Oh, Onion. You Never Let Me Down.

The joke used to be that if you were dating someone and the solitary book they had on their shelves was Catcher in the Rye, to run for the hills.
This still applies.

Newest literary consumption: Doctor Zhivago.
On deck: House of Leaves.

Brought to you by way of many sniffles
and watching Finding Nemo while attempting to find an order to the chaos that is
my living space.
xo
see.eye.

Zehn

It's been 10 years today that my uncle was killed down in Mammoth Lakes on a motorcycle trip on his way up to see my mother and I. We were supposed to meet him the next day in Jamestown, just outside of Yosemite and Sonora.
Instead of moping around, mourning the loss, I ditched my Algebra II class this morning to sit out in the sun, listen to music and take a nap.
When I got up I tried to find his obituary online, but instead I got a link to Santa Anita Raceway where he was the finishing photographer for the races. I had no idea, but in the same week a jockey named J.C. Rodriguez was killed. A few lives summed up in a few sentences.

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This second weekend of Faire made it so I would miss Newark Days - the annual celebration of suburbia that includes a cast of the same yuppies and carnies every year. Thank God.
The escape came with a price: setting up camp in a space time continuum where nakedness was encouraged, intoxication rained down like the tomatoes at the "Flogging Booth" and the unshowered heathens that I've come to love and cherish in all of our LARP-ing glory resided.

And now, dear Lurker, I sit. I drink my coffee, and try to fudge my way through my online math homework.

Cheers,
c.i.

Anger dwells in the bosom of fools

Thank you Jacob for sending me the Helmetfish. May Wisconsin treat you well in your last year of college.

Yesterday marked the last day of my summer of discontent, surgeries and debauchery, and I mean that in the best possible way.
There are few places I can name or think of that are more comfortable or serene than laying underneath a pine tree around sunset with a good friend. Although we were pursued by an elderly Indian gentleman on a tricked out tricycle (only in Fremont ...), just the general feeling of goofing off brought about recollections of childhood summers where our biggest concerns were sunburns and mosquito bites.
When I woke up this morning, the gray reality of my location, situation and disposition slapped me upside the head: I was running late for school and didn't have time to shower, the coffee my father made at 7:30AM was lukewarm and tasted burnt, and one of my family friends, a Dr. Alan Zacharia, had passed away on Saturday from cancer. The service is today in Daly City, my parents left shortly after I had left for class.
September never seems to be a good month for anyone close to my family; this month marks the 10 year anniversary of my uncle getting killed in a motorcycle accident outside of Mammoth Lakes. The only time I've ever been down there was on a family vacation my freshman year of high school, and I kept straining to see the exact place he died, like I would recognize it just by intuition. I couldn't, and still don't know which blind curve he and his friends went around just to find a Toyota 4Runner with a driver blacked out behind the wheel veering into their lane.

It's about this time that I believe I should take a nap, and upon waking draw some comics, and eventually get back into the responsible routine of (ugh) doing math homework.

Cheers,
c.i.