a hand-tossed update in three parts:

it's amazing how working on bad equipment makes me not want to write. give me a nice room, a good cup of coffee, and a monitor that won't make me go blind and i'm positively prolific. sitting on a chair with a questionable stain in a trailer, bathed in harsh neon illumination, squinting the screen in a futile attempt to read what i think i've typed [is that an 'e' or a 's'?] i entertain the idea that i just might go completely mad.

it's finally gotten colder here. this has no effect on the ever persistent sun, which is so-far unfaltering. I'm getting land-life cravings: getting up after the sun rises for a ride to the coffee shop, doing nothing of consequence all day, spending the night at the bar with friends, coming in late, making a midnight snack, sleeping in until i'm not hungover... simple pleasures that boat life just doesn't afford.

i'm writing this in the galley. after dinner i'll make my way across the boat yard to the afore mentioned trailer w/shitty monitor. there i will turn this hand written mess into what you are reading right now. the galley is an odd mix of hot and cold. this thermal phenomenon can be blamed in part on the absence of the galley doors [they're being stripped and re-varnished at an undisclosed location] the heat comes from the ever toasty-warm diesel oven. i'm sitting on my orange five gallon galley bucket, nestled in the corner by the oven which is emitting the hunger inspiring smell of baking bread and roasted garlic. dinner tonight goes as follows: spaghetti with a fresh vegetable red sauce, buttery roasted garlic rolls, and hand-tossed caesar salad. [it's funny how terms like 'hand-tossed' make things sound tastier]. i love the calm comfort of sitting in a warm galley wrapped in the smells of a meal.

concrete ocean

we're ending our second week of haul out here in san diego. it's weird to be on a boat thirty feet above the ground. we've been getting up at 0650 and quitting when it gets dark so riding my bike is right out. freight trains go barreling through the yard at all hours and we get to climb a good bit of scaffolding every time we have to take a piss, or dump the dish water [which we have to collect in buckets]. ahhh haul-out. good times. hopefully we'll splash down on tuesday and finish the rest of our yard time in the water. then it's back to the oc to finish the contract. it seems like we just started. time really flies when your... but not when you're hung over like i was today. it wasn't so much a hang over as it was the three hours of sleep i got last night. today lasted forever, but i still love rock and roll.

when i talk to you i remember who i am.

some phrases burn their way into permanance on the brain. a moment shared in words alone, spanning thousands of miles pulls strings i forgot i had, opens the old memory flood gates; everything spills out at once instead of the usual controlled trickle. the pressure is building, an impending thunderstorm on a clear day- blue calm curdeling into omnious grey. tektonic plates shift, a woman in a red hat dances on the boardwalk, oblivious to the rising tides, migrating continents, changing geography. new maps must be drafted, new land explored. the emerging enertia of change is unmistakeable.

demon on my shoulder

it's my day off, and it's still early so i'm drinking a peach banana smoothie, but beer will probably come into play at some point. i had some really wild nights this week, like 2hrs of sleep, waking up in strange places to get back to the boat and make breakfast at 6 kinda' nights. too many recent nights eating dinner, maybe a movie with the crew, or just reading a book and then off to bed. i have a lot more energy the next day, but something makes me want more. i can feel it building; at first i enjoy being "responsible," then i start feeling stuck, then i get the feeling that if i don't go out and do something i'm gonna' freak out. what is that strange force in some of us that makes us do these things? it's like another personality, or like an old cartoon- a little rock and roll demon that sits on my shoulder, beats the crap out of the little sailor angel on the other shoulder and and tells me what to do. once i get the itch i can't shake it. i'll feel like death the morning after, but damn it's fun.

when i'm president internet shall be free

and when capt. doug is president there shall be more halloweens. at least in san diego cause apparently here, the outfit of choice was variously themed panties. i felt left out having left my slut costume on the boat. our crew went out as team zissou [not fucking waldo as some uninlightened people seemed to think.] we looked good. insane elaine even dressed up as the jaguar shark! too bad it was a monday. i gotta cut this one short- it's costing me 35cents a min. hopefully we can fenagle some free internet out of the berkley then i can type to my hearts content.