100 WORDS:

Sonic Youth this Saturday! Haven’t been to a concert in awhile and I’m pretty pumped. I’m sure Lee, Thurston, Kim and Steve will be in fine form. Trish (Weevil from earlier entry) is coming in from the Loops to see the show and neither of us has seen them before. Who goes to a Sonic Youth concert these days? They’re kind of like the Rolling Stones of the Indie Scene. I imagine the crowd will be pretty mixed. Some diehard fans, some curious newbies, some older (me?), some younger. Doesn’t matter. It’ll be a kick-ass show. Rocknroll baby!

Its late but I have to do one more thing. A plug for Evil Princess... now I guess, officially, "The Evil Princess." (the name Evil Princess was taken). Check her out, y'all. She's evil on the outside, but has a soft and fuzzy interior.

From the desk of Lodger:

I would like to respond to a recent entry posted on another personal website. It is the latest entry of the so-called “Lodger” chronicles, a semi-regular account of the adventures of Lodger (me) reported by one of the two permanent residents of the place where I am lodging.

I do appreciate the hospitality that said permanent residents have afforded me, and I do value their friendship and the styrofoamy cushy goodness that is their couch. However, the recent account of my waking on the morning of Tuesday, August 20th (and what the said account implies about my actions on the evening of the 19th) by one of the permanent residents of the place where I lodge (hereafter referred to as Shhtephanie) has me slightly concerned. I understand that in order to entertain the masses, one sometimes stretches the truth a little bit, but I must firmly object to some of the creative license that has been taken in this case. Passed out? Most assuredly not! I merely did not feel like removing my jeans on this particular evening. Must one blindly follow the bedtime dresscode of the nation like a mindless drone? Pajamas, boxer shorts, a birthday suit. If these are all acceptable I say why not Jeans? Its not like I did something completely insane and kept my socks and shirt on.

Apparently the fact that a few cheezie remnants made their way to the floor that night suggests I was heavily intoxicated. Not so. Many cheezies are quite small and irregularly shaped and thus quite difficult to hang on to at the best of times. I’ll confess to being hungry and uncoordinated that night, but the picture being painted by Shhtephanie of a drunken slob leaving a trail of edible orange souvenirs in his wake is completely erroneous.

Also, I was not hung over! Yes, my companion for the evening only drank one glass of red wine at the fine drinking establishment we visited, and yes, the waitress did mishear me and bring us a whole carafe instead of a half carafe leaving me to finish off the remaining glorious nectar that is a fine Merlot, but I felt perfectly fine the next morning. I even managed to almost make it to work on time.

And finally, the suggestion that the mention of a woman removing my pants would make me blush is laughable. I laugh at it. Ha!

For an accurate piece of evidence supporting my recollection of the events of the evening of August 19th, 2002, I direct you to the final third of my one hundred words for that evening (posted early in the morning, August 20th). The account you will find there clearly describes a quiet night out with a friend from out of town. No ribaldry. No drunkenness. Just a nice evening out for two.

That is all.

100 WORDS:

late walk home from work becoming more familiar… the nightly struggle to resist the tempting green and orange glow of the Seven-Eleven and its endless selection of the salty and the sweet (I triumphed on this night; no cheezies for Lodger)… the young native man who sits out front the store and asks for my change (he reads from a three ring binder – is he a student??? a struggling writer?…)… tonight we even nodded at each other in recognition… extended the walk tonight… savouring it a little maybe… couldn’t resist the gentle call of the waves from the beach

I was listening to this on my walk home from work:

although you don't believe me you are strong / darkness always turns into the dawn / and you won't even remember this for long / when it ends allright

Yo La Tengo, "Tears Are In Your Eyes."

100 WORDS:

11:00… lying on my back on the couch in a just-waking stupor… a knock at the door… confused and disoriented, I put on some pants and see who’s there… its two plumbers and a landlord… I let them in… comments are made… something about a beautiful day, why are you wasting it lying on the couch?… I meekly explain I work afternoons… but more importantly, the cat is out of the bag… lodger has been seen lodging… I’m no longer that guy who seems to be hanging around a lot… I’m officially ‘that guy who’s crashing on our couch awhile.’

