now, i wonder where that came from?

odd places i've seen stray pubic hairs in the not-too-distant past:

1. in alex's diaper at his 1-week pediatric exam. the doc checked to make sure it wasn't attached before confessing that had it been, we may have a problem.

2. sticking out of the play-doh as it passed through a fun factory's shape maker. the shape of the moment was a simple square.

3. on my work laptop's computer keyboard.

and on the last item it was the client i was meeting with who brought it to my attention. he didn't say anything, he just waggled a long index finger above the letters R and T where it sat. 'oopsey-daisy, wonder where that come from?' and, to say you don't quite know what to do with it once you're holding it in the air pinched between your thumb and forefinger, highlighting it's curlycue shape, would be a vast understatement. if it were an obvious head hair you'd just lightly shoo or blow it off the desk and onto the floor, but i know how i'd feel if someone started floating stray groin hairs around my work area all willy-nilly. so i did the only respectable thing i could think of (at 8:15 in the morning at least) and daintily picked it up, studied it momentarily and deposited it into my shirt pocket. i'm a staunch believer in conducting low-impact business meetings.

after leaving this appointment i spent a moment hoping the guy knew i was simply trying to be respectful of his space and that i was not a collector of random short hairs. although, i can say, should anyone have such a hobby or collection, i would have interest in seeing it.

don't hate me b/c it's beautiful

the powerbook found a new home in chicago.

which means a 23 inch cinema display found a new home right here in saint lou last night.

man does it feel good to scratch a two year itch. i could go on about this latest step towards technological nirvana or i could simply share a conversation i had moments after buying the thing.

this is what you get for spilling paint in the garage

there were 11 kids and one father. the oldest was in high school and the youngest just out of diapers. the dad learned long ago trying to get answers from these greater-numbered masses proved futile so a system was devised to contend with the numerous overturned lamps, dings on the wall or basically anything that just seemed out of harmony.

after an infraction, they would be ordered to the basement. all eleven. they moved slowly and single-file down the stairs. i say slowly but not so slowly their compliance might be questioned. once there and standing in a motley line they would be instructed to undress. the pace in which this was done closely resembled the march down the stairs, not swift but definitely in motion. once all clothing was heaped on the floor in front of each child the man's belt would come off with a long pull from his fleshy arm. as the tip left the the last belt loop a silent starter pistol went off and there's really no other way to describe what came next other than to say, all hell broke loose. naked children ran screaming in all directions.

some crouched low and others ran outright but none stood perfectly still, it made for too easy a target. oftentimes two or more children would collide into one another. this could be a shoulder-grazing blow or a head-thumping collision. when this happened one, usually the smaller, would fall to the gritty floor. if down, they would madly crawl towards an outer wall not concerned with the potential scrapes from the unpredictable cement. the younger ones urinated as they ran, their erratic streams spraying on themselves as well as those who were just too damn close.

the adult in the center reached for the racing youths as they darted by. he'd try grabbing their flailing, wispy arms where he would then raise them high enough in the air to negate their churning feet. working his fat hand under their bony armpits worked best. the belt was in constant motion whether he held a kid or not delivering imprecise but meaningful blows. making contact on them as they shot by, while not as significant, still proved therapeutic. those who dangled beneath his raised arm would take licks to whatever side of their body was facing the advancing leather when it arrived. after a few strikes they would be released, their feet already in motion, for the next child to be snared.

it was certainly possible to make it back upstairs without ever having been singled out or even touched by the belt. it was equally possible to be collected multiple times. this was a gamble the children were willing to take, pitting their strategies of escape against their siblings. in the end, the one thing they all knew in the 60 watt darkness of their home's basement was that the only absolute defense would have been to be born in the house next door, down the street or on another continent altogether.

story told me almost 10 years ago by a coworker (g.s). it stands as one of the most vivid firsthand tales i've ever listened to.

i'll be out in the garden dear

howard stern

whew! (wipes brow)

day one was pretty quiet. let us hope this serenity continues.

