Posts from the ‘Notebook’ Category

Mar 26

what’s in my bag

We were sitting in a van with not especially functional air conditioning in an especially hot part of the planet talking about not much of anything. The landscape blurred. The air conditioning labored.

We got to joking about the weird things we carry. My bag and its collection of odd ball contents had already become a running joke among us. Hungry? I got you. Bleeding? Well, I can fix that, too. At least temporarily.

I promised my friends I’d make a list in the spirit of Glamour’s recurring feature. It pretty much goes without saying that Glamour’s bags are way more, well, glamourous than mine. But I’m pretty sure I have more snacks — and snacks always win.

So here goes!

Oct 3

4 Comments

the wait

after a while the heat begins to feel like a tangible thing, like a burden we carry on our shoulders as we go about our days.

or maybe it’s an oozing amoeboid mass, the spawn of some alien being who visited from a faraway planet just long enough to leave it behind. it rises out of the pavement and emanates from the blinding stucco walls, entangling us in its sticky embrace. maybe that’s what it is.

the power goes out, the stoplights stare sightlessly. the apocalypse feels near like maybe we’ve trespassed against something far larger than we are. the traffic snarls and stalls, the sun beats down, impassive.

the sun sets, the heat stays. sirens whine in the distance and their cries linger in the dry air. a hot wind blows down from the hills. the leaves scrape and whisper, brown and dry like the pages of a newspaper left too long in the sun.

the heat hangs suspended in the darkness. we pace through the restless nights as the wind tells of fire. we turn to the sea hopeful, as though somewhere in it depths hides the antidote to our troubles. the infinite blue taunts, but offers no promises.

and so we wait.

Jan 20

2 Comments

dream date

the pebbles roll under my toes. i like how it feels, the push and tug of the tide. i am in the shallows at a mysto reef break that somehow picked today to come alive. i shall make waves today, it decided, purely on a whim. or so it seems.

the place goes flat for so long, it eventually becomes impossible to believe it even exists. it’s like the great pumpkin, looking for the most earnest pumpkin patch, and never quite finding it.

the waves come up on the horizon, a mirage, a dream. you walk down the trail, turn the corner, and there it is. alive.

the first wave crashes over my head like a judgement, some kind of punishment for sins i no longer remember. there’s nothing dreamlike now. up close, the water froths and spits. the ocean, she gets angry sometimes.

and of course everyone’s here. the word goes out. someone texts his best friend who tells one other dude who calls his best friend who tells the guy at the coffee shop and before long, we all know. there are no secrets.

there are pros on their stickered up boards, locals on their lunchbreaks, the crazy dude who never shuts up, the girl who can’t really surf but sits on the main peak anyway. the dudes burn her, which isn’t nice. but it is predictable. when it’s like this, nobody’s feeling generous.

paddle, look left, pull back, paddle again. paddle, look left, get one. too bad it’s a close-out. back into the rhythm, i lose track of time, the dropping tide and shifting sun tell of hours passing. paddle, look left, go.

then we’re on the beach. a guy’s calling into work trying to sound like he’s not on the beach in his wetsuit, sand between his toes, salt-stuck hair. another dude is looking for sunscreen. i hand it over. i try not to drop my towel changing. life is about little victories.

the waves keep rolling through one after another, each more perfect than the last. the wind sleeps. the water is a mirror.

you never want it to end. that elusive perfection, it haunts your dreams.

Jan 15

3 Comments

the laughing group

The jokes are better at the back. That’s what I’ve learned. There’s time to look around. There’s time to tell silly stories and laugh at one another’s jokes, even when they’re stupid. Especially when they’re stupid.

I used to ride at the front. I used to surf my way through the field, slipping through the gaps between riders until I found just the perfect wheel. Following the right wheel will cover any number of fitness sins. I’d put my chin on the stem and just go.

And there’s sweet satisfaction in making a bike go fast. The pavement blurs beneath your wheels. You can hear the guy next to you breathing and the thunk of the gears as the pace ratchets up. You come home thrashed and glowing.

But you also miss a lot along the way, because going hard on a bike is the same no matter where you are. You pedal hard. The world streaks by in abstract lines. There isn’t much time to look around, and there’s certainly no time for jokes. The other riders are just riders, a wheel to follow or an obstacle to pass. They aren’t people, really, just riders.

Last week with a fast group ride looming, I decided it was a good day for a grupetto. The route promised great scenery and beautiful roads. But in truth, this was a decision driven by necessity. All the group ride savvy in the world was not going to cover for three weeks of surfing and no biking.

So I set to work rounding up a group of likely suspects. This is a key step in forming the grupetto. The perfect grupetto riders say they’ll ride slow and actually mean it. When the group starts to go hard, they can sit up and let it go. This is suprisingly difficult, actually. Our cavepeople brains don’t like to be left alone. There’s bears out there, you know. The perfect grupetto riders also know a lot of good jokes.

Aug 29

Advice

My friend assigned a piece of my writing to his freshman composition course, and we’re going to discuss it next week. He said they would ask me questions, questions about where the ideas come from, and about the writing process.

I don’t really know where the ideas come from. Blah, blah, read a lot of books, maybe. The air? I think some ideas come out of the air. And process. What is that, anyway?

I just sit here, drink espresso, and stare at it. Sometimes, I stare at it for a very long time before anything actually happens. I put a lot of shit sentences on the screen. Then I try to make them better if I can. Sometimes, it works even.

When I get stuck, I go clean the toilet.

I’m not sure this is especially helpful advice.

Jun 19