Radical Transparency

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exhaustion

December 29, 2008

Uneven

The creative life is uneven. You have a few short bursts of genius now and then, the rest of the time you're trying SOMEHOW to get the magic back again, mostly without success. It's exhausting. I am exhausted, often.

Hugh MacLeod wrote that the other day.  On his blog, which is awesome.  And in a post that's pretty heavily religious, which I didn't expect but kind of dig.  Because I didn't expect it.  If that makes sense.

Anyway, I like the observation.  Makes me wonder how many of us not quite artists can be said to be living the creative life.
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October 29, 2008

Love and the Phillies

Too excited to write.

Love and the PhilliesA postgame reaction.

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August 17, 2008

MQT

The second time I went to hang with Tom on Lake Superior, we drove.

We'd been on a couple of road trips together already, so we figured we'd make a few days of it.

We liked our plan. I'd fly from the East Coast to the Bay Area. We'd hang there for a day or two. Then we'd explore some Nevada, some Wyoming, a little South Dakota, and maybe some Minnesota or Wisconsin. And we'd roll into the Upper Peninsula with stories to tell.

I arrived at the Oakland airport at 9pm PST. Tom was waiting on the curb outside the baggage claim. I stepped into the car, closed the door, put on my seatbelt, and Tom told me his bags were packed. Should we leave right away, right then, from the airport? I'd been thinking the same thing.

So we left. We'd do the exploring another time.

41 hours straight.

Our longest stop was one hour, in Custer, SD, for an all you can eat buffet. The lettuce at the salad bar was soggy.

There were other stops. In a reservoir in Utah for a rinse. At a Little America motel pool in Wyoming for another. Gas stations. 24 hour stores to buy and microwave frozen burritos. Caffeine outlets. But we pretty much drove it straight through.

Ten hours of sleep. Total. Between the two of us. During a 41 hour stretch. Neither of us wanted the other to fall asleep at the wheel, so we kept each other company. Books on tape were not helpful. Ween, Sublime, Talking Heads, and Pain were.

We rolled up to the lakeshore at dinnertime. We'd left word with some friends to bring enough food to their cookout for us. Baked potatoes, baked beans, hamburger patties, and salad in a bag awaited.

We stayed up until 4am that night, sitting around a campfire and catching up with friends we hadn't seen in a year. We woke up at 8am the next day, jumped in Superior, m