a grating noise, a quality of light

After a short, 3-week salmon season, I'm back from Naknek, Alaska (a humbly proud, self-described "drinking village with a fishing problem") with severe long-term sleep deprivation, a disappointing paycheck, and a slew of silly new friends, even dearer old friends and some pretty worthwhile memories. Two-thirds of the time at the cannery actually spent working (16 hours a day as a quality control inspector- a job I was lucky to have courtesy of a friend and fellow QC) all blend together in the memory as one uniform blur of raw salmon temperature taking, can rotating, bone clipping, and digital number oscillations on hyper-sensitive scales for the inconsistent "quality control" of mass canning the shittiest salmon of the day's catch.

But that one-third of the time...those one-thirds of the days that made the monotonous hell a digestible monotonous hell are distinct, individual recollections that ultimately overshadow the work and becomes how I'll choose to remember the entire experience. Every moment off the clock is the last moment you've got before you're back on the clock. You better savour it.

Whiskey? No fish for a couple hours means sunrise at the water tower? Oh where are you guys from? That bitch doesn't work for shit. Fireworks at the lake? Let the harmonica speak for you, the universal language of knowing a hard day's work. Shanty sauna? Donut breaks! Holy shit they have Cocoa Puffs at the galley today! Beach? No bear yet. Why sleep when there's hitch-hiking into "town" for over-priced beer at one of the THREE BARS in this pop. 89(a generous guess?) metropolis that apologizes to no one for their $7 bag of Funyuns and devastatingly out-dated jukeboxes. Fuck yes we'll sleep when we die while we kill ourselves not sleeping if the cough that's been going around since we got here doesn't first. Oh, we're going home in four hours.

"...a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream...the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps..."
-John Steinbeck, Cannery Row

Steinbeck understands.

What I want my life to look like when I grow up:

"Sleep long in the morning, out in nature with the kids all day, work late."

-Photographer/designer Elisabeth Dunker when asked what her favorite creativity-inspiring day would look like.

(Pic: Hike in Larrabee Park, view of the San Juan Islands with Annie)

a couple things I've made for people I like

Out of magazine print paper and jewelry wire, I made this whale mobile for my good friend, Annie. There are two different kinds of whales!

I made this paper crane mobile last summer, with old medical papers (with the antique look of typewriter print) that I found in a bag next to a dumpster on a sidewalk of Buenos Aires. Cranes were threaded and hung on guitar strings and a coat hanger above my bed. I found it makes for a great show when lazing with a lover.

...and butterflies. For my little sister.

Oh my gosh, first post ever!

A picture of Buenos Aires (La Boca) for temporary spice.


I'm not sure what to say since I haven't given out the blog address and still have no idea who I think would care to read it, or what I think anyone would care to read. Starting this blog has more to do with doing my family a favor than anything else and I'm a little afraid of sounding self-indulgent and/or trite. We'll see if this ends up being my last post. Maybe it'll evolve into something I don't absolutely resent.