Jeez, what a day. I was flush with insights and realizations as my birthday wound down. I found myself sitting outside the Geary Theater, waiting for A, B and C, and watching the people shuffle around the downtown streets. It's funny how my timeless, urbane identity kicked in, and I began to walk differently, and engage people with some greater flourish. The city guy.
Then, when A, B and C showed up, i was so pleased with the company that I just flowed with their energies and ideas. I did something a little crazy. We re-entered the theater just as the second act was beginning, so we all four sat down on the balcony stairs. The usherette approached us and whispered that we couldn't stay there for some fire-code reason, so each of us bailed into different rows of seats, with A returning to our original seats at the front row of the balcony. I felt like going back down there so we could watch the play together, and as a gag I decided to slide down the darkened (carpeted) stairs (about 20 or so) on my stomach. I'd even planned on hissing like a snake, as I slithered by the other patron's seats, but as I began my descent, the keys hanging off my beltloop made a horrible clinking in the dark theater... It was bAD, BUT NOT RTHAT BAD.

It was a really sweet night, not to mention memorable, but when i got on my bike to ride home, I began to feel shaky and unconfident. The streets seemed so random and chaotic to be rolling through on a motorcycle. I was really uneasy as I drove west on Turk st., and then it hit me that i was back in the Tenderloin, where I almost died. I just don't know. I couldn't conceive of why I suddenly, for no reason at all felt afraid of EVERYTHING that moved. Like a neurotic. It's not like such a feeling has never come over me before, but it's been awhile, and I wasn't ready for it.

When I got home, it hit me that being out with A, B, and C, passing such rare time on the exciting downtown streets, seeing theater, being culturally awake... All of this managed to soften me like detergent on tough stains. I saw, with a calm clarity, that the hardness I've felt of late; the deadness of impulse was something that began the last time I was in Los Angeles. The low-level depression which has made it so hard to get out of bed in the morning, and which has affected my focus and decision making, stems from the shit I went through as I moved mine and J's stuff out of the house on Sanborn. Christ, what alienation! Myriad bad. gross, butt-knuckle feelings, of the last hard days at the house with J. Shit, no wonder I feel so low; I let this hard coral grow all over me so I could muddle through this seemingly endless confidence course of sour relationships and houses that never stop needing paint (like goddamn puragtory). Of course I never have anything to write in my blog; I'm covered with a hardened crust, so I can't see shit, i can't feel shit. Half the time I don't even want to know shit.

And that's what the hell is going on. No wonder I slithered down the steps of the theater like a snake... I'm half out of mind! I've lost sight of the essential Vincenzo... I gotta get that guy back! What a goddamn great birthday present. I got the best guy in the world driving this bus now. Hoo Ya!

I'm 33 years old today. As of midnight... What can I expect to be different about life with that taken into consideration? Probably not a great deal. I jujst reread a list of projects I emailed to myself on Jan 31... Like a letter to myself from one year before. Among other things I promised myself I'd go to Mexico. Now, the idea of having such a surplus of time and money seems like an impossibility. I hate to write such negative thoughts, especially on my birthday, but the truth remains unchanged.

I find myself with nothing much to write in my blog, because I'm doing all the exact same things I was doing last time I sat down to log something. I'm even wearing the same clothes (and my hands are still covered in paint. I'm sort of half-thinking about starting some resolutions today, such as working out a little. Maybe one or two push-ups... Oooof, what a thought. I reckon my muscles are too cold. Maybe I'll have another coffee instead. Og God, that is so 33. I'm going to be one of these obese Americans!

I think what makes dogs attractive to people is the animal's ability to fit in the human world. I was watching the dogs running and goofing around Dolres Park; sniffing asses and doing the usual gross dog stuff. The only dogs that really stood out were those that returned to their owners on command, and hung back a bit from the whole humping/ass smelling ritual. Untrained dogs are really not good for much; they may be pretty to look at, for a moment, but if they bark for no reason, or jump on you, or simply geek out, then they're pretty much useless. And that's when I see them as a conspicuous, first world relational dysfunction. Owners of ill-behaved dogs are probably unable, or unwilling to get the animals to do their will; the dogs end up running the show; calling the shots: That's no good. What's dogs bring to the world of manners is worth less than their shit. Everything good about them, they get from us.

As I'm raise my new dog, I hear from a lot of people the suggestion that I should just let the dog find his groove, and sort of let him find his own behaviour. What a mess that would be. If dogs were allowed to shit and piss on floors, houses would be unlivable. It would be like letting children set make decisions about food.

A dog that strives to fit in among people; that's sensitive to situations and vibes; and that can minimize its canine-ness when it doesn't help the situation... That's a cute dog. That's a star. That's what Baby's going to grow up to be.

