Wednesday, February 24, 2010


There used to be a douchey little club near the hockey arena. The owner was the cousin of my friend Isaac—this was more than enough connection to get me to check it out. Isaac and I went on a weeknight, paid full price and played Pac Man.

The place filled up with 30 something women in short skirts and pornstar heels flirting with greasy-haired muscles in half-buttoned dress shirts. We heard multiple Nelly songs. Isaac came close to his all-time high score more than once.

When we were on our last quarter, a couple of the greasy-haired muscles started shouting. Pretty soon the shouts turned to swings. The tussle spilt my beer. It’s always the innocent that get hurt most in these types of situations.

I think the bouncer sensed that a beverage was in danger, because he came running. He parted the crowd like the Red Sea. The man had a face tattoo, which I assume meant he did not take shit. Most people tend get out of the way of big men with face tattoos. He grabbed one guy by the collar and the other by the head and dragged them out of the bar.

It’s the little things I miss about my hometown.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Rehearsals for Departures

I fell asleep to this song in your passenger seat on the way back from Oregon when we were 16. The stars were out, and your car smelt nice. I wasn’t familiar with the highways back then. I had never listened to this album either. The songs and scenery were brand new. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. But it was late. I’m not sure if I ever apologized, but I think I meant to.

I still think about that drive every time I get on the 84.

The Winter Olympics

This town is getting ready for the Olympics. Streets are closed everywhere. People with plastic badges walk around in light blue coats. The construction projects on campus are all frantically trying to finish.

The man who sells me meat asks if I’m excited. I tell him I’m leaving town. He doesn’t look surprised. I don’t know why I would be excited. Maybe I’m just an old curmudgeon.

Back home friends ask me if I’m going to any events. I tell them no, I’m going home. They inform me it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. They’re probably right, but I just paid tuition today, and I have a hard to finding room in the budget for a hockey game; even Kazakstan vs Belarus is too expensive.

I don’t think about the Olympics much. I’ve got papers to ignore, and Greek participles to cuss at. I don’t have much time to worry about people in unitards flying down frozen waterslides on a fancy sled.

It’s been unseasonably warm the last few weeks. The trees are catching on. Up and down my street their starting to bud. A friend told me they saw a cherry blossom in full bloom on the Eastside. The trees don’t seem to care much that it’s the Winter Olympics. I couldn’t agree more.