and, i'd say more but i'm still reading. i've got lots of catching up to do.

monday night, 12:17am

i've got about an hour before going to bed and in this time i can either think of something to say to you or crack open the book i haven't touched in two months.

you see, i've worked more in the last 6 weeks than i did in all of 2002, possibly 2001 as well. the intranet i've been building for my new employer sees it's first users tomorrow (tuesday) where they will poke and jab with their keystrokes and mouse clicks the 31 applications that were rewritten for their benefit.

so in these last few moments of anonymity i think i shall go sit on a futon and do what i haven't done in a long time; read my book.

front window

it was 3am on a friday night. i was going to bed which means alex was waking up which means marty was mumbling incoherently and picking up things that weren't there (once marty hits 30 plus days of deficient sleep, watch your ass).

after realizing alex wasn't going back to sleep, i plucked him out of his bassinet and stood rocking him. during this i noticed that a way cool fog had rolled in. seeing how the lights played through the mist it was a given i had to go out and get some shots. so with the little man master-blastered to my chest, i grabbed the camera gear and headed out. we ambled around for about an hour during which time we talked to a cop who warned me about being too affectionate to my kid lest they become overly attached, ran into a shopping cart guy getting a jump on the friday night trash can loot. he asked for a buck. it's sad how some people are just unable to clock out.

alex and i call the above shot 'the apartment building someone was having sex in'. my god can people be loud. or i should say, my god can this particular woman be loud. i heard her halfway down the block. she was so loud in fact i felt i had to commemorate the moment with a picture and since i had just talked to the cop i thought it may be uncomfortable if he had to arrest me minutes later for photographing a young couple having sex through their bedroom window, so you're going to have to settle for a picture of their building's entrance.

and, while setting up for this photo and listening to this woman's production, alex and i pondered why it was societally acceptable for women to make all this racket when the guys can't, or aren't supposed to at least. i mean i guess the guys 'could' light it up but i ask you, what do you think would happen to your libido if you had to take in my squeals and grunts of utter delight during your utter delight. don't bother answering that because i know what it would do to me and that's all i need to know at the moment. issue settled.

please make way, full-blooded sheep coming through

if you see me on the street and i look different, it's the belt. i've only recently begun wearing one and am very self-conscious about it. this pointless strap of leather goes against everything i believe in, clothing wise and is the one article of clothing i wear that serves no function other than to scream out to all that see me that i am a total whore to industry and too wrapped up in what others think to think for myself.

some days making a living sucks.

drafting is good for the sinuses

when you see guys biking in a tight, single file row, it's called drafting. conceptually, its the same thing you see in auto racing. the basic premise goes that the person in front takes all the wind and you just float behind them exerting a fraction of the energy to achieve the same speed.

Man Who Screams Like Woman received a primer on the art of drafting from a friend because they are about to bike across the state of iowa together. it would seem that cooperative drafting has quite the rituals around it, for both safety and efficiency. for instance the guy in the front of the draft-line is not responsible for watching the road. he's busy working his ass off trying to keep a strong pace for the people behind him. the second man in line is charged with spotting any obstacles in the path where upon he alerts the front man.

additionally, when the lead man's time is done he announces this in some way so the next guy can get ready to step up and the third guy can prepare to birddog the road. the lead guy might yell 'i'm off' or something of the like and swing out of line falling to the back. the physics of the whole dynamic jettison the pack ahead of him where they will slow down a bit to let him catch up. once he's caught up he'll yell 'back on' so they can resume a hearty clip.

the first, and last, time i ever participated in a group ride which included drafting i was behind a stocky female i called sergeant bilko (in my head only). we didn't do all the fancy calling out and stuff because, well frankly, we didn't know about such etiquette. i spent most of the time staring at my front tire as it related to her back tire. it gets to be quite mesmerizing at about mile 30 and you'll find yourself zoning out. zoning out until you hear a funny noise and look up only to catch, square in the face, a gelatinous wad of chunk-laden snot shot from bilko's nose under her armpit (ala farmers blow). i heard/saw her loading up the other barrel and only just escaped the second salvo to the very great chagrin of the guy behind me.

