RATTLED

Jury Duty rattled me.

Down deep.

Walking out of the courthouse this afternoon, into the open air–the free air, “my” free air–hit me like a ton of bricks. I get to leave the building. I get to go on with my life. I get more and more opportunities to “make good” on my citizenship.

Someone’s life was altered today. For the worse. Back in January someone’s life was altered forever. Crime committed. Punishment dealt. No one wins.

The hardest part of the last couple days was to look into the eyes of the defendant. Innocent or guilty, he’s still a human. We stared at each other a whole lot. I wanted to talk to him. I want to reach out and go, “Man, you gotta get yer shit together.” I couldn’t. After the verdict was read, we silently walked past him. He offered me a nod and mouthed a small, “Thank You.” I felt bad for him.

This whole experience, albeit difficult and draining, has instilled a sense of “faith” in the system. The counselors, bailiff and judge went to extraordinary lengths to insure a fair trial. I was impressed, but have a new awe/fear for the power of the law. Bad things can happen in a split second. Bad things happened, and the kid is gonna pay for it.

- - - -

Coudal got a facelift. Really nice. Good type scale. Newspaper-ish. Facts are stubborn things: Jim Coudal is a nice guy. Took the time to “talk shop” a bit, got me pickled and inspired me a bunch. Good stuff. Thank you.

Watch this, or else. Amazing stuff from this guy’s hands. Jason Gnewikow of the Promise Ring and good design, in general.

- - - -

Sylvia and little Ezekiel pulled through town a couple days back. I met them out at Rod’s in Oregon City for a little some barbeque action. Good times. We taught little Ezekiel how to skateboard that night. Now, that’s a crucial step in a young man’s life. As crucial as being born, losing that first tooth, a last day of school before summer starts, a first kiss…

Well, the kids needs his own board. So I did “the right thing to do” and went down to Cal’s Pharmacy and got him a complete setup, some Vans (size 3-1/2) and a skate rat t-shirt. Ezekiel freaked out. A real skateboard. Just like the big kids.

Hey, it’s the least I can do. Sylvia is an amazing gal, and amazing mom. Rod and I are Ezekiel’s uncles. My uncles were good to me, and well, now is my chance to take care of a little guy. Rip shit up, little Ezekiel!

- - - -

Things are moving right along with the house. Getting ready to get down with the loan people real soon. Gonna sign my life away. Can’t wait. We’re proud to state were “financially sound” before and after the big transaction. Gigantically proud.

“Big” Tim Zimmerman might move in, too. Real good. One hell of a photographer, bass player, citizen, patriot, gal woo’er and all around nice guy, he’s completely welcome to help me break the joint in. He’ll take the upstairs bedroom. He’s on the road a ton, so it should work out well.

- - - -

Pinski moved up here too. Little fucker. I’ll kill him. Good kid, lot of talent. But, he’s got a funny look to him. He always smiles at me, just a little one, like he’s always on the verge of crackin’ up at me. I’ll get him on the right track, you bet.

- - - -

Portland summer nights are so beautiful. I can’t wait to sit on my porch and take in some fresh air.

MILESTONES, JICKSTONES, ETC.

The previous entry was our 500th. Not that you care.

- - - -

Tonight was Jicks night. Sherowski, Sierra and I cruised downtown to catch those Jicks stumble, flop and squirm through some songs. Unfortunately, the opening bands got a little frisky in the spotlight and played forever. Fuck. We made it through four or five musical portraits, and we called it a night. The beer gets warm in their fast, or maybe I just have hot hands.

- - - -

Today was Jury Duty day, and hey, I'm not supposed to discuss that with you. Like you care.

- - - -

Happiness is a cool Portland summer night.

- - - -

Still busy. Chipping away nightly at all the projects. Like any of you give a fuck.

- - - -

HOMEOWNIN': Listen up you escrow mothefuckers, the appraisal has been ordered! Finger are crossed for good numbers. Enough of this limbo shit, this slackjaw is ready to move in and make that house a home, or, DDC factory floor. Big plans in the works.

01. First, we move in.
02. Second, we unpack.
03. Third, we decorate all with doilies, Precious Moments™ figurines and shit.
04. Fourth, we plug the amps in and introduce ourselves to the neighbors.
05. Fifth, we stay up late.
06. Sixth, we sleep in real late.
07. Seventh, we hike out onto Sandy for some sort of breakfast snack.
08. Eighth, we hike back.
09. Ninth, we get sad in a big, lonely house.
10. Tenth, we start preparing for the next big move.

- - - -

Listen to some old Pavement this week. Really.

