Yesterday I did something I haven’t done in a very long time. After work I sat down and read for six and a half hours. I should have continued searching for jobs [currently looking in Toronto] or worked on the redesign for Tremonter or read some Neighborhood Connections Grant Proposals or done some more hoofwork trying to find get a list of youth programming for the 2007 Cleveland Leadership Summit or even gone for a run or made dinner or at least done the dishes or vacuumed. I currently have no motivation. I’ve been working so hard at so many different things for so long and still haven’t gotten anywhere [or so it appears to me]. I’ve been looking for a new job for two years now and have had three and a half interviews in that entire time. One of my coworkers, fresh out of college, just got a new job making $6k more than I do.

There is obviously something wrong with how I search for jobs or my resume or my comportment in the interview that wrecks me. I need to figure out what that is, exactly, and fix it. Although being polished and the right fit for the job doesn’t mean the job is going to be out there, in Cleveland at least. I need to figure out what I want to do with my life and do it. Currently I’ve decided that when and if I ever get $4k saved I’ll just quit and move from Cleveland. It is hard to save that much when I still make under $29k after nearly three years and one promotion. Where will I go? I don’t know. What I’ll do when I get there? I don’t know. Wherever it is, it’ll have to have more opportunities for me than Cleveland does, that’s for certain.

I love Tremont, I love the style of Cleveland and its entertainment scene, I love the people. I’ll continue to do the best I can for the city until the day I leave. But I’m out. That’s the only motivation I have today. Cleveland’s got everything I want in a city except for a good, challenging and interesting job.

My grandma is one tough cookie. She grew up during The Great Depression, sent a husband off to World War II, raised 4 kids and beat lung cancer. When I was little she was always a bit more frightening to me than my grandpa and I still don’t know exactly why, she was only ever really mad at me once, when I carelessly tore a chunk out of a tree while mowing her yard.

I’d often be over at my grandparent’s house during the summer, especially once I was old enough to be allowed to ride my bike the two miles to their place. Lunch was always around 11:15 and dinner around 4 or so. Grandma wasn’t too big on baking or cooking like Donna Reed, but the food was always good and there was always enough to fill up on. I used to put Bugles on each finger and eat them off one by one, or snack on Tater Skins. Sometimes when my cousins were visiting we’d be able to convince her to get a box of pizza rolls for us to share.

After grandpa died and my parents divorced I found myself stuck with the job of being the man of two houses. I would walk through the cemetary past my grandfather’s grave to get to her house. I resented this at first, I was in middle school, starting high school and there were plenty of other things I would have rather done than clean gutters and mow the yard and trim trees at two different houses. I got over this as my grandma got older and I grew older and into the realization at just how much I was needed. Relatively, I wasn’t needed very much, but it was enough to speak to me. When I went off to college the little chores would pile up until I came home on a break and I’d hear from my grandma how my mom was too busy to bother often and from my mom how my grandma needed help so often. [And I'll get in trouble from both of them if they read this].

Grandma is nearly impossible to beat at scrabble and euchre [although she makes an excellent partner at the latter]. She also kicked crossword ass when she still did them. A couple of years ago she moved out from the house in Connersville and moved to Noblesville in a sort of retirement community/assisted living sort of place, her emphysema and poor eyesight make it hard for her to do much. I don’t see her as often as I used to, and I don’t even call as often as I used to. I sometimes wonder if she still gets joy from her life and family or if she is just waiting.

Since my library books and Amazon order haven’t arrived yet I started rereading David Cooper’s Existentialism last night. I picked this up at a table in the faculty building at Notre Dame many years ago. This was a very cool table. Profs would drop whatever books they no longer had a use for there for other profs [and piratical students like myself] to snatch. Unfortunately I didn’t find out about this table until my junior year, thereby missing two years of potentially awesome library building.

