The Housing Market Meets the Big Bad Wolf Economy; Housing Market Dips 25.5%

This week we learned that the housing market is built of sticks and straw and not bricks, as the Big Bad Wolf huffed and puffed in the form of the U.S. economy and blew the U.S. housing market down 25.5 percent below the level it was a year ago.

As reported in the New York Times and by the Associated Press via Comcast, the final blow to the housing market was the...read the rest of the story here.

Journalism for the 21st Century; Revitalizing Journalism Education

Walter Cronkite is a thing of the past. He was called "the most trusted man in America", but today's journalists have lost credibility and the respect of viewers. The rise of celebrity reporters, the Web, 24-hour cable and its unrelenting appetite for content, and bloggers are just some of the factors and forces that changed American journalism.

Read the rest of the story here.

Roger Clements was indicted today...

...and I'll ask the same question I asked two years ago when that committee in Congress called him to testify. What does anyone care what Roger Clemens shot in this big butt?

Back in 2008 the country was going to hell in a hand basket. And two years later it's even in worse shape. Doesn't Congress have bigger worries than Roger's butt?--even though I gotta say, that's a pretty big butt.

Read more about what I have to say here.

Manchester, Ct. shooting

There was a shooting today in Manchester, Connecticut that I've been following all day. I've been updating my blog over on Gather. Not getting a lot of hits. Big news today is the solar tsunami--yep, that's what they're calling it--that may set off some Northern Lights tonight. People are writing about that, and it's clear they've never seen them or might not even know what it's about.

And there's this family the Washington Post are featuring that lived on a boat for seven years. Amazing. Amazing is the word a lot of the big hit writers bandy about because they are plagiarizing, er, I mean, writing so many stories they don't have time to pull together a cogent opinion of anything.

Anyway, the shooting. There's a black man who was caught stealing. He was brought in for a meeting. Either quit, or we'll fire you, he was told. We have a video. He was calm. Then he pulls a handgun out of a lunchbox and starts firing. Eight dead, then he kills himself.

There's a backstory that he had complained about racial harassment. No one did anything.

Anyway, I kind of latch on to certain stories and this was one. I can't write about just anything, which is my downfall on a blog that is only interested in numbers. Not quality, but the quantity of hits. So Google News will pick them up then.

Anyway, here's the report I updated throughout today when I should have been reading and working on a paper for my counterculture class.

And here's an opinion I wrote. Leave a comment if you feel like it.

Arcade Fire's The Suburbs

I've been getting kind of bored with the music I've been listening to of late. There are always new artists you can find, but it's the sound of the music that I'm getting bored with. Alt/indie, country, Americana, call it what you want, I still think it's great, I'm just looking for a little bit something more.

And I think I found it. I haven't been all that happy with old gather.com lately, with its emphasis on numbers and kowtowing to google news so it can be a a "secondary news source", which is just a fancy way of saying "bad writers plagiarizing for hits", but if you'd like, head over there and see what I'm talking about. Arcade Fire's The Suburbs is really something to listen to.

To live is to fly

A Sunday. Hot. Humid. Just the way I like it. I think I'm cashing in on my alleged father's Italian genes. I love hot weather. It doesn't bother me the way it seems to bother others. I hate the cold and the wet and the dark. When it gets this hot, all I have to do is think about snow, and I just settle down. I always joke and say I'm solar-powered.

So, sitting on the porch this morning reading the New York Times and trying to figure out what to do with this beautiful day, I finally decided not to go to a play and spend money even though I should--(should!--that awful word rife with guilt)--even though I should stay on top of the local theater scene since I'm going to school and spending so much money and time (did I mention so much money?) to be a part of local theater scene. I always say that an artist has to live life, and then bring what he or she finds in life to the stage or the canvas or to music, so today I decided to to stay at home and live a life and write and read for my class and play guitar. And not spend a dime. I'm reading everywhere about the Great Recession. (I don't know why we keep dancing around this and wonder when we're just going to realize it's probably even worse that the 1930s.) I learned a while back how to enjoy simple and cheap and free. Sue and I have so much in this apartment, and people don't really understand what we do all the time since we don't have a television. (So, what do you do?)

A mockingbird moved into our neighborhood, and is the last bird heard as night falls.

Today in the Times I read how important Facebook and Twitter is to our diplomatic effort. Please, people falling into the trap (again) that technology will save the day. With people, you have to continue to do the human thing.