SUMMER DISC LIST

01. Wilco ? A Ghost Is Born (Sears Tower good.)
02. Jay Farrar – LIVE EP (Amazing rendition of “Punch Drunk”)
03. Jay Farrar – Stone, Steel & Bright Lights
04. Swell – Whenever You Are Ready
05. Bonnie Prince Billy – Sings Greatest Palace Music (track three...)
06. Bill Frisell – Nashville
07. Copper Press - #20 Sampler
08. Calexico – Convict Pool
09. Sufjan Stevens – Seven Swans
10. Tortoise – It’s All Around You
11. Preston School of Industry – Monsoon
12. Preston School of Industry – All This Sounds Gas
13. Stephen Malkmus – Pig Lib (…Vanessa from Gresham…)
14. Elf Power – Walking With The Beggar Boys
15. Drive-By Truckers – Decoration Day
16. Sea And Cake – Oui
17. Radney Foster – Another Way To Go
18. Amalgamated Sons of Rest
19. Neutral Milk Hotel – In The Aeroplane Over the Sea
20. Michael Nesmith – 16 Original Classics
21. Hüsker Dü – Flip Your Wig
22. Loretta Lynn – Van Lear Rose
23. Paul Westerberg – Come Feel Me Tremble
24. Richmond Fontaine – Post To Wire
25. Richmond Fontaine – Lost Son

RYAN ALAN SIMONSON

Ryno Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno! Ryno Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno Ryno! Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno!
Ryno! Ryno Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno! Ryno!

You love to hate him. And hate to love him. And that's just how it is.

Through thick and thin (lots of thick), he's been there for us. And for that, you yellow-bellied sonsabitches, we have to say thanks.

THANKFUL FOR THE BUSY DAYS

“We have the luxury of being busy.” – Kirk James, CINCO Design Office

The guy is on to something there. Things could be worse. Lots to do, fillin’ those weeks up real good. I spent a good portion of the last couple days shooting Nixon’s upcoming ads…some beautiful stuff coming to pages soon, folks. Wow. From that shoot, on to the 2004-2005 COAL shoot. Andy Wright and Brad Sheuffele are in town, as well as the COAL headwear team. Chatter leads to action, action leads to ad concepts, ad concepts leads to location scouting, location scouting leads to shots, shots lead to ads, ads show up in publications, and so it goes. Very excited with the stuff I’m currently involved in.

Little bit busy, which is cool cuz it keeps my mind off the things that have a tendency to get me down, or make me hurt. Things haunt, and my spirit weakens. The littlest thing in the world can feel the biggest, and it kills me dead. I fight to stay strong. I work hard to forget sad things. My mind doesn’t have time for the ugly line items.

So we focus, and celebrate the good things. Things like cautious steps in the homeowning progress, Zergebel’s new digs, a handshake from Brad, Goo’s haircut, a cloudy day, a wink from a gal, the new Wilco album, the new Jay Farrar EP, the new McSweeney’s quarterly, a check in the mail, a robust set of finances, a call from mom, a “That’s a wrap” from Marcus at the Swanson Studio, a tuned guitar, clean sheets, a tall glass of cool ice water, a call from Matt Cooley, moral support from Matt Kass-hole, multiple offers from friends to help me move, a plan for a October roadtrip (and we mean, “All of October, on the road.”), a cold Heinekin and good conversation with James Sullivan, a massage from Julie “Big Hands” Kahn, track three of the new Bonnie Prince Billy album, a call from Capozzi, woodgrain, big plans for the new pad, Big S and his cool summer air conditionin’, a call from Tommie Tucker, a new idea and hope for more and more good days.

These things keep me going.

Today’s featured “father and son” photo was taken last summer in an airport drop-off zone, minutes before a flight back to Portland. Sure, we look happy, but under those thick skins sadness lurked. I hate saying goodbye to the parents. Fucking hate it. Always have. Knowing it might be another 6 months before we see each other is a hard one to swallow. I try to be tough and stoic, and short and deliberate in the name of “getting it over with,” but often crumble once I get to the gate.

I can’t really tell what my dad’s hand signal is supposed to mean. Ill-fated “devil horns?” Some sort of “C’mon, take the goddamn picture, already” cue to mom (shooting the pic) who was steadying the camera for the big shot? I like to think it’s his way off adding “extra flair” to the moment. We Draplin’s have a way with our hands, ahem.

And I know what he’s saying, “Say cheese…say cowshit.”

His hair is white. My hair is brown. Someday, someday.

- - - -

I just called home. Mom was in her garden, Dad was working on projects. So it goes.

With all this hanky panky involving the house purchase, one thing rises to the surface: A new thing...“Portland Time” with the parents. If I can’t get back due to schedules and time, hell, I’ll fly them out. Sounds like a plan.

As soon as we close, and not a second after, I’m booking a couple tickets for them to come out and spend some time with me.

- - - -

Happy Father’s Day, dad…I miss ya.

The inspection went very well. Some little things came up, but I'm told every inspection uncovers a list of things that could be updated.

It looks like things are "full steam ahead." I spoke with the mortgage folks and we're in the process of "locking a rate in."

Next step is insurance options, and then figuring things out with the title company.

Tough stuff. Wears a guy out. Juggling lots of stuff.

- - - -

Very excited to see this one through. Gonna have a place of my very own.

Cross those gnarled fingers for us, you rat bastards. Today, we inspect.

Happy Birthday to my Mom.

We're sad to annouce that all the rest of you are "just gonna have to come to terms" with my mom holding the number one slot. She's the best one, and don't you forget it.