I want to address the purpose of this. This public display of thought and emotion, this daily purging of built-up angst. In some ways I view the more personal entries as an act of perversion, a daily "here I am, this is what I am going through, take it or leave it fuckers!" But that's not entirely it. This is a liberation, a freeing of a spirit that had been living afraid. I'm not afraid. I'm not ashamed. I am who I am, no more, no less.

Why Selfish Bastard? Because at times I feel like I am, and at other times I see the irony in such thoughts. None of these things will be important in time. The title will become dated and it will have to change with the times.

It is late. I have nothing else to add. Goodnight.

100 WORDS:

I guess I keep stressing about it… referring to it… dwelling on it… three years… married three years… there are loving couples out there… silver anniversary couples like my parents… and we only made it three years… she’s says she’s humiliated… I understand that… but I can’t feel ashamed… I won’t let myself de-value the last six years of my life (and hers)… went out with Daryl tonight for the first time since the break-up… it was good… for twenty-five, in many ways he is wise beyond his years… must hook him up with a nice girl… possibilities.

100 WORDS:

my hundred words feel forced tonight… duty, obligation… words that resonate for me right now… it would have been three years today… officially, I guess it still is… I can’t believe its been three weeks since my birthday, the days leading up to the funeral, etc… in those few days my whole life changed… I still can’t fully get my head around it… its not the what of what happened as much as the how… an explosion of emotion, conflict, words and actions we can never take back… a threshold has been crossed… a bond broken… love lost

I worked with Evil Princess today and mentioned I would refer to her as evil princess on my blog. Hi Evil Princess!

One of the great things about life... Evil Princess and I come from different worlds. She's a sweetheart, I enjoy working with her and yet, if we didn't work together, we would never have met. In a work setting, different worlds intersect. We're enriched by the relationships we have with these 'people from different worlds.' I imagine this is what the so-called snobs miss out on.

Not looking forward to this Wednesday. The night of our three year anniversary. I had plans to go out that night, but cancelled today. I think I'll use that night as a night to reflect.

100 WORDS:

realized yesterday one hundred words has really been ninety-eight all this time… I’ve been including the title (100 words)… oh well, I guess it makes my words unique… if you don’t like it you purists you can kiss my ass!… wow, where did that aggressive little outburst come from?… I’ve had a little red wine tonight… not to mention a few cheezies (don’t underestimate the corrupting power of cheezies!)… mmmm, cheezies… went out with Weevil tonight… had gelato, beach conversation, tea (mine green, hers citrus herbal blend), then red wine… overall an enjoyable evening… now lodger must sleep.

Am I really secure enough in my masculinity to have posted that last entry? Probably not. Oh well.

Fun with words with The Selfish Bastard:

The following name was pointed out to me in the white pages - Bob Loblaw. Say it fast, and you get Ba bla bla.

Passed by an apartment complex the other day called "The Westcoast Manor." Love the phrase. "I am a resident at The Westcoast Manor." "I am a proponent of the Westcoast Manner." "Gee. That guy has a real Westcoast Manner." You get the idea.

One more. I'm reading the Odyssey right now and I quite enjoy how Homer attaches descriptive phrases to the characters. I especially like the ones that use the "of the" phrasing. Some examples: Menalaus of the loud war cry, Hermes of the golden wand (get your mind out of the gutter... I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for this description in Greek mythology), and Ino of the slim ankles (what a claim to fame!) I've thought about what kind of descriptive tag I might have, if I might warrant an "of the" phrase as kick-ass as Menalaus's. Given that while taking reservations on the phone at work, many a gruff Texan has referred to me as M'am (why is it always the Texans?) I have to admit mine might not be quite so manly. Thus, I dub myself, in grande Homeric fashion, Rick of the girly phone voice.

