Friday, October 19, 2007

http://johnwashington.co.uk/blog/index.php

Sam died today. She’s 36. She was 36.

I stopped thinking for a moment, for minutes. As if the ground beneath me gave way and I began to fall.

When people die it feels different now that my dad died. I see it different, almost as if I was an omniscient spectator, staring down from above the room. I can see Sam’s room. I went in her house for the first time 3 months ago. We both left early from work and I drove her home to her yellow apartment. She invited me in and I accepted.

The smell was old and moldy. The hardwood floors gave when you walked, more so for her because she was bigger, and there was barely enough light to really see anything clearly. She opened the door to a world of wonder. From floor to ceiling, everywhere was covered. Collectors you could say. Her and her boyfriend collected records, tapes, books, figurines, movies, every little thing. They had build-in shelves for every item, and each little treasure was put on display. I cannot remember if her couch was purple or blue or black, but it was pushed up against a wall of books and things.

We walked into her kitchen. Books from floor to ceiling, wall to wall covered. Some how she fit a microwave, an oven, and a refrigerator in between.

Her bedroom was behind the living room. I don’t remember much, the queen sized bed with a black comforter and more things. Star Wars figures, Batman and Robin, crazy looking skulls, everything you’ve ever seen at a thrift store, in a display case, in comic book magazines.

I can see her dying in there. Maybe it’s because I’ve see where my dad died. I know the smell, the lighting, the way your hair stands on your skin. I know how you body decays so quickly. How dad’s skin slipped off, his limbs separated, his fluids released. I can see her over-weight body lying underneath the comforter. Her jet black hair sprawled out on the pillow. The room dark, a slight sliver of light coming in from the cracks around the window covering. I can see from above, her sleeping. Her round stomach rising and falling with every breath until it stops. She stops.

It’s so close I can touch it. All my sense so aware of what it feels, smells, looks, sounds, and taste like. So close I can reach it. My mind can touch it.

I hate these things I’ve seen.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Fathers Day without a Father



It’s my first fathers day without my dad. He died 4 ½ months ago, February 7th, 2007. I’ve spent the entire day not really thinking much about it until now, 9:43 a night. A little alone time can make one emotional I guess. I went into my back room and opened the drawer and reached for the black bag under the books which contained the 11 photos, expired drivers licence, and the newspaper clipping from the Sunday, February 18th obituary.

I haven’t looked at these photos in a month. Most of them are such bad quality and for the most part they are picture that hold little meaning to me other than they are the only images I have of my father. His military flag sits on the shelf behind me next to my baseball bobble heads, almost as if he was the flag himself, and he too was standing there with Huston Street and Jason Kendell, only his head wouldn’t shake.

The last time I saw my dad was January 25th, 2007. We spent the day together, helping me pack up my Sacramento apartment for the next days big move to Seattle. Aside from lifting countless boxes up and down the stairs and the tiresome manual labor, January 25th unknowing at the time was one of the best times I’ve spent with my dad. In the midst of trying to move 50lb boxes of records we decided to push them across the apartment parking lot. The grey tubs scraped along the concrete while my dad and I scrambled and pushed behind our boxes racing to the end of the lot. We laughed at childishness, an essence my dad always seems to maintain. And then continued on, lifting the boxes into the back of the truck and going back to work.

And then the couch, the stupid black ikea couch that we decided to take to Seattle. The crooked, bent design of the porch wouldn’t allow us to walk the couch to the end of the stairway, and it was my bright idea for my dad to drop the couch down one story. I, for some reason assumed I would be strong enough to catch it. As my dad said “ready, are you sure, are you ready,” I felt the dead weight come barelling down, pelting me right in the chest. And I laughed and gasped in the same breath as my dad hollered and came running down the stairs. Somehow I managed to stand there, holding the couch upright, and then we moved the couch into the back of the U-Haul. And then laughed at what a stupid idea.

Not once that day did my dad complain. He worked tirelessly as he moved box after box to the end of the stairs. intermittently we would laugh and joke, make a comment about baseball, about how Zito is going to go to the Giants, how the Raiders probably wont be any better this year, and about how much he would miss me, just knowing I wasn’t there.

When it all was packed up, said and done, I gave me dad a hug, he told me to call him tomorrow. He walked out the back alley to his purple PT Cruiser and got into his car. TJ and I walked out the front gate and got into our car. We pulled up behind my dad as he was backing his car out, he waved, and we all were off in our different directions.

I called my dad once or twice on the drive up to Seattle giving him updates here and there. Thursday, February 1st was the last day I spoke to my dad. I called him while driving home after my first day at work. We briefly spoke, said things were good, joked about how sore we were after moving, and then said I love you and hung up the phone while I waited for the light to turn green on the corner of Boren and Broadway at 5:30 that Thursday evening.

I called my dad again on the following Tuesday and left a message telling him I was just checking in. And the another message on Thursday saying “dad you always call me back, hope things are okay, give me a call, just wanted to check it.” He never called back. I spoke with my mom on Saturday, said my dad hadn’t called me back, and suggested someone should maybe check on him, it wasn’t like him to not call back, and we joked and said the only way he wouldn’t call me back was if he was dead.

And he was, he had been, for at least 7 days, probably since that Tuesday I called him. He lay face down, naked, lifeless on his bed. And here things are 4 ½ months later, still calling the coroners office every two weeks with hopes that they may have figured out why he is dead. And still nothing, no answers, no reason. Just one question, why.