in summary;
1. drafting is an efficient way to travel
2. there are numerous reasons to have rules
3. big girl equals big snot
4. it is totally possible to exfoliate/burn three layers of skin off your face and live to tell about it.

michael jackson, j.d. salinger and now captain

so the somewhat asked about gallery for captain is finally baked. i've not yet settled on a frequency for updating this yet. i posted to rockefeller center weekly for several months but that was primarily for my mom's benefit who was pining in distant pittsburgh, pa. now that she's here in town and gets regular smother of spoil stops she doesn't require the cyber fixes she previously thirsted for.

but, for equity sake and to not start that second-child slide so soon, i'll probably post every monday for the next few weeks as to let everyone, everyone that cares to that is, catch up on the little man since he's been living a rather reclusive life since his debut.

and as with rockefeller center, updates to this section will be noted on the front page and the photos are accessible from there or at the base of the gallery section.

introducing a new member to the cast

email excerpt from the way-with-words-girl

12,416 days old and counting

the people who knew me before i was an old man with two children have witnessed a transformation in me. some think it's good. others find it annoying. i know i'm different, this i can admit. although, i don't know that i'd liken it to the full lobotomy bookguy swears i underwent. for instance, i asked a woman at the park the age of her baby and she replied 'oh, he's 16 and a half weeks old'.

i have a piece of advice for her. no one gives a shit. the correct answer was four months, my child is four months old. celebrate the half week anniversaries of your ilk in the privacy of your own boring-ass home, especially when it's four days beyond four months.

there bookguy, i told you it was only a partial lobotomy.

sweet nothings

all the wash u college students left over the last few weeks. this begins our quite season. during this period, there's all sorts of folks trolling the alleys scavenging for the goods rich kids don't feel like carting back home. just another luxury of those who don't have to pay for what they have.

as for me, their used and soiled housewares hold no appeal, but that is not to say i don't take advantage of the mayhem. it's more than typical to stumble across some morsel that is curious not for it's monetary value but for other, better reasons. and, i have come to ritualistically look for one memento each year to remember the esteemed students by. this season's trinket was a note i found on the sidewalk while walking home one night. it reads.

----------< begin note >----------

Hi Just, here's the hey. See you soon!! Tess. (the above words were written in very big text at somewhat of an angle and there was an elongated heart in front of the 'Tess'.) Just in case and b/c my mom is making me, here's our address: (address inserted here) if you take a taxi tell them to take 91st st on the south side of edith dr to get to greenbelt. you'll recognize the house. oh! and here's bo's cell phone which my mom is also making me give you: (phone number inserted here) mine is: (another phone number) much love! be safe! (next to the above two lines is a drawn box and inside it is written 'We're on a mission from God'.) tessa oh! and there will also be a hidden key which i will tell you about.

----------< end note >----------
it is quite fortunate this scrap wasn't found by some freak who would:

a. pick it up and put it in his pocket.
b. later read it while sitting on his front porch, twice.
c. post its contents on his website.
d. or call the number pretending he's 'Just'.

now i know you're thinking the last item might just be a little risky. i thought the same given caller id, star 69 and the constant fbi surveillance i'm under, so that's why i made the call from e-love's house.

toodles jen and justin. i'll call before i arrive. and i'm axiously awaiting my 'hidden hey!'.

a pawn to the man

well hello there. it's been a little while hasn't it? hope you all have been doing well and good.

i had visions of coming out strong with some great and personal blitzkrieg to your mind, but last week i worked between 70 and 80 hours and the week before that 60-70. i lost my ability to perform simple arithmetic during the first hell week. this little bout with the job has also voided the surprise i was going to give you today, perhaps later. i'd tell you what it was but that would negate the surprise factor whenever i do get around to it so i'll need y'all to sit in the dark for a bit more.

since, i'm falling short, if you want something interesting to read, go here.