In any case, apart from a few copies of The New Yorker whose covers I coveted until I threw them out, this volume is the only one I can actually be certain came from the holy table. Coming as it did, post- my existentialist philosophy course, this book has served as a refresher since that day. Last night, the same section that always catches my eye caught my eye last night in the same section. If you use Amazon’s Search Inside This Book feature and go to page three you can read it for yourself and a bit more. I’ll still excerpt the critical point.

…to quote Kierkegaard again, ‘an existing individual is always in the process of becoming.’ …no complete account can be given of a human being without reference to what he is in the process of becoming. … “As Heidegger puts it, the human being is always ‘ahead of himself’, always unterwegs (”on the way”). …Unlike the stone, whose essence or nature is ‘given’, a person’s existence, writes Ortega y Gasset ‘consists not in what it is already, but what it is not yet…Existence…is the process of realizing…the aspiration we are.’

This is always a good reminder for me when I get frustrated about the difficulty in realizing my aspirations. As long as I exist, I’ll be in the process of becoming something new. Satisfaction and must arise from the journey while motivation must arise from the destination, even if never reached. That’s almost exactly the point of Camus’s The Myth of Sisyphus.

My application and understanding of this idea doesn’t bind fully to a pure existentialism [which probably doesn't exist], but it works well enough for me.

I had a full and excellent weekend, full of superlatives. I had sushi at Pacific East because Kimo’s was closed for the Indian’s game, watched A Murder of Crows by Mac Wellman at The Liminis and had a Pisco Sour and Bourbon Daisy at the VTR. A Murder of Crows [I'm probably going to go see it again to make sure] may very well be my new favorite play. I didn’t really have an old favorite play, but this one fit right up my alley. I got a sweet ‘biner clip with built-in flashlight at the VTR too.

On Saturday I grilled some kebabs from the WSM and made the most delicious pork chop I’ve ever had. Yes, a few weeks ago I said the same thing, but this chop was better. Heirloom tomatoes and roasted corn on the cob completed the meal. I also puttered around Market Square and the City Xpressionz [God I hate typing like I'm l33t] spray-paintathon.

Sunday I did my laundry and went to see Thee Silver Mt. Zion and BLKTYGR at the Grog Shop. Rafeeq & Co. put on the best show I’d seen from them and Thee Silver Mt. Zion made me think about the melding of politics and art. How all too often art is used in the service of politics instead of the other way ’round. Thee Silver does it the other way ’round and the music definitely benefits from it.

I should also mention that I made my first [and hopefully last] visit to Crocker Park over the weekend. That place is the flagship of American decadence and moral bankruptcy. An enclosed suburban “lifestyle center” ["mall" is too prole, apparently] designed to look urban, complete with residential lofts above the big boxes, speakers vomiting top-40 muzak from the ’80s hidden behind the careful landscaping and the whole place made my skin crawl. Seriously. Suburban faux-urban loft apartments above a rich-person-only mall where you can buy a parking space so you don’t have to walk as far to the stores. I didn’t see one non-white person the entire time I was there. WASP city. The place made my skin fucking crawl. More on Little Citadels.

I got my passport and my Notre Dame football tickets in the mail yesterday. I’ll be going to the Penn State game with my uncle, the same one who took me to my first ND game [and Lou Holtz's last] as my 16th birthday present. Tickets for Michigan, Purdue and UCLA also go to him, but I’ve got tickets for the Monogram game against Army to mark the tenth anniversary of my first ND game.

The passport turnaround was much faster than I thought. Something like a month instead of 3 like I’d heard. Good thing too, because Americans won’t be able to get back into the US from Canada without a passport starting January 1, 2007.

Also received in the mail yesterday: Finder.

My high school buddy Phil came in this weekend for a visit. We did a tiny music odyssey, went to a show at The Church, the Rock Hall, and the Happy Dog. Even though this wasn’t the best weekend to see a band [nobody particularly big was playing] we still rocked out to noise on Friday and bluegrass on Saturday. Proving once again that no matter what your musical taste, there you’ll be able to find a place in Cleveland playing it.