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I miss my dad. I miss the annoying things about him, the way he called all the time, repeated the same things at least three times, how he said “and so, what I’m saying...”. I miss the stupid, gay, purple PT Cruiser, such a lame car for a man to own, and his lime green polos, and his awful, fucking awful, too tight white sweat pants. I miss getting stamps in the mail so I don’t have to buy them at the post office, and getting long, long letters that repeated themselves, hand written, every week or so in the mail. I miss talking about baseball, the conversations we should be having about Zito and the A’s. I hate that my dad didn’t get to watch the 2007 NFL draft. And there is no more crunchy and munchy, no more bullshot talks about how he can still jump rope, no more secret donut store, no more check in calls, no more “I don’t want to run up your phone bill,” no more dad, no more dad, no more dad.

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My dad is buried out in Dixon at the military memorial park out there. He said he wanted a military funeral, and the flag, the bag pipes, the “whole nine yards.” And he got it. I can hear the bag pipes, feel the wind blow my hair across my face, and I can see the silver box being taken away on some white trash cart to be buried under 6 feet dirt with all the other dads, sons, moms, and whatever other things are out there in the ground.

John Madden said in his hall of fame enshrinement speech that he thinks when the lights go out that all the bust start talking. The one thing that I can hope for my dad, is the in the lonely, dark depths of the underground, the other military men and women start talking. Sharing there stories and finding peace. And my dad is there, telling his stories, and finding peace.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

ready, set, go.



When my one-month break from school set in I had set some goals to accomplish during my short time of freedom. All those things I had pushed aside due to school, these were the things I wanted to do while out of school. With one week left before school starts again, I went back and looked over those things to see if I had accomplished them.

Read a book, send out postcards, take baths, read magazines, put the backlog of cds on my ipod, go to the coffee shop, clean my apartment, and walk my dog.

At this point, I have to say I’m disappointed in myself, I have about a 50% pass rate. Initially I went to the magazine store 3 times in the first two weeks, I have sent out about 6 postcards, taken maybe 10 baths, and gone once after work to a coffee shop. I have however, read ½ a book, cleaned my apartment, and put the cds on my ipod. I also was in New York for ½ a week last week, which made my 4 weeks of freedom more like 3.

It’s been hard not to just sit and watch tv. With MLB extra innings and the Oakland A’ being on tv almost every day, I have spent too much time sitting in front of the tv and sleeping.

But still, there are things I want to do in this last week of freedom. I want to finished my Don DeLillo book, I want to go to the magazine store one more time, I want to take at least 4 more baths this week, and I want to walk my dog if it isn’t raining and go to the coffee shop in the evening.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

NYC 2007


I've posted some photos of my trip to NYC. I'll write more about the records, the paradise garage, the kitchen, the loft, and the shopping soon...but for now.......

NYC ALBUM
OR
NYC Album

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

coffee shops and conversations


I had an hour conversation with my best friend Amy two nights ago. She lives in Sacramento and I met her in my last two years of college. We’ve always been so honest and candid in our conversations. When I lived in Sacramento we would meet at the coffee shop and talk and talk and talk. And something about this simple past time felt so perfect and so right.

The other night we were talking about this along with the fact that it’s hard to find a balance in life. As you grow older you still want to be young and as you gain new friends, new interest, and new hobbies, it’s hard to find a middle ground between all of them. So often we tend to do one thing for way too long, push all other interest and pieces of ourselves aside. And then, not too long after we begin to feel the pieces that make us who we are truly start to die.

I’ve done this with my schooling. Because of the time I spend doing school, I’ve pushed things like taking baths, coffee shop time, reading magazines, listening to records, walking around, taking nacho (my dog) to the dog park, and so many other things, I’ve pushed aside. And though my school does take precedence, I still feel an absent, missing feeling.

This is why I have been so excited about school ending on the 19th. I feel as though I get my life back for a month until school starts again. I got a battery charger for my camera so I can start taking photos again, I got postcards – 3 different kinds – so I can start writing again, I bough cleanly supplies and scrubbed my tub so I can take baths again, and soon, very soon, I will find a magazine store.

Along with this, I leave for New York in 3 weeks and 2 days. My first time there, something so big, so new, I’ve never seen. And then I go to Delaware to visit TJ’s grandma. Good food and the beach. Just two months away. And my mom, she’s coming to visit and I look forward to dragging her around everywhere, taking her to the bakery, the beach, the space needle, the market, the lookout point, Solo, everything.

There is much too look forward to, much to feel alive about, and much to be excited for.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

6 more days, one more paper, and an ad




It's amazing how such a simple thing, time, is taken for granted. I've worked full time since I got my BA. And I spent a year out of school before I started grad school. I had from 5pm till the time I went to bed to do what I wanted in that year. And yet I can't remember on thing that I did in those hours. And now, within the last year, 6pm till 10:30 being devoted to school work, I have had no time to do anything and wish I have more time to do everything.

I can't wait for just time, time do do anything. Sleep, take baths, cook dinner, use my step machine, write, read, listen to records, and so on.

I've got 6 more days of school and then summer break. As time has been freeing up I've had time to start doing the things I love doing. The first thing being sending postcards. I've finally had time to search some out, purchase them, and actually send three out.

As time continues to free up, I can't wait for all the other things I will get to do. 6 more days, one more paper, one more ad.

Monday, May 07, 2007

it was bound to happen


NEW ORDER SUPPOSEDLY SPLIT



"New Order have split up, according to bassist Peter Hook.

As previously reported the band denied they were splitting earlier this year despite drummer Stephen Morris being quoted as saying: "We should stop for a while."

Speaking about his involvement in Perry Farrell's Satellite Party, Peter Hook told Xfm that the band have broken up.

He said: "I spoke to Perry, and he asked me to play bass, as he'd heard about New Order splitting up. Well yeah, me and Bernard (Sumner) aren't working together."

When asked if the split was permanent, he added: "Bernard went off for a break with Electronic, but that was different. But it's like the boy who cried wolf this time."


Listen to the full interview Online on XFM."