My Mom: #1 Mom.

HOMEOWNIN', A SECOND STAB

We ordered the inspection, with a firm time of 8am, Friday morning.

We’ll search for foundation damage, test the water pressure, rate the roof, taste the dirt, etc. Plus, we’ll keep our eyes peeled for TMD’s (termites of mass destruction).

It’s a nice little neighborhood, but a couple blocks off of Sandy. The taxes increased by 25 percent over the last place, so maybe that means something? We’ll proudly pay it. The neighbors do a good job keeping their places up.

More space. And we’ll fill it, you bet.

An upstairs. Yay. The “eagle’s nest’ for winter sleeping. Might be a little too hot for summer slumber, which we look forward to testing.

The backyard could use a fence. We want some privacy.

The garage is in good shape, and comes with out a “charming lean.” It stands tall and proud.

The paint job is new, and minty.

The porch has enough room for a couple folks to sit and stand guard from the imminent invasion from Washington state. You never know these days. (Ryno back in Minneapolis, watch out for Wisconsin. Kurt, Ohio has always had a chip on it’s shoulder concerning Detroit.)

More to come, as it comes in.

Go Sheed. Go Big Ben. Go Rip. Go Tayshaun. Go Billups.

Tonight we stand strong.

Headin' out to the coast tonight after work. Fred Green is my co-pilot. Matt and Pam-Pam rented a joint for the weekend. We'll crash with them.

Plans are in order to get loaded, fall into the ocean, float south, down around the horn, and back north up to the Gulf of Mexico, where we will be picked up by a weathered shrimpboat, which will dump us on a Casino Queen somewhere in the ass-end of the Mississippi River. We'll gamble, dine and frolic all the way up that big river to I-80, where we be thrown off for foul language. Then we'll hitchhike east to the Michigan border, then north to Traverse City. Mom and dad will greet us with open arms and stern-yet-relieved scolds.

Just a thought.

- - - -

Busy Beaver got a nice update. Buy some buttons, you assholes.

- - - -

And man, how about those Pistons? A romp.

What'd I Say

by Ray Charles

Tell your momma, tell your pa,
Gonna move you back to Arkansas.
All right, baby what'd I say?
Whoa, all right, baby what'd I say?

Oh baby, oh baby.
All right, baby, what'd I say?
Baby, what'd I say?
Oh, all right, yeah.

Baby, what'd I say?
Yeah, what'd I say?
Baby, what'd I say?
Baby, what'd I say?
Oh, what'd I say?
Baby, what'd I say?

Ah well, ah hey, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
All right, baby.

- - - -

Thank you.

Our hearts were soaring as the final seconds ticked away.

Our hearts sank as he sunk that last basket to tie the sumbitch.

The Pistons shamed them on their home turf, two times in a row. They let it go in the last little seconds. Damn.

Bring on Detroit. The Motor City. Wear of leather jackets with Red Wings insignia. Drivers of the Alero, Grand Am and Citation. Three home games coming up for those Pistons.

- - - -

Nothing burns me more than seeing California one-up the Midwest. Nothing.

(The comments section is closed on all matters of sport. We gotta focus. )

Go Pistons!

Man, it was kick-ass to see them slaughter those goddamn Lakers on their home turf.

Even with the day off on Monday the three leading up to Friday were extra mean, and thier own set of challenge. It ain't easy being us. Facts are stubborn things. We often question just how we make it, with the deck always stacked against us.

Friday, sweet Friday.

- - - -

Think about this for a second. Or two. (via Coudal)

- - - -

From deep in the forest, they give us strength.

- - - -

Go Mike. Can't wait for this one. That last little golf clip makes me want to puke.

BIG GODDAMN NEWS

And like many sad chapters discussed, relished and celebrated on these pages, we’re woebegone (yet relieved) to announce that the house deal fell through. Funny choice of words, as the inspector found some crumbling corners of the foundation, which made all the difference.

Hopes were high, and once again, we get squashed.

We fight to stay strong. An air of “heavy-heartedness” lingers.

The inspector did his walk-through and for the most part reported “flying colors.” There were some small things to note, like reverse polarities of outlets, soil-to-wood infractions and cramped rain gutters. No big whup. Fixable, cosmetic shit. But, as we “sounded” the foundation, hunting for loose zones, we came across some ugly cracks. A couple swigs of a Big Gulp later, the diligent inspector looked up at me and said, “They might just be surface cracks. I’ll know if they are trouble when I get down under the place.”

Well, they trouble they were. The foundation was crumbling, and with a poke of the stick, the cement would crack off with very little effort. Now, this is commonplace, but unfortunate. Plus, with a good estimate and some back-breaking cement work, the corners could be fixed.

So I had a night to think about it, and well, this dismal-yet-common news soured my spirits real bad. Suddenly, that little house didn’t seem so big.
Suddenly, that “lean” to the garage was pronounced. Suddenly, the excitement was replaced with a anxious distrust for the whole fuckin’ deal.

So I pulled out.

- - - -

Back to the drawing board. Sonofabitch.