I’ve written about my resistance to labels several times. Yet after The Shondes show the other night I found myself thinking in other paths. I was wearing my Don Hertzfeldt “Rejected” shirt, perhaps as a mostly unconscious association with the meaning of The Shondes and the fact that I was going to a show full of performers who are marginalized. Yet in retrospect I feel that in my disdain of labels I might have appropriated one that I have no right to.

I’m a Catholic white middle-class straight male. I’m anything but a shonde, anything but rejected [except when it comes to getting a new job]. In my label-disdain I think I neglected to recognize that when people willingly label themselves [in contrast to accepting a label] a subtle exchange of power takes place. This is probably right in there with the reclamation of “nigger” and “queer” which I’ve understood in theory but never internalized.

By embracing the label of a marginal group a person gains grist for the grinding away of the millstone status quo. Because the acceptance of the label is willed instead of enforced, my old saw about how labels limit more than they specify changes. The limitation now becomes focused [like a laser beam, Andy] and strong enough to balance the exchange of power to those who don’t recognize this next bit. It is almost like “Tom Hanks as Tom Hanks in Tom Hanks from Space”. By that I mean the label-chooser retains all the power of labelless humanity in addition to the focus provided by their chosen label; to those who understand the reasoning behind their choice. So, for example, The Shondes are even more powerful than the people who have cast them out realize. By going on making rock as “just folks” who happen to use shonde-itude as a slap-back to society, they’re operating on a different level.

For me, my disdain of labels is probably caused by the fact that I am so mainstream/majority. I have no need to adopt a label because, at a fundamental, selfish level, the world has already set my plate the way I like it.

Because I don’t watch
TV, all women [except
skinny ones]
become more interesting.
People ask: “How do
you keep up with
the news?” and I say
“She could use another
10 pounds.”

At the creek I found
the older boys’
stash of beer.
Cans sailed over rocks
like drunken philosophers,
beards floating on the water.
Induction and alcohol
spilled from their mouths
while I made crawfish
fight.

I’ve always wanted
somebody to love
me.
   Somebody
I’ve always wanted
to love.
   me.

I should have been
a small appliance
repairman. I should have
taken more drugs.
I would have
gotten high and
talked to broken toasters
saying “Does it
hurt
when I do
this?”

So it looks like I’m not going to be able to afford a house in Tremont. With only one exception, every house that I researched [about 2 dozen] would sell for significantly more than what I can get a mortgage on. There was one house on Auburn, purchased in 1997 for $13k, that was sold in 2004 for $134k. It appreciated 10× its original value in less than ten years. The current owner is probably trying to flip it for another $20k or so. Many of the properties that are for sale are owned by the same people. Two folks in particular had 3 or 4 properties on the market. Not that any of this matters, I don’t want a house until I have a better source of income.

I made Spaghetti Carbonara AKA Heart-Attack on a Plate yesterday. Here’s how I made it:

Ingredients:
5 teaspoons olive oil
5 garlic cloves, finely chopped
7 slices bacon, sliced into julienne strips
1 pound spaghetti
3 beaten egg yolks, room temperature
1/2 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
basil to taste

Preparation:
In a saucepan, heat oil. Saute garlic over medium heat until soft. Add bacon and cook for an additional 10 minutes or until bacon is browned. Place to one side. Cook pasta in boiling water until al dente (about 8 minutes). With a wire whisk, beat egg yolks and cream until smooth. Add Parmesan cheese and basil to egg and cream mixture. Drain pasta and return to pot. Pour bacon sauce over pasta. [Drain if you want to] Add egg, cream, and cheese mixture to pasta and toss.

It turned out really well, especially with the delicious organic heirloom tomatoes that were at the West Side Market this weekend. I won’t make it very often though, since it is so ridiculously bad for you.

