exiting the storm...

it's been almost 6 years.  a lot has happened in that time.  i don't know where to start, other than to it is weird to be older and younger and fit and worn all at once.

sitting in a breezy window on Kauai, having experienced the most insanely intense and difficult week of my life.  needed to escape.  it is possible that escape is never a necessity?  or maybe a cop out?  or do the craziest times require some form of escape to see things for what they are?  create distance or space to view it all clearly?  i don't know.  much really.  my mom says things clear up at 40.  become easier to navigate.  well, i had better accelerate my learning mom, because right now it all is pretty murky.

there are so many topics i want to explore.

community.  how does one belong?  gain membership?  why?

life partner.  is it necessary?  is life less without it?  how do you know?

expression of loneliness as a man.  a father.  is this acceptable?

clouds of darkness.  if you are heavy, if you carry darkness at your core, is it possible to escape it?

maybe entries for another time.

what i know is i feel like i've been through a hurricane, a tornado, some life-altering shit.  and i'm still standing.  rooted.  like an old oak tree.  i have a best friend who has been my rock throughout it all, and peripheral friends who i know care and support.  one day i'll understand the best way to thank them.

in the mean time, marination is the goal, without worry...

8

my daughter is 8 years old. whoa. she plays softball. she reads at a 4th, 5th grade level. she's better than i at the Wii (don't tell her i wrote this). she's articulate. she's funny. and i'm incredibly proud of her.

its a little strange, being the father of an 8 year old girl. i almost wrote "little girl." but she's not so little anymore. it has passed so quickly. i see her every other weekend. i try to get out north to see her. i feel like i miss so much not being there every day. yet, our bond remains strong. there are times i don't feel grown-up, or capable of being a father of such a mature child. i am. i know i am. but... before i know it, she will be applying for college. craziness. her decision-making skill, her ability to think, her ability to think rationally an clearly has been taught, the foundation created. i didn't think it would happen so fast. she is who she is, who she will be. i think there is a feeling of hopelessness, or powerlessness, that i have little control over her future. should i? or do i trust her to make her own decisions? she's 8! so much to think about. all i really want is for her to feel free to pursue her dreams, without restriction. how can i do that? money? space? without judgement? greater exposure to other culture? more mariners games? less ice cream? she's the best. i miss her. and i look forward to witnessing her grow...life is good.

excitement!!!

the coffee shop opening is approaching. just got home from four days on the snake and salmon river rafting...which was freakin' psycho! its beautiful outside. malia hit her head at the water park but is safe, thankfully. and my bike is fixed. life is wonderful. life is grand. it truly feels like everything is in front of me. i have incredible people in my life...who care, genuinely. this is a high, a place previously unreachable for me. damn.

vitamin D

the sun is a wonderous thing. working at night, entertaining random people, 12 hours shifts, without break, without meal, should be physically and emotionally draining. especially for a introverted "loner" who would rather be reading at a coffeeshop or riding a bike. yet, waking up to the sunshine, as cold as it is, set today in a direction of positive vibe and unavoidable smiles. how often do you and a barista bust into uncontrollable laughter over nothing? sushi tasted better, udon was more regenerative, you breathe easier, smiles are more broad, interaction more genuine.

random fleetiness...

rolling the '97 Giant red, old-school, heavy mountain bike down rainier avenue, thinking about everything and nothing. obama. black pride in obama. black expectation of obama's policies. the real confinements of the american presidency. is obama the black michael douglass of "the american president?" someone with nuts and a personality? a president we can revere and admire? will we pay more taxes when he asks? will we openly embrace newly arrived inhabitants to our established communities when the move in, despite their cultural and socio-economic differences? why is the only food available on rainier fried food? matter of fact, where is the billy d. williams colt 45 sign? might as well, right? why did we lose to franklin on monday? when does the stark divide between african and african-american go away? will obama build that "bridge?" can we stop with the black/white discussion? american IS defined as many races, ethnicities. and just because we don't scream the loudest, doesn't mean we don't exist, dammit! its as if having a black president has rendered us even more invisible. is there such a thing as double-invisible? whose labor, blood and sweat is the new generation of the american construction industry? whose, labor, blood and sweat make american restaurants go? who built west coast farming and the railroads to Promontory Point, Utah but were left out of the photo when east met west? yum, taco times. but fried. at least the bomb beef burrito is. riding down jackson, i realized just how war impacts immigration patterns. the vietnam war reconstructed rainier and jackson with language, shops, and culture. its amazing. i just wish it didn't take a bloody war to convince the american government it was ok to let Vietnamese into the states. down 4th avenue, blowing by westlake center and all of the people. do they drive? do the take the bus? what if a couple more of them rode a bike? what if we had light rail, for real? would that really make a difference in the environment? would we be in better shape? would people actually converse on the train, instead of in their car? we should see, don't you think? the rest of the ride was full of thoughts too...but i have to go to work, overactive mind, full of questions, politics, an underlying groove of jadedness, non-negative, situated in real experience, not anger, questions, critical ones, hoping, wishing, praying to move forward toward critical thought...which is exactly what barack wants us to do. think y'all! question y'all! and ride...stimulates random thought i hear. by the way, if i have an idol, its gary payton.

