where 99% of the world takes part even if they’re not taking part. and nowhere is that more evident that England. Mel even commented yesterday that her business had a ‘hard time finding a bar in London to rent out for clients as they were all already booked’ – this is the first round of the Cup for and bars are fully booked!

think about that – we’re still weeks away from the final matches and they’re already booked up.

well, it ain’t that way back home. fair enough, we’ve got enough things going on sports-wise, what with the ‘big four’ – but that is exactly why I hope we don’t succeed. it has nothing to do with us not deserving it – may the best team win. what it does have to do with is the accolades said team would receive upon coming home. quickly Google any country’s celebration post-world-cup-win – it’s pandemonium. insanity. and a good insanity, not like our American Parody’s in Los Angeles. it’s mayhem. joy. and the players are gods for the rest of their lives.

but it wouldn’t be like that for our boys.

oh sure, you and I and everyone else who’s spent 2 days in London only to return supporting an obscure Premiership Team all in the name of impressing others would make a big deal out of it, but it wouldn’t be anything noteworthy in the States. there’d be a small parade and Sportscenter would make it their lead story, but be guaranteed they wouldn’t talk about it much as some ‘girl’s game’ is no match for finding out if the Twins won that night. our boys would be bigger everywhere else in the world than their own country – little Obama’s if you will – and it simply wouldn’t be fitting.

so play on, boys. and play hard – in my hope of hopes, it’s to get you all the way to the semifinals and then lose to Argentina. Maradona would say something great about our squad and maybe that would make the press and we actually start paying attention to it [read: putting some serious money in it] and then, in 4-8 years, we would win… with a captive home audience.

an appreciative home audience.

a home audience who would realize that winning this is bigger than a gold medal.

but until then, until we recognize David Beckham as something other than ‘the guy who’s married to Posh Spice’, until we don’t get the inside joke of Landon Donovan touching ‘the hand of God’, until we don’t find ourselves taking off work to watch a match and then telling the honest truth the next morning about simply being ‘too hungover to come into work’, we don’t deserve to win.

our boys might, but we as a country do not.

and let’s be honest, we’re just now getting back to a good place with the world liking us again… winning a sport we still don’t know all the rules to?

let’s hold off.

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]

how silly of me. thinking ‘hey – let’s trade recipes!’ as if someone hasn’t done that already.my friend Robin sent me one of hers and after a quick look at ingredients, we both came to the same conclusion. cooking is no fun unless there is alcohol involved – both in the mix, and in the belly.so, what was once ‘grub’ is now ‘grubcrawling©’ [get it - like 'pubcrawling'? great stuff] so – send in your recipes, ones that involve booze. and we shall all use cooking as an excuse to hide the fact that we might have a problem.

-

Beef Medallions in Artichoke Cream

Preheat a heavy non-stick skillet (cast iron is best) over med-high heat til plenty hot. Add 2 6oz tenderloin fillets cut in half through the middle into medallions and sear 2-3 minutes each side. Remove from pan and keep warm. To the skillet, add 2T butter and allow to melt. Then add 6 artichoke hearts cut in half  2T shallots chopped fine 1T coarse Dijon mustard 1oz Jack Daniels and reduce by half. (If the whiskey ignites, it will burn out in a few seconds.) Add 1/2c heavy cream and reduce by half. Return the meat and any juices to the pan and turn several times to coat meat with sauce. Plate medallions, top with artichokes and drizzle both heavily with sauce.

[Robin Sisney - Bend, OR]

[I got this email today. have you ever had a poem written for, and about, you? I haven't. until today. it meant a lot. thought I'd share.]

Sometimes you meet people or a blessed to find a person that you think you know. It is easy and natural and kind in it’s smoothness. This is what I think I know of you:

You fall in love too easily like Sarah Vaughn,
You fall in love too fast.
You fall in love too hard like Billie Holiday,
For it to ever last.
You fall in love with the swoop of a curve,
The sound of a voice,
The beauty in the etchings of time.
Fall deeply for the strum of an instrument at a master’s fingers,
The newness of a life beginning,
The dirtiness of things survived time and man.
Fickle like the wind your attention drawn to find the beauty in what many deem the mundane.
Soft and hard, molded after Zephyr, coming in from the west- curious and fervent and bold.
You touch everything you see,
You taste everything you smell
You grasp everything that appeals to your ears.
Childlike you wonder and are filled with wonder.
The world is your palace and you explore it with the appetite of the gods- savoring each moment and never completely filled- desiring more and more.
Even when your bones are weary and your mind restless you still yearn for what other magics and marvels and miracles are yet to be opened up to you.
Search and find, search and find, search and find.
You find and still search for what? You do not know,
But it is a drug,
And you are a junkie,
Looking for your next fix.
You find it in the arms of a woman- supple and soft
You find it in the spices of a new culture- overwhelming spices that make your eyes water and your nostrils flare and your mouth salivate
You find it in the small moments- cool grass between your toes, the wind in your hair, the sun kissing your skin when no one is there
But it’s fleeting and lonely and beautiful.
Search and find, search and find, and search and search and search.
You smile and are seemingly content.
But in the quietness of the hours,
When the stars shine down on you,
When your belly is full of the richness the earth provides,
When your head is nestled in it’s pillow,
Your heart screams to the heavens-
Fill me full,
Gorge me with wisdoms and secrets,
Show me the darkest darkness
The brightest light
The most stunning beauty
The bitterest heartache
The sweetest kindness
Never contented because you only content in the moment.

I won’t finish this because I don’t want it to seem like I truly know you and may perhaps offend you. This is just something that I see in you and I could be completely wrong.

[Kimberly Barteau]

…and so begins our weekly recipe.

I’ll go first.

-

crab risotto

-fresh crab. no fake crab – real crab. if you can buy freshly picked crab, mix two parts white meat with one part dark meat. don’t overdo it on the dark meat, less it take over the rest of the flavors. you can, however, mix this a day before and use the left-over dark meat for the stock – which we’ll get into in a second.

- a dry white wine [sauvignon blanc, if you can - and remember the rule: if it's not good enough to drink, it's certainly not good enough to cook with]

- rice [they suggest risotto rice, but whatever, really]

- half an onion, finely chopped

- 4 spring onions, finely chopped

- stock. I’m going to write it again. stock. good stock. good stock as in – have been boiling the remains of the crab for 12 hours stock. this is what makes or breaks this dish. no cubed stuff.

… okay, it’s pretty basic. fry both onions in oil and garlic for a few minutes until they start to sweat. drop the stove to a low heat, [but not too low] throw in as much rice as you need, throw in a bit of stock and start folding it over-and-over. ‘you should never be able to see the bottom of the pan’ is one of the best tips I’ve heard for risotto. keep folding/stirring the rice over the stock until it’s absorbed and then start with the wine. if you run out of stock/wine before the rice reaches it’s al dente consistency, throw in more wine. and never stop stirring. this is the beauty of risotto, you’re forced to hover over a stove with lots of wine in reach. I’ve never soberly finished this dish – thus the memories of it always coming out amazing. who cares, really – you disappear for 45 minutes, ain’t no one gonna blame you for coming back out legless. back to the risotto – once you have the consistency where you want it, turn the heat off and then throw in the crab. fold this into the rice creation for a few minutes. serve with freshly grated parmesan, zest of lemon and a pinch of parsley.

it’s not an easy thing at first, risotto, but this might be the best dish I know how to make.

lemme know how it goes.

-a