Woke up this morning on the unmade futon bed, the lights and TV on, and a half-eaten bowl of Top Ramen on the side-board. Has it really come to this? I'm amazed at how quickly I can descend from the realm of humans. As hard as i try to make everything nice and neat, I never find the time to do those neccessary chores: Like grocery shopping, shaving, paying parking tickets...
There are firworks going off all over the neighborhood: God Bless America. There's nothing like a country celebrating its wacky, violent side.
I fianlly hit the shower, shaved, scrubbed out the insides of my ears... And with some clean clothes I felt sort of human again, and in that there's hope. I know I'm forgetting to do so many things, and there will be a price to be paid down the road. I only have what I have these days. My buddy Pete once said, upon my recounting a horrible story about breaking up with a girl: "You did what you did, because at the time that's what you were doing."

Walking the dog over to the Shell station on Valencia and 20th, I saw the cops arresting a couple of local kids. One detective was walking from car to car with a flashlight, peering in. I wonder if those are the guys who are breaking all the car windows around here.(?) Anyway, it's strange what you see out at night. Around here it's a whole other world. Mostly folks up to no good. Nevertheless, it's quiet at this time of night, and I enjoy that. No car alarms, honking, booming radios or screaming kids.
Geez, I really sound like a cranky old man.
I was up on the roof again this afternoon shooting the odd pigeon with my trusty Gamo "Cadet", Spanish made pellet gun. That has pretty much become my favorite place to be. No one bothers to look up and see who's walking around on the roof with a rifle and a garbage bag. I like to just hunker down, with my sunglasses pushed up on my forehead, and wait for one of those silly birds to settle in on the roof, and then it's safety off, line up the sights on his neck, and POP... feathers. I'm not 100% sure about the morality of it. People I mention it to seem split 50-50. I personally just want the damn things gone - and yeah, okay I like the hunting aspect of it.
The beautiful Japanese girl from next door walked by while I was up there. i actually yelled down to her, sort of like - EH! EH! She didn't look up, probably thinking I was some obnoxious creep roofer guy, which is actually better than the tructh of the situation - unless she's into squab. I'm thinking about leaving a bouquet of flowers on the door, with a note... I see no other way to break the ice here.
I started skim-coating my dad's apartment tonight. Painting his place will be kind of fun, if only to see it rise from its present state of 70s, ghetto dilapidation. I'm obsessed with the hacked in wall that divides the room from its origianl size and shape. I really wish i could pull it down and recycle all the woodwork and the two pocket doors. The room would be truly grand that way: Easily 20' across, with the fireplace centered. Imagine if I remodelled his livingroom while he was in canada. My dad would pretty much kill me, but I know he'd secretly dig the big room.
I think the dog still has fleas. Goddammit.


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Well, we're finally putting the finishing touches on the bathroom job in Oakland. What a pain in the ass that is; a tiny little worksite in the oven-like heat of the attic. I don't know when I got to be so patient with this kind of work. Everything is slow, painstaking "put your fist through a sheet of plywood and bend the level across your knee" shit. Plumbing, electrical, drywall and taping... All the guys in this business seem to be fucked up. Greg, the plumber, is like some hardcore biker, with the plumber's ass and all. For lunch we actually had pizza, an exotic change from the usual super-burritos we eat in Rich's driveway. And there's always more houses to remodel: It never ends.
Tomorrow, if I'm able to finish up in Potrero Hill, I'll be a hell of a lot closer to having all this stuff out of the way, and actually having my life back. My punch list includes - sanding down a single floorboard I had to replace, and then sealing and polyurethaning it. Then I have to wire up the dishwasher plug - then I have to install the range hood, and find a away to run the ducting up through the grisly Victorian attic and (by some miracle) out to the atmosphere. Then, if it's not midbnight yet, I'll put an 8' level across the wavy counter I installed, and take a beltsander to it, so that it conforms to the rigorous tolerances of the Corian Counter company (those fuckin' sons of bitches) All i wantis to get paid for this one and WALK away
But it's a living. I don't know, I need a change here . So it's onvious i have nothing to talk about but construction stuff. I'll leave it alone, for my sake as well as yours.

I overslept this morning. I hate that feeling. I say to myself: "I'm supposed to be at work - right now. Oh well." Still, there's time for coffee. The dog was worrying me yesterday. I left him alone for three hours, and he seemed to be having some kind of mini-breakdown when I got home. If he realized I'll be leaving him alone MUCH more in the future... Wow. Good thing dogs don't worry about the future too much. It's all about the moment for them. They really live in the "here and now".
If I could just get out from under all these obligations! I need to finish that kitchen in Potrero Hill, but there are problems with the surface of the counter-top. I don't even want to call the customer, I'm so tired of dealing. Surely there will soon be a time when i can wrap up all but one or two of these projects and then approach what's left with some focus..

Here is my second attempt at going worldwide with my blogs. The other entry must be floating around somewhere in a server. It was that great really. I walked the dog tonight (yawn). he retrieves very well, but seems to be distracted by the smells left by other dogs. He all but shuts me out if there's any sign of another dog.
The bike is fixed. That's worth mentioning. What a painful lesson. I'd once before driven off with the front disc lock on, but it wasn't nearly as bad as this time, in which the bike landed on my leg, and i cracked my elbow on Minna St. The damage to the bike was atrocious. Turn signal gone, shift lever bent, and front brake caliper dangling from it's hose, I can't sem to see below this other window. Maybe I'll just call it a a night. I'm typing blind here...g