This week on Terri Trainer...

Terri tames the Outback in the Australia house at the Brookfield Zoo!

Expansionism (Unfolding Saga, Pt. 12)

Let's see, where was I? Oh yes! Just over there, across that plain, is a large mountain, it shouldn't take too long to get there. And just over that mountain, which won't take long to climb, is. . . .and so on. We drove for another 45 minutes or so and we hit a road, a road that with all degree of certainty, was our road. And onto that road, Dawn, Ryan, Jeff, Juneau, and I turned in the Subaru Outback, in all of it's all-wheel drive splendor. It wasn't a dirt road. No, not yet. I thought about you and wondered how I ended up on this road. How the hell did I end up on this road, in the middle of, ostensibly, nowhere, over 1700 miles from you? But here we were, there was no denying it, and yet I could hardly believe that you ever existed. "And the funny thing is, by now you don't," I thought. "And nor do I," I thought, "and they don't matter anymore, these ideas about who you are and who I am."

As we made our way down that road I remembered that night, both of us sitting there across the table from one another, your ID and your money in my back pocket, wearing the most ridiculous outfits and looking at each other after we'd ordered our beer and wondering what we were going to do about the other.

"What I mean is, I didn't start running because somebody asked me to become a runner. Just like I didn't become a novelist because someone asked me to. One day, out of the blue, I wanted to write a novel. And one day, out of the blue, I started to run -- simply because I wanted to. I've always done whatever I felt like doing in life. People may try to stop me, and convince me I'm wrong, but I won't change.

I look up at the sky, wondering if I'll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don't. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn't be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there? No, all I see is my own nature. My own individual, stubborn, uncooperative, often self-centered nature that still doubts itself -- that, when troubles occur, tries to find something funny, or nearly funny, about the situation. I've carried this character around like an old suitcase, down a long, dusty path. I'm not carrying it because I like it. The contents are too heavy, and it looks crummy, fraying in spots. I've carried it with me because there was nothing else I was supposed to carry. Still, I've grown attached to it. As you might expect."

--Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

34th Family Celebration

At the restaurant in Ellicott City.


Busy conducting business.


I love these people fiercely.


Contemplar
My new boss, 2 and 1/2 mos into his new position, told me he didn't know how to get to where our clients were held. . .


These are quite possibly my three favorite people of all time.



My parents were wonderful enough to buy us club seats, which in turn afforded us the luxury of attending the club bar for a brief time. My brother and I remarked that we'd never been to the club section, nor knew it existed. Buy club if you can afford it. The view is spectacular and the service is superb.


Taking pictures takes you out of the picture, both literally and metaphorically. My mom got better pictures of this part. For that, and innumerable other reasons, I love my mother. She has documented our family gatherings and expeditions selflessly. My mother, it seems to me, often has moments of "ah ha!" where she sees a great picture, takes it, and later understands that she has removed herself from the experience; even that of having your picture taken and memorialized as having been there too.



I'm not going to lie, these pics are unwieldy. I need to learn how to crop them down to a manageable size because the sheer size of the files is beginning to impede my even posting them here, and I have a ton of pics I'd like to share.



The Orioles killed the Rangers. It was a great night that began with the game. No pictures from the rest of the night, but not because it wasn't picture worthy. At J. R.s, in spirit, Uncle Glen and Aunt Fran led karaoke, and I danced with some woman who was at the party who admitted that I was young enough to be her son. I couldn't argue with her.

Back to the Bear's Den

the taxidermied of meadowlark vs. manitou springs

Expansionism (Unfolding Saga, Pt. 8)

Some nights. . .when I'm sleeping. . .I'll be dreaming and there'll be this moment when the dream either gets so frustrating or so boring that I wake, partially, in my mind and I'm immediately aware of the sweetest sensation in my teeth. A grinding, a clenching, a sound and feeling of friction of bone on bone. It's not disturbing at all. Far off in my mind this grinding sound, like the sick pleasure, when you're a child, of twisting your tooth loose. Like taking a little extra cough syrup with codeine in it, and then the anxiety, and fear, and worry melt away, and ease sets in. I grind and grind, without thinking; its unconscious.

How many deep breaths do I take in a day without even noticing? My shoulders tight, my chest tight; do I notice? I don't. Subjectively I am unhappy without even thinking why. Without thinking. . .so much so that I don't even register it in my consciousness; I breathe deep and relax my shoulders. I feel better, but I don't even know why. I'm not even paying attention.

And this way I grind my teeth until one final push, a little off center or a little overzealous, produces a squeak like nails on a chalkboard and I wake up instantly, sit up, and wonder at my mess. I long for the moment before where I was just half-asleep, grinding my teeth and at least having that to soothe me, before I say, to myself of course, that I won't have my teeth forever and I'm certainly not getting any younger, and this is certainly no way to be treating my teeth; teeth I likely won't have when I die. "We don't have things for very long before we lose them," I think, "and some would argue. . .shit, I would argue that we don't really have things at all. That's what I was trying to tell you. . .what I never got the chance to tell you. My goodness. That night. . .that night we sat there and you looked at me and I smiled at you and told you that I knew. . .that I know. . .that there was this moment. There was this moment and we were both sitting there and I haven't ever felt so helpless and, conversely, so free at that one moment. Past and future, converging in one single moment. . ." . . . "This is crazy, middle-of-the-night talk that won't make any sense to me in the morning. Or it will, but it still won't mean a damn."

At the grocery store, Dawn and I split from Ryan to look for some things; batteries, more food for snacks. We got to the powdered drinks and stared looking at them.

"What do you think about Crystal Light?" I asked.

"Yeah, ok," she says.

"Are you particular about what kind?"

"No," she says.

"Yeah, I don't know, me either." I grab a couple of packages and look at them and the different flavors. "Aaahhhh, here's one with vitamin C and electrolytes. I'm going to get that. I have to admit, I'm sick and a little nervous about the altitude. I can hardly breathe as it is."

"Yeah, I know."

I look at her. She's still looking at the selection and then she looks at me and smiles. "You want something different?" I ask.

And after a moment she says, "No," as if she was simply lost in thought about something else, maybe something Ryan had said.

Grace Noir

NEWJEWinterVIEW

"I don't know. How do you know if the actors are really sick or not?"

"I'm writing a song, I'll read certain books around that subject, especially if I'm stuck.
Like I was really stuck with candy, and I read like four books about candy. There really aren't any great books about candy."

Monday Morning at the Old Post Office Pavillion

the great ape of my childhood passes.

r.i.p., Frank. He wasn't quite as docile as the article makes him out to be. In the old gorilla enclosure at the Lincoln park zoo, gorilla and man were separated by about an inch of clear plastic. Frank used to have a great trick, where he would lie about two yards from the glass with his back turned to the spectators. He would wait for a crowd (inevitably with dozens of children upfront with their faces pushed to plastic) gather to gawk at his bulk. In one motion, he would leap, turn and slam into the plastic. Screams, skipped heart beats and scatter. The closest description i can come up with is an unexpected house shaking thunderclap, except with the visual accompaniment of a 300 lb gorilla flying at you. By the time you could recover enough to look up again, he was lying back in the same spot, peeking over his shoulder.

Dunkin', as i've never known it.

Your President Speaking With A Straight Face

"Russia has invaded a sovereign neighbouring state.... Such an action is unacceptable in the 21st century.... We have no doubts about it. This is a deliberate attempt to destroy an entire country and change the regime."
---GWB Today referring to The Russia-Georgia conflict.

It's Been a Week

I figured it was time for a new post. I can't do pics right now cuz my pc won't reboot. Not even in safemode. I may have lost quite a bit. Boys, backup your data! I'm going to Richmond friday morning for a day of shooting pics with my new camera. Anyone want to come? We can get coffeegrounds milkshakes and 40's.

DC Farmers Market and the Edge of Trinidad

It seems Holiday Inn gets all their food wholesale from the Union Market warehouse maze.
The carryouts of Northeast DC (here along Florida Avenue) offer the kind of variety you will seldom find in less violent zipcodes. These choices and these views are endangered.
Here's a link to some interesting info on the Union Market in DC

No Fillers. This is the real deal.

north stage (where wilco played this year) from last year as photographed by tadpole.

it's in the park behind to the Art Institute, so everything is backdropped by the skyline, except to the east where the lake is. makes for a pretty nice setting to see some shows.

good seat for wilco.

clearly, i'd never make it as a bootlegger.

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