I went to my local 5/3 branch in Tremont yesterday and sat down with a very nice woman who agreed to help me learn about house-buying procedures and hoop-jumping, the various programs that 5/3 has available and how much I could get a home loan for at my present salary. I learned about origination fees [fees charged by lenders for processing the loan paperwork], closing costs [appraisal, title work, county recording fees, credit check, etc] and pre-paids [interest, property taxes, homeowner's insurance] which are all rolled-in to the mortgage on top of the cost of the house. I learned that property taxes are paid in arrears and that all interest on loans is tax deductible. Since I only have a student loan I thought only that interest was tax deductible because I was a student. I learned about various methods of mortgage payment, including a biweekly half-payment system that results in an extra house-payment per year and can save up to $30k and 6 years of payments on the life of a 30-year mortgage. I learned that with most mortgages you end up paying almost twice the value of the home over the length of the mortgage. I learned how appraisers come up with the value of a home. I learned that if you’re purchasing a home from a realtor, it is wise to bring your own realtor to the table to represent your best interests. As an industry courtesy realtors will split the commission on a home and since this commission is paid by the seller, I would be getting some cash for my realtor without paying for it myself.

Then we did the number-crunching. I learned about Dinkytown, a site where you can calculate mortgage payments and just about any other type of financial calculation. Even at my pay-level, under $29k a year, I could get a loan from 5/3 with zero down and 100% financing with no mortgage insurance for $110k. This is calculated from my gross yearly income. Calculating from my net income, I could get at $70k loan. The $70k loan makes much more sense to me than stretching myself as thin as I would have to do for the $110k version. Good luck finding a house in Tremont for either of those prices. But then, I’m going to do my research on that as well. I rode my bike around the neighborhood today and made a list of the addresses of all the homes that are for sale. Then I can go to the Cuyahoga County Auditor’s site and look up the transaction information for the addresses of the houses for sale. Once I get the parcel number, I can then go to the County Recorder’s site and see the actual mortgage information on the home. From this I can estimate how much they’ll be asking for the house, and can determine whether or not it’ll be worth my time to call them. Of course, it would be faster to just call up all the places, but I wouldn’t learn as much.

As it stands I don’t think I can afford a house right now anyway. But by the time I get a better job, I’ll be formidably informed.

I had a dentist appointment yesterday and I’m still cavity-less. I did get a referral to an oral surgeon to get my wisdom teeth removed, as they’re causing some crowding again. I’m running on 5 hours of sleep since I was at the Lit last night listening to poets and eating cigarette smoke for a nearly equivalent amount of time. I finally paid Tim Herron for the frame on the portrait he did of me last winter. I hauled it home and the next time I see my mom [sometime in September we're going to meet here] I can give it to her. I certainly don’t want a lifesize portrait of myself staring at me while sit on my ass.

I was working on a poem but I realized I was forcing it so I stopped and wrote this instead.

I received a call last night from some folks in Battle Creek, MI that wants to do a site much like Tremonter. I met these people when I was at NeighborWorks in Nashville. This is the second time I’ve been contacted by folks that need some consultation on how to build a useful community site without the heavy costs of going to a design firm. Artie at Shaker Square was the other contact. Since every bit of software that I use to run Tremonter is free [or will be once I move it from MovableType to Wordpress] the only overhead is hosting and registration. I had to run to taco night at the LPP, but they’ve got my contact info so I expect to hear from them again.

I wonder how I could turn this sort of thing [which is starting to become common] into a consultation/simple design paying gig. I don’t know if it is feasible, since my price-point would have to be relatively low and that would necessitate several projects at once. I think at best it can be supplemental.

Lou posted some sweet pics from where I was on Saturday afternoon. You might even see one of me if you look closely. I’m also thinking about putting a sidebar of posts back up.

