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I want to play music again, while simultaneously wanting to sell everything that remotely reminds me of my erstwhile musical life.

Katrina. Rita. Peak Oil.

I feel small.

Went to my first war protest today and uttered not a word but to some folks I ran into who are involved in spiritual progressive circles. Clapped when moved by the speakers on stage.

Can't really talk much about stuff of substance at work. May not be by design, but I can see how industry has a stifling effect on free thought.

Reading an immensely heartwarming little book, 'The Relentless Tenderness of Jesus' which is like drinking a gallon of water in the desert.

Letting Radiohead tunes wash over me. The perfect soundtrack to the end of an era.

Want to sit and write handwritten letters again, but can't find envelopes. Must have misplaced them in the move.

Just want to bask in quiet and undisturbed time with my wife.

Need sleep. Over 10 hours on Friday night and Saturday morning just doesn't erase the week before.

Drove to Monterey for work this week. At least it wasn't shop labor. Got some fat overtime hours, 12 hours one day and 15 the next. Add to that the per diem that was sort of like working a whole other day and a half. The drive up went along the 101 and SR-1 (the coast highway) and retraced some steps that Kelli and I made on our honeymoon last November. The drive back was a meandering one, cutting across SR-46 across some desolate hillscapes that reminded me of well, I don't know, Hawaii near Waikaloa, or something. Desolate, but for some agriculture that went on and on for miles and miles, and a few oil fields which looked like small cities. I stopped by Kelli's school (within five miles of the route I took on the return) to surprise the living hell out of her, while sounding on the cell phone as if I was on my way home and passing through LA. Good points with her, that little trick. That was 20 minutes well spent.

For my trouble, I got the back wheel stolen off my bike while gone. This was the same day as Kelli got her car broken into up at school. Sometimes feeling another's pain just sucks.

Had a wickedly good meatloaf at a restaurant in Monterey. The beer was good too. Stop in at the Crown and Anchor when in Monterey, right near the Marriott. The hotel I stayed at was also very nice. Monterrey reminded me of Geneva, Switzerland. Very clean, organized, cultured, cosmopolitan.

Recent puchases: T shirts for work (black with large letters: "Crime Scene," "Explosives," "Psych Ward." Flashlights for work, Pocketknife for work, bag to carry work tools in. Pants and shoes for work. WTF? The first check I got from work immediately got spent on this stuff.

Recent books: the aforementioned "Relentless Tenderness of Jesus," "What Would Jefferson Do?" and "The War on Truth."

Recent DVDs: "Understanding America's Terrorism Crisis," "Hijacking Catastrophe," and "Peak Oil: Imposed by Nature."

Bellyaching laugh: listening to my otherwise totally anal-retentive supervisor Greg Johnson be able to muster seemingly any line from any Monty Python film. Greg is a self-professed curmudgeon, and is detail minded to an annoying degree, but he can totally cut loose when it comes time to recall Python humor from his college days. Other than that, work

Enjoyed a repeat viewing of The Last Temptation of Christ recently. Anything like that movie that shows how the ultimate human lived is just immensely gratifying to me. Again, like a gallon of water in the desert.

Sad. I still hold the key to my old house, and dropped in recently to see some of my clever multicolored walls painted over. Not all of them, mind you. And not all well done either. Or even with the same sheen. He also did butcher jobs on the plants in the back. My old man just doesn't care about that house, and it shows in his work. He wants more than he will ever get for it, and while I hate to say it, he should offload it sooner than later before the market tanks for good. I hate to see it go, but with the exception of my music gear at his house for a few months, he is not interfering in my daily life or undermining my well being or that of my relationship, though there are still snags. Still, it's not because he and I have two combative opinions on what that house is.

Living in North Park, I am confronted with a lot more humanity in all its forms. A week or two ago I stopped to talk to a legless man in a wheelchair. I guess he was not a vet from what he told me. I see a lot of homeless around here. Most of my complex is Latino. The next one over is largely black. It's just a hugely different place than Clairemont. I've tried to get out on my bike to explore it as I have time. Being sequestered in Clairemont was one thing; I had studio, computer, garage, patio, yard and other rooms to shift to and back from if I was restless. But being sequestered in NP is cause to actually leave and maybe actually see how other people live.

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