aimless wanderings of an oozing mind...

should is a powerful, pushy sort of word. and when i get caught up in what i "should" do, as opposed to what i would or want to do, my mind and soul conflict. am i in one of those times? not really. but my mind oozes, searching for solidifying compounds, people, books, espresso macchiatos. i "should" be as excited as i have ever been, politically, socially, even personally. Barack Obama is about to be sworn in as president of the united states...a black president! damn! and if we can get off of this black/white binary thing where everyone in between black and white (see yellow, brown, red) is invisible, then we might get somewhere. i "should" be excited about the maybe/probably funky dope coffee shop in columbia city, filled with candles, d'angelo, elements of cool, and the aroma of stumptown coffee...and i am. this is my dream, my creation, or "another bad one" if you want to call it that? yet, there will always be a nostalgic remnant of night and bartending (or barbacking when i work with particularly slow ones). why? am i always wishing for what's next? dreaming the next "vision?" or is there really reason to miss it? and we (seattle) are finally finally finally building light rail. a city with light rail and bike lanes and coffee shops and sushi make for a giddy, emotionally skyrocketing soul, yet there are days when i am a somber bicylclist, cold and dreary. today it is amazingly sunny, and i remembered to take my vitamin D. all is well as my mind morphs into some semblance of shape, not amoeba-like, and thoughts solidfy. tomorrow, we shall see...

Mariners Entry Number One

Let me get this straight...we ended last season with an overly corporate mentality, a bunch of bandwagon bootsie fans who couldn't name a single Mariner before the 95 season, and the lies that Erik Bedard may once again be our savior. we had jettisoned richie sexson and managed to build revisit the imperative question of what makes a valuable centerfielder a below league average right fielder (Ichiro)...and i wanted to wash my hands of the only team i adore more than my University of Michigan Wolverines. who knew we would change our direction from a howie and chuck and their firm grasp on the profits of the 95 and 2001 seasons to a more sabermetric, non-stone age approach. i applauded the hire of Jack Zduriencik, he who was responsible for the drafting of Ryan Braun and Prince Fielder. there has been no Al Chambers, Sam Mays, or even Matt Tuiososopos lately for Jack Z. He knows you cannot build a team with players older than 29 years old. Mathematic analysis has proven that major league baseball players peak between ages 27 and 29. he knows he can build with a nucleus of Adrian Beltre, Jeff Clement, King Felix, and Brandon Morrow. The rest can kiss my behind. Most of all, i believe Jack Z. absolutely, will not, under any circumstance, allow players like Willie Bloomquist or a washed up Aaron Sele to don a Mariners uniform simply because they are from the state of Washington. Nothing gets me more angry than the Willie B. apologists who cheer his groundouts and occasional stolen base like he's our savior. The guy has no place in major league baseball, as a no-hit, little field, try-hard, malaka. just out of curiousity, would the reaction be the same if he wasn't white? why didn't we treat Jason Ellison the same way? they grew up together. we'll save that for another blog. so i have established my faith in Jack Z. and get up in the morning prioritizing in this order...number one, is my daughter safe? number two, is my girlfriend safe? next to me? dang she's beautiful. and number three, where is the newspaper? i need my Jack Z. movement fix...NOW! i literally feel shots of adrenilin reading about his philosophies, his approach. and now the brother hires don wakamatsu? YEAH BOY! the first asian american manager in the major leagues, a lifer. he has that stone face that says there will be no half-steppin' on his watch. and they both say they want to establish a "mariner way" of playing ball. i love it. i would rather pay to see this team of hard-working, non stone-age GM and manager roll a potentially brilliant group of young ballers than a veteran-laden 85 win team with no chance of winning a ring. thank goodness for Jack Z. I CAN'T WAIT!!!!