So I’m making a better effort to buy more organic foodstuffs. I was pretty well set in my ways buying from The Basketeria at the WSM but I’ve not been to the market in quite a while for no real reason. In any case, through the influence of certain various people in my orbit, I have started shelling out the extra bread for bread with less extras. I’ve already determined that buying organic fruit juice is a better deal than the processed stuff. You have to cut it with water because it it so strong, so I’ll get a gallon of juice from a quart of the organic stuff. I also picked up organic milk, which I will make myself drink before it goes bad because it costs almost as much as a gallon of the pasteur-homogen-ized stuff. [My inherent cheapness never ceases to amaze me.] Organic eggs last just as long as regular ones [or thereabouts] so I have no worries there. Especially since I got this awesome brownie recipe that requires a whole half carton of ‘em.

I’m also trying to get permission to use a local semi-privublicate compost. If I can get permission I’ll almost never have to empty my trash again. Plus, pet Drosophila melanogaster. [I love saying that].

One of the obvious flag-raisers for “maturity” is an interest in things that only codgers find interesting. For me this is antique furniture. Specifically antique oak furniture. Even more specifically, antique mission oak furniture. Even more more specificalliest, refinishing antique mission oak furniture. Patience is a definite virtue in a search for a specific piece of furniture. I waited nearly a year before finding a dining room table that I liked [and at a great price]. It isn’t mission style, but it has clean enough lines to satisfy me in that regard.

I still need to learn that when I do find something that suits, I shouldn’t quail at dishing out the bread in order to take it home with me. My mom taught me about this when she bought me two chairs to go with the table that cost twice as much as the table itself [and still need to be refinished].

My current longstanding search is for a library table to serve me as a desk/workspace. Something almost exactly like this. The perfect fit for me wouldn’t have the shelf at on the bottom [I like leg room] but otherwise that table is just right. [Actually, the apron might be a bit too low, but I can just get a lower seated chair.]

My newest search is for a credenza [as I've recently learned is how the kids are calling it these days] with cupboard or sliding doors and no drawers to use as an entertainment center. This piece is beautiful, but I don’t want one with drawers if I can help it. Also, I couldn’t afford that piece in a grillion years. But something like that is what I need to work toward in my strange sense of antique-modern mise-en-scene. [If you consider my life a movie].

The toughest part of antique shopping is wading through the never-ending flow of ornately-hideous glassware and sundry other junk labelled as antique. It is amazing how much crap lasts the years while beautiful stuff dies of neglect. I’ve yet to find more than one decent antique store in Cleveland. The Lorain antique strip was unimpressive to someone who grew up in a place where there are more antique stores than bars. There is a huge antique mall near Dayton that I want to visit sometime. Maybe this summer/fall.

I went to the Grovewood Tavern last night to meet Chas Rich and finalize the site design for his reincarnated Pitt sports weblog: Pitt Blather. George Nemeth showed up as well and hooked me up with the CDs I won at Bloggapalooza and in trade I finally got rid of gave him my lava lamp. I had BBQ Crawfish and Pistachio Creme Brulee [perhaps the most delicious thing ever], but like a dumbass, I deleted the pics from my thumbdrive as they were uploading to Flickr. I guess this proves that it can even be too early for me in the morning.

The Great Lakes Commodore Perry IPA I had and the dimness of the Grovewood was certainly needed in yesterday’s heat. I spent the longest, hottest night of my life in bed until I melted through my mattress and on to the floor, flowed out into my living room and congealed on the couch. It was bloody awful.

If anyone wants a Smith-Corona electric typewriter that is in like new condition, it is yours. -sold! [or whatever]

Same goes for a lava lamp with blue juice and white lava. -sold! [or whatever]

I’ve also got an 8×10 [or maybe a little larger] mirror with a white frame if you’d like it.

Let’s see what else…

I’ve got an electric candle warmer that burns scented candles w/o a flame or fear of fire for free. [Still don't know why I got that for Christmas]

For sale, I have a Kensington laptop docking station that was used once. $129 price tag, yours for $50 or best offer.

I’ve also got [Nerd Alert!] 3200+ Magic the Gathering cards and some really nice ones too, all yours for $250.