100 WORDS:

11:47 PM. Feeling weary. Eyes like heavy sacks. Hear laughter from the other room. Gossip maybe? Now giggles. Change the topic please. Feeling like an eavesdropper, although… oh wait… just heard my name… honestly, I’m not listening… I’m… I was actually interrupted just now… I’m back… would you like an update?… semi-violent festivities… appeals to me to intervene… to stop the giggly violence… peeked in on the bedroom mayhem… decided I was ruining the mood… returned to these words…are you grateful?… you should be damnit!… its all for you reader… honestly, sometimes I suspect you just don’t care.

Found these quizzes while checking out some blogs. Apparently if I were a Buffy The Vampire Slayer character I would be Riley, the puppydog-like boyfriend who Buffy shits on for a season. Why does this not surprise me. (Why couldn't I be Spike?! Well, at least I'm not Zander.)

Been listening to sad music a lot lately. Came across the following in the globe and mail. Russell Smith in his column "Virtual Culture"...

Why does sad music soothe sadness? I think it's because art reflects a nobler self back to you. Sad music takes your pain and makes it vast, universal, transcendent; it distills and condenses your sadness until it's something pure and clear, something like an expensive liquid with a light behind it. Something that burns as you drink it. It turns your sadness into something beautiful.

Today was a good day. Slept in. Had breakfast at Joe's. Bacon and eggs, coffee, orange juice. Got laundry money at the bank. Met Steph at Urban Fare. Steph and I went used book shopping. I was good, only spent 4 dollars (Virginia Woolf's At The Lighthouse, paperback, good shape). We both looked at an old humourous book about British history for awhile, called 1066 and All That. Laughed our asses off. We found a really cool pictorial novel. The narrative is told completely through a series of pictures of wood etchings. We didn't read it all but we know it ends badly for someone. The final picture is of a man dead on the sidewalk, blood running from his noggin. We were both intrigued enough to consider buying the book until we saw the price. 95 dollars. Ouch. Probably should have noted the title. Oh well. Met Michelle at Tigalo's for dinner. Mmmmm. Spicy peri peri chicken. Rented "Diner," an eighties classic. Did a whirlwind cleaning of the apartment while listening to Toto (Ain't nothin that could ever take me awaaaaaay from youuuuuuu...). I have a feeling I'm going to become very much re-acquainted with eighties pop music while staying here.

Thank god for these two gals. They keep me laughin. I couldn't ask for two better friends. Today was fun.

100 WORDS:

days off, yesterday and today… saw a movie with Manami and then went to Peter’s BBQ yesterday… Angela phoned four times… stopped in to see her… feel sad, frustrated at the same time… the way things are going isn’t healthy for either of us… listening to Tom Waits right now… need to do laundry… no other plans… a lazy day awaits… I don’t mind… sunny again… lately I find the sun a comfort… older associations with the sun are fading (beaches, drinks with umbrellas in them, outdoor fun)… sunny walks alone to Safeway satisfy differently… time to think

100 words:

in my opinion yellow-red pre-dusk cannot compete with yellow-blue post-dawn, a gentle light caress that coaxes me into wakefulness… cool morning breezes make white shimmer patches on the water in random? patterns… have you ever seen the writhing snakes of light that dance upon a city-side lake’s surface at night?… I always feel graceful swimming underwater… I never feel graceful dancing… wash me away in the comfort of a song, a good meal, the company of friends and family… I never felt safer than when I was in her arms… dive beneath the surface… searching for unknown treasures?

Walkin' down tenth street / guy in front of me walkin' with headphones on / the Stones cranked / the thing that caught my ear / singin' loud and clear / every couple of steps I heard woo woo!

Yo La Tengo, "Paul Is Dead."

So I was walkin down tenth avenue with my headphones on on my way to Jarod's place the other night and a car pulls over in front of me. I think, he must want directions. When he says, you want to buy some weed?, it doesn't register right away. Admittedly, I'm a small town boy at heart and even when I'm on Granville street and some guy whispers, weed?, in my ear, I invariably stop and give him the, I'm sorry I didn't quite hear that sir could you repeat it for me look, like a jackass. But this time, at least in my mind, I feel I had a legitimate reason to pause. It was so audacious. The whole thing smacked of door to door soliciting. I have this image of Jack Lemmon in "Glengarry Glenross" selling crack to housewives in neighbourhoods with pastel coloured aluminum siding and perfectly manicured hedges. What's next? Telemarketing? Drug dealers will soon be called service providers and you'll be able to collect airmiles with every purchase. After I stared at him, puzzled, for a few seconds, he said, I'll give you my phone number, you can call anytime. I politely said, no thanks, and continued on my way.