Yesterday I spent a glorious day on the beach with my oldest, who has seemed to have adopted Rhode Island for her home. It's a beautiful place, all that coastline with such a deep sailing history. We get along, after all these years of being apart. In my counterculture class we read how so many people want to turn back the clock, revisit a time when things were "better." That's a natural human response but it's impossible. And it's a response that I think is ruining this country right now. We have to embark on new paths; learn from the past but the times call for a new way of life.

With my daughter I know I can't turn back the clock, I can only go forward from here, and that's probably the right and true thing to do anyway. I know, if she could, she'd turn back the clock to when she was happier, when there was a regular family with a mom and a dad and a sister and a dog living in a house in the suburbs. She needs me right now, needs my advice to help her move toward the future. I think there are some people in her life who'd she'd be a lot better off without. Not bad people; just nothing great about them--they're the hoi polloi, though I'm sure they think otherwise about themselves; I'm sure they've been told all their lives how great they are, how smart, funny, intelligent, witty, good-looking (on the outside, maybe) by doting parents and superficial friends. And I know I'm prejudiced, but Allison is a catch. She's a terrific person who has a fragile side thanks to her father and there are those who are too damn clumsy, stupid, or just plain uncaring to deserve her company. And I feel it's my responsibility to protect her. I told her yesterday that she deserves to have the kind of friend that she makes for others.

I've turned into a crusty old SOB; someone who doesn't suffer fools. I've wasted too much time (Livin's mostly wastin' time/I waste my share of mine/But it never feels too good/So let's don't take too long). I've always heard the clock tickin' and always tried to live my life knowing that it all could end tomorrow. It's too precious. And I hate wasting anything much less time.

Drew Landry, crawfish fisherman, uses a folk song to urge the oil commission to "do the right damn thing."

I saw this article on Huffington Post yesterday, about this crawfisher from Louisiana who went to Washington to testify in front of the White House oil spill commission. And it was a great story about how this guy pulled out his guitar and sang a song he wrote about the effects of the oil spill, and it was a nice song and he had a nice voice.

He also said a lot of intelligent and soulful and heartfelt things to the commission, and it made me feel so good because I like seeing country people in that light. They're smart and caring and maybe they're not as sophisticated as so many city people, but they're heads are usually screwed on straight.

I've been bumming out more and more about the state of affairs of the world, the oil spill has me sick, with all its ramifications of destruction and greed, and how the economy is just killing people, and again at the root of it all was greed and dishonesty. It is enough to make a person sick.

So today, because I was bumming out, I pulled up the video again just to cheer myself up. I tend to turn to music when I'm feeling low. And I was listening to it, and I notice the guy's name--Drew Landry. And I thought to myself, hold on a minute, I know that name.

And it took me a minute, but he and I are Facebook friends. We've never met, but I even remember he befriended me, and I even wrote him asking who he was, and he said he was a musician and saw that I posted about music occasionally, and that was it. He shows up on my wall from time to time, and I get invited to concerts and such down in Louisiana, which of course I can't make.

But today I'm feeling good about the world, despite everything. Because there are good people in the world, and thanks to the digital space, which if you've read this blog enough I certainly have some bones to pick, but you don't have to look hard to find these people. And music is a good thing that does make the world a better place, so we all got to keep playing music.

Here's the video of him testifying and singing his song. After this one there's another video of him I picked up on Youtube of him playing a song and another of a movie someone is making of him. He's a talented musician, and obviously a real decent human being. Kind of a vanishing breed in the United States, wouldn't you say?

unf--k the gulf...

Unfuck the Gulf. You heard me. And a federal appeals court threw out the FCC's indecency policy, so my headline and anything I say including this video is 100% AOK to post. Hey, if the Wall Street Journal says it's true, who am I to aruge?

You get the message from the title. It's the work of Nate Guidas and Luke Montgomey.

About Nate:
Nate is an environmental activist and educator with a passion for persuasion. He produced the video and designed the charity shirt. Check out more about him on his website: GreenGuyNate.com

About Luke:
Luke is an internet, fundraising and media strategist who works as a consultant for non-profits who want to make a bigger impact and change in the world. He directed the video and designed the website. See more of his work at: GoodIdeasforGoodCauses.com

Do your part. Check out unfuckthegulf.com. Buy a t-shirt. Post it on Twitter and Facebook.

Comfortable in my own skin

Well, life is good and it's not and sometimes it's hot and today it's raining.

Happy in my own skin seems to be the order of the day. I used that expression last night in class, and it seemed to resonate with the professor. I guess folksy talk isn't normally heard in a graduate studies classroom, but I was using it to describe Jay Gatsby, or rather how the Great One wasn't. Comfortable in his own skin, that is.

One of the greatest lessons I've learned in my lifetime is how to say no. Or walk away from something or someone. I was a yes-man for years, not in the bootlicker kind of way, but I rarely said no to anyone and eventually you see that you're getting taken advantage more often than not.

Now I'm going to point you over to two posts that I've written most recently over at gather.com. It's a cute little endeavor over there, but numbers are taking a front seat to quality, and that never sets well with me, especially when it comes to slacking off when it comes to writing. It's all about SEO and Google, and money, of course.

(Maybe, for full disclosure, I should say that the the literature course that is currently occupying my mind is called the literature of the American counter-culture. Never before has the American Dream been on the retreat as it is now in the United States, and big changes are in the wind. Money--or our incessant, 24/7 desire for it--has got to have a cap on it...like that oil well in the Gulf. And I guess capping our desires is going to prove as difficult as the oil well.)

Anyway, check out what I had to say about a viral video, and my response for what gets passed off as a news story on gather.com.

Miley Cyrus's crotch picture a big hit on the blogsphere...(PICTURE)

I was talking to my Cousin Jerry yesterday. (Yes, in some parts of the United States, people still call each other cuz, and some even have two names. Would all the stiff necks and blue bloods on the East Coast just please get over it.)

Anyway, he said that he hasn't seen any new postings here on Action Bob lately, and yes, I have to admit, a lot of my writing has been concentrated over on gather.com, where I get paid a pittance for enticing people to visit. I won't be getting rich anytime soon over there, but most writers only dream of becoming rich. They rarely realize it.

Anyway, I'm still writing about what I've always written about starting with columns in the newspaper. Basically I guess it can be summed up with I write about whatever pisses me off. Stated more clearly, I write about things that I feel passionately about, one way or another, good or bad, happy or sad.

That actually came to head yesterday during a live chat on Gather with a group of socialwriters (that's Gather parlance for paid writers) and a couple of channel managers. I cover news and politics. If I bust my hump and get lucky, one of my postings might attract a bit over 5,000 unique page views. A lot has to do with Google and search engine optimization (SEO), plus a few other variables.

What is patently obvious is that the writers covering celebrities were getting hits into the tens of thousands. One writer actually got almost 13,000 unique views for blogging about Miley Cyrus's crotch. So I write about health care or the BP oil spill, and maybe a few hundred read it. (I was actually wondering what a post about an oil spill in Miley Cyrus's crotch would attract.)

Hell yes, I'd love to have a huge readership that would convert to more dollars. But not if I have to write about some twerp's private parts. Hell, I did enough of that kind of writing while in the computer industry--writing about stuff I couldn't care less about, I mean. Not private parts. You write about what you care about, and to hell with the money. (See why writers typically aren't rich?--with an attitude like that. But ask Cousin Jerry: I've been like this all my life, rooted to my principles at to hell with the rest of the world.)

Which is the reason why I started a post yesterday like this:

You know, sometimes my job as a writer is simply to nose around and find stuff that I think people should see and know about. And the one thing about this BP oil spill that just scares the life out of me is that, like Katrina, it will simply fade into the shadows. So sometimes it's just my job to just keep barking annoyingly, saying, hey, look at this. You have to believe in the gift you given. And as it says on my guitar case, never apologize for your art.

I linked the post to some pictures and videos that two bloggers in Pensacola Beach, Florida had posted of the oil washing up on the beach there. Their backyard. And I presented a challenge. Check out the post. Check out the pictures and video, and check out my challenge.

And I'd like to hear what you have to say about all this. Do me a favor and comment on Gather. I get paid when you do.

Money or principles? What's it's going to be.

And oh, just so you get the fulfillment from this post's heading, here's the picture of Miley Cyrus's crotch. Tell the truth--was it really worth it?

I'll be playing and singing on stage this weekend at Club Passim

Okay, we've all heard the stories. Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads at midnight, and about four years ago Baxter came over to my apartment bearing a vintage Burns six-string guitar and told me to play it, even though at the time I only knew C and G7.

Johnson went on to become the world's greatest delta blues player, and me, well, I'm happy just to say I'm still walking the earth.

I fell in love with the guitar, so much so that I've actually said that, if given the chance to barter, I wouldn't give my soul, but would consider exchanging every bit of theater talent I have to be great guitar player. However, I would prefer to meet at a more sane hour--say 10:00 o'clock in the morning. Crossroads are fine, though.

There was someone who actually said I was too old to learn to play--a theater person by trade, no less--who I gently eased out of my life. And I think there were some who felt it might be considered a crime against humanity if I actually sang in public.

So, negative theater person aside, this Saturday I will be performing with the Americana Ensemble class at Club Passim at their annual campfire on the same stage from which the likes of Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Shawn Colvin and even my hero Chris Knight have been seen. I will be singing Guy Clarke's LA Freeway, and for two other songs I'll be playing Lulu, the 1963 Burns electric Baxter handed off to me and told me to cling to like the drowning man I was.

The simple lesson is this: You can do whatever you want. Never, never listen to negativity. Run like hell from it. You don't have to take it, or even bother with it in any way. It's your life you can do what you want. And you don't have to explain yourself either. Just simply live, and things should work out all right.

Historic walking tour of Boston theater; something new and different from New Exhibition Room

I love it when creative minds really click.

If you're looking for something interesting and new and a little different and kinda high-brow (hey, this is Boston, after all) New Exhibition Room is hosting an historic walking tour exploring more than 200 years of theatre in Boston.

Called Theatre in Everything but Name: An historic walking tour of Boston's theatre sites and spaces, all proceeds benefit NXR's summer production of Shh! at the New York International Fringe Festival.

The NXR tour, led by Artistic Director A. Nora Long and a few special guests, will explore Boston's rocky relationship with theatre, from its clandestine beginnings to its explosive present.

Beginning at the Theatre History marker behind the Boylston T-stop, the tour will wind its way through Boston's Theatre District as it was and as it stands now. The tour will conclude at the site where it all began the original New Exhibition Room.

Tours are scheduled for Saturday, June 26th at 12:00 PM and 1:00 PM. The 1:00 PM tour will be followed by a picnic reception in Boston Common. The tours will commence rain or shine. In the case of inclement weather the picnic reception will take place at 88 Tremont St.

Get your tickets here, and more info about NXR here.

Laughing while you sink

I never heard the expression before until I saw this video from ABC--the Australian Broadcasting Company, not the American version. It had to be Australian because only an Aussie could have come up with such biting, stare you right in the eye humor that beautifully explains the European Crisis--which is the name they colloquially use in Europe for this financial shit storm that is wreaking havoc all around the world and that is changing the face of the world as we've known it.

Ah, humor, that wonderful human defense mechanism that kicks in in the direst of circumstances. Have you ever seen another animal deploy it? Can you imagine a seal pup, right in the shadow of the club, bending over in side-splitting laughter at the abject hopelessness of the situation?

Nope, you can't. But we humans can. That's why we're on top in this world. And that's probably also why we're fucking things up so insanely as of late.

Angel Mine Video from the Cowboy Junkies

Sweet song with a simple melody, but it catches in my throat every time.

Check out these Boston theater productions: Farragut North, Family Stories, Betrayal, and Boston Theatre Marathon XII

Have been seeing some really good theater in the Boston area that I'd like to pass along to you.

Lately I've been sitting in the audience thinking back to my old days in school as a photography major. Back then--and this was just as this weird new technology called video was just on the rise--photography was the hip visual technology, and the people who majored in things like printmaking were sort of the anachronisms of the art world.

As a writer, I'm always curious about the structure of the different pieces I've been watching, and the subject matter, and I'm curious about theater's role in society, and if it currently has a real and important and persistent place.

That all aside, here are a few shows that are still up and running that I suggest you see.

I'll start with Farragut North, produced by Zeitgeist Stage Company, in its final week at the Plaza Black Box theater at the Boston Center for the Arts. At some point I heard someone describe Farragut North as The West Wing on crack. Farragut North is a very approachable show in terms of its topic, and mirroring a lot of characteristics of popular television: very fast pace, in your face drama, broadly defined characters facing extraordinary moral questions. It depicts the descent of a political press secretary during a modern presidential campaign, with hard-hitting Mametesque dialogue, and all the misplaced ambition, paranoia, and gluttony for power that we've all come to expect from our leaders. In short, its something we all can quickly identify. Right up to the end there's a moral battle that entices the audience. Always a good sign, after the production I found myself on the sidewalk talking about the story and the characters as if they were real. For someone in theater, to shuck your theater facade and actually become a participatory audience member is high compliments for a show. This is definitely a must-see.

Second on my list is Family Stories, produced by Whistler in the Dark and running for two more weeks at the Factory Theatre. After seeing the show I said to both director and Whistler artistic director Meg Taintor and actress Mellisa Barker that I have no idea what I had just seen, but I loved it. Set in Belgrade in 1998, the country is wracked by violence, civil war, paranoia, famine, and all the other accoutrements of war and civil strife that would plague the citizenry. Jarring emotions and actions play out on the stage, and Family Stories presents an abstract and fragmented view of what life was like during those times. A magnificent piece of theater that will challenge you, and answered the question I had halfway through the production: What kind of life caused someone to write all this? If you're curious about the world, outside of the safe little box most of us live within, go see this.

Last night Harold Pinter's Betrayal opened at the Calderwood Pavillion at the Boston Center for the Arts last night. I'm house manager for the first week (so if you come this weekend you'll get a cheery greeting from me; be sure to say hi), and last night I was lucky enough to be able to see the entire show from the second row. The kind of opening night that I saw last night, where all the tech comes off smoothly and the actors are connecting in a very deep and real way means that this show has nothing else to do but keep getting better and better. Of course, like the other shows I mentioned, I know a few of the actors and technical people. And sometimes that's a problem because you know the actors on stage as people in the "real world." That didn't happen last night watching Lyralen Kaye and Wayne Fritsche (and I'll also say the same for Victor Shopov in Farragut North and Melissa Barker in Family Stories.) Wayne tears your heart out as Robert, the culkhold husband of Lyralen's Emma. Lyralen is the founder and artistic director of Another Country Productions that espouses and promotes Meisner training. Quoting the promo piece, "It’s not about star power so much as it is about ensemble and connection. Betrayal, with its nuance and levels of emotional complication, could not be better served than by this technique." Good acting is simply about human relationships, that spark that jumps across the synapses that exist between all of us. This production of Betrayal is about that and so much more. Again, go see this one.

Finally, a heads up that Boston Playwrights' Theatre is presenting the Boston Theatre Marathon XII this Sunday, May 23 from 12 noon to 10 pm.

50 ten-minute plays by 50 New England playwrights presented by 50 New England theatre companies in 10 hours.

Plus, like last year the Boston Theater Marathon will include The Warm-Up Laps on May 22 featuring free staged readings. These readings are presented in association with the Boston Center for the Arts and their resident theatres.

All net proceeds benefit the Theatre Community Benevolent Fund, a non-profit organization that provides financial relief for theatre artists and organizations who face dire need and require financial assistance.

It's time to legalize the world's dirty little secret

The New York Times reported that marijuana is a the bottom of a new haute cuisine the Times called haute stoner cuisine. You can read about it here, on my blog at Gather.

As I wrote in my Gather blog, if artsy, creative, and affluent aren't smoking pot, that would be news.

Still...nope, I don't smoke. I guess I'm not artsy and creative enough, and I'm sure as hell not affluent. Yet I know so many people who do smoke. It's the suburb's dirty little secret, that people who you would never guess indulge. Little grannies and so many white collar workers who I guess need something to get through their depressing existence.

I wish I did like it (it seems so hip and cool), but I think I smoked my share way back in high school. By the time I was in college (in my early twenties; I've always been a late bloomer) I pretty much had my fill. I'm totally useless stoned. I can't think, talk, and I have one of those personalities that gets very paranoid and eventually seriously depressed when he's high. So, I learned a long time ago that it's not a good idea for Johnny to be indulging.

As I said to a Rastafarian recently in Costa Rica who offered me some smoke: Yo tengo muy mucho anos por marijuana. Mi cabeza es loco.

Still, I think it's about time we legalized it. What it's going to take is for all those hypocrites who smoke but won't admit it to come forward and raise their hands. But we should legalize it for a number of reasons, even though I'm not so sure about the argument that it's not detrimental to mental health. I know quite a few people who can't get through the day without it, we all know or have seen stoners who just can't motivate. What's all that about?

1) So we can tax the hell out of it, just like alcohol and cigarettes and every other vice tax. There's a huge source of revenue.

3) It's so widely accepted by so many ages and social strata that, despite my reservations, if you're adult enough to make decisions about issues like voting for the president, if you want to risk your brain cells that's your business. See? I really am a Libertarian.

3) To save lives. Yep, you heard me. All you artsy, creative, affluent types: That weed you're smoking might have a few deaths attached to it somewhere along the time it was harvested and you bought it from your "medical marijuana prescriber." Drugs = organized crime, and life doesn't mean much to them.

Wilco: California Stars

I know we won't be playing it this good, but this is one of the songs we (the Americana Ensemble group I'm playing with from Club Passim's School of Music) will be playing at the weekend campfire next weekend.

It was only a few minutes ago that I heard this song for the first time, so I guess I better get cracking, trying to figure out where I'll fit in in the rendition.

Oh, and it's written by Woody Guthrie.



I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars

I'd love to feel Your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes I'd give my life To lay my head tonight
On a bed Of California stars

I'd like to dream My troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my starbed, Make another day
Underneath my California stars

They hang like grapes On vines that shine
And warm the lovers' glass Like friendly wine
So I'd give this world Just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars

I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars

I'd love to feel Your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes I'd give my life To lay my head tonight
On a bed Of California stars

I'd like to dream My troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my starbed
Make another day Underneath my
California stars

They hang like grapes On vines that shine
And warm the lovers' glass Like friendly wine

So I'd give this world Just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars

So I'd give this world Just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars

(Dream a dream with you)

Minivan rap song goes viral, and I just don't get it

If you want to see it, you have to go over to my blog on Gather.com to see it, but a rap video has gone viral about a Toyota minivan.

Actually, it's a commercial for Toyota that I'm sure one of the many marketing/communications firms that have a finger stuck in the Toyota pie came up with and solidified the business relationship for at least the rest of this week. And I'm sure there's a producer or SVP of Creative who is feeling pretty darn cocky right about now.

But songs and videos trying to make very unhip people cool never have worked for me. And there's not getting around it: Minivans are not cool. Get it. They. Are. Not. Cool.

I wish white people who live in the suburbs with a bunch of kids in houses that are poorly decorated would just up and admit it: they cashed in the hopes and dreams they had as young people and there's no getting them back. You're wearing your Dockers and "fashions" from Talbots and you're all really nice, genuinely good people, but you ain't hip. Face it.

Pura Vida

We came home bleary-eyed last night around 2:00. The last train out of Boston was an Ashmont, so we had to ride to Fields Corner and pick up the 210 bus, which let us off at the base of Beal Street. We walked the deserted streets of Wollaston, hunched under our backpacks, wondering just how we got there, and where the monkeys were.

Coming back from a trip is never easy. Most times maybe I'm not happy, but at least resigned to coming back. This time, though there are a lot of good reason to be here, I could have spent an indefinite amount of time wandering Central America. Two days ago I would watch troops of monkeys cross the road on telephone wires. They tried to break into our hut. I'd pass a couple of easy minutes talking to Rastafarians, some of the nicest people I've ever met. The cranky Australian who ran the grocery store simply elicited my curiosity. What could possibly make you so cross? There's nothing in the world that important.

And the heat.

I understood why writers seclude themselves in the jungle, or on a beach, or in the case of Costa Rica, by both, to write in the early morning hours. You don't think in that heat. That particular intellectual pursuit transforms into a dream state. It just bubbles up. Oozes in your skull and runs out your ears. It makes perfect sense, until you try to explain it to someone or put it on paper, and you can't figure out how you made that leap.

So, four hours after coming home Sue was primed with coffee and off to court. A hot shower was a delight, as sweet as a Popcicle is in July. And I was back to my house husband routine, which I actually like. Washing three weeks of stink out of my clothes, picking up the mail, making bread, picking up our little boy who we both missed so much and still made the jokes with which we always tease him. Fart Blossom was the least of the name-calling.

Pura Vida is the life in Costa Rica. But it is here, too. You just have to look a little deeper.

wanderlust...

we're in the middle of three, maybe more, weeks traveling...first it was just supposed to be costa rica, but somehow, funny how that works, we ended up in panama, in boca del toro...and life just slows down and changes, doesn't it...

but we're in our room, hiding from the unbelievable heat during the day, and suddenly we talk about home like it's so far away but we know it's there, waiting for us, work and school and money and our stupid little dog and how he's doing, but it's like i've always said and liked about traveling...as soon as the plane's wheels leave the runway, there's no use worrying if you left the iron on or not...it's out of your hands...i've always loved that feeling...i wonder if death is like that for some...just a relief...just a letting go...