And another thing...

The staff room at the hotel I work at is so bloody hot that during my lunch break tonight I half expected Kathy Lee Gifford to walk around the corner carrying a bamboo switch. The only area in the whole hotel that isn't air conditioned. Hmmmmm. Makes you feel valued.

This has been me bitching.

Oh yeah...

You may have noticed the 100 words entries on this site. I got the idea from Steph. There is a site, www.100words.net, where you sign up and post daily written works that are 100 words long exactly, no more, no less. You're allowed only one missed day in a month and if you fail to match the criteria they set for the site your work is removed. There's more to it than that and you can learn all about it at www.100words.net

100 WORDS:

Feeling melancholy. Need to eat something. Not hungry.
But enough of this morbid tone. I’m in command of my mood, right?
“Gray skies are going to cheer up, put on a happy face!”

Saw the new “Austin Powers” movie with friends last night. Our first time hanging out together. Jarod and his girlfriend. They’re both very nice. We had a good time, but I hate the awkwardness that follows the inevitable, “Oh, where’s your wife?” “Well, actually, we’re separated right now.” I feel I disappointed them. I got the sense they were hoping to meet a new couple.

Time to get personal.

I've been avoiding the real issue. My wife and I are splitting. More accurately, I'm leaving. The selfish bastard, you see? She doesn't understand, but its been coming for awhile. She wants answers, but she doesn't like the ones I give her. Thus we have the same conversation over and over, an absurd daily dance that only seems to confuse her further and that makes me feel like shit. And maybe that's what she wants right now. Fair enough. I never wanted to hurt her, but I can't change the past and I wouldn't want to. We both need to focus on the present now. Blame impedes healing.

I always tried to be honest with her. I lost thirty pounds this year trying to be honest with myself. Eating and sleeping became a daily challenge.

Now I've committed the ultimate act of honesty. And she doesn't understand and I don't know that she ever will.

I picked up Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and some of the lyrics are freaking me out. Jeff Tweedy has infultrated my brain and he is speaking for me:

At my most guilty:

cheer up / honey I hope you can / there is something wrong with me / my mind is filled with silvery stuff / honey kisses clouds of fluff / shoulders shrugging off

cheer up / honey I hope you can / there is something wrong with me / my mind is filled with radio cures / electronic surgical words

picking apples for the kings and queens of things I've never seen / distance has no way of making love understandable
FROM "Radio Cure" by Wilco, words by Jeff Tweedy

I'm to call her tomorrow, first thing. I don't know what I'm going to say. I don't know what else there is to say. But as long as she keeps asking, I feel I owe it to her to keep talking. Six years together is a long time. A fifth of our lives.

100 WORDS:

Three fifty-five PM.
Trumpet blaring. Miles smiling.
Afternoon sun through the blinds. Dull natural light soothing and cool.
A smiling face and juice box brings comfort.
Feeling downtown and hip. Its all a façade.
“You can take the boy out of Squamish, but you can’t take the Squamish out of the boy,” is what he said to me.
I have no objections.
But I’ll go down kicking and screaming.
Paris. London. Madrid. Tokyo. Here I come. Maybe San Francisco too.
Why not? Its my dream. Its my future.

Its all about me now.
This selfish bastard has declared it so.
Me.


SOME RANDOM THOUGHTS IN LIEU OF A PROPER INTRODUCTION:

Vancouver is beautiful in August.

My friend, Steph, is reading my copy of Animal Farm and I'm reading The Odyssey, a birthday gift from a friend.

I just turned thirty.

I share a birthday with Rocket Richard.

Belly button lint can offer a momentary distraction from life's troubles.

I used to think magnetic poetry was silly, but now I'm hooked. My most recent refrigerator composition: