Just A Guy On The Website

work sucks

2011-12-16T08:37:00.001-07:00

Since many of you have asked, here is the outcome of my meeting yesterday with the Jeffco's executive director of finances.
1) I was one of ~12 people in the second largest CO school district to which this salary mistake happened. Whatever that means. The irony of how the mistake was found should also not go unmentioned.
2) Usually, once the mistake is uncovered, the deduction (they call it "correction") begins that next month. In my case, the mistake was found sometime in September and it was rolling around in negotiations and legal red tape, largely because of my principal and Amy Weber's advocacy (thanks, Rod!) since then. My case was even taken so far as Jeffco's superintendent.
3) I will be losing between $250.00-$300.00 per month after taxes, beginning in my January pay period. That's bad.
4) salaries in the District are frozen until...sometime around the next ice age. So that's bad, too. However...
4) I will not be required to pay back the salary discrepency from 2007 to now, so that's good.
5) Legal action on my part would not yield positive results on any level, so that nuclear option is off the table, which my principal will be pleased to find out :)
6) Though my salary has been drastically reduced, at least I still have two secure jobs in a world where millions of highly qualified people find themselves unemployed, so that's good. (It's clear that I'm trying to find that elusive "silver lining" people talk so much of these days, and that's good).

Thanks for all your support through this. I'm looking for more holiday hours at my second job, Alisa is making some "creative" budget decisions, and most of our Christmas presents will be organically-produced this year. (Read: hand-made). No way around this being a real kick in the head, but it's forcing my family to think about what really matters and what is only superfluous...so that's good, too.

Pirating, part I

2009-02-03T00:50:00.003-07:00

Pirate. The simple mention of the word conjures up visions of the open seas and swaggering figures bent on a variety of reprehensible and inhuman deeds. Uh, that's mostly right, if you're thinking of my specific brand of pirating, aside from that part about "the open seas and swaggering figures bent on a variety of reprehensible and inhuman deeds". Anyway, I've decided that I'm going to base my pirating operations out of Boulder Reservoir. That way, I don't have to re-locate during the summer, and I can still attend the midnight drumming circles I've come to love so much. Now, you may say to me, "Hey, Clint--(that's Greenbeard, the Dreaded Three-Eyed Pirate to you, buddy!)--don't you know that the majority of reported modern pirate activity is off the coasts of S. Africa and Somalia? Boulder Reservoir, in its long and illustrious history, has never NEVER had any reports of pirating?" Have you ever thought that this may be the reason for choosing my particular locale??! Get off my back. I'm working here. My motivation, because we all have one, is solely to feed and clothe my family. I want to be a quality provider, and pirating seems to be a better path to that than Amway or Spectrolink long distance pyramid schemes which, by the way, do NOT work and only tie up one's time and energy.

That's what I've got so far...Anyone have a good parrot for sale? An eye patch? Mustache wax?

If it'd been a snake...

2008-10-20T23:36:00.007-06:00

You know that ole saying that goes "If it'd been a snake, it'd've bit ya!" This home-spun cliche is usually employed to point out the very obvious (by then) location of some requested object, and usually efficiently succeeds in making the searcher feel quite embarrassed or frustrated. However, in a one-in-a-million occasion, the object in question IS an actual snake. This was the case during Alisa's and my recent hike to Devil's Thumb up Shadow Canyon. She obliviously stepped right over it, it got flabergasted, then I caused more flabergastion as I walked up, and it nearly got me. (It was only due to my mongoose-like reflexes that I avoided the snake's strike).

Here is a picture of the snake. I'm sure it was more scared of us then...whatever!

As you can see from this picture above (taken later in the hike), we both escaped injury of the hemotoxic, reptilian variety.

Let's Keep This All In Perspective

2008-10-20T23:21:00.002-06:00

Here are this year's winners of the Wal Mart T-Shirt contest from www.walmartwatch.com. Enjoy.
:)

Now That It's Over...

2008-08-06T22:33:00.008-06:00

Now that summer's officially over (I started school again today), here's a quick re-cap of what Clint did over his summer break. What's he doing now: pouting, but all good things must come to an end. (tear)

Number 1: Spent a long weekend away with Alisa in Estes Park for our anniversary! Yea!!

Number 2: Went to Devils Tower in Wyoming on a climbing trip with Erik and John. Yea!!

Number 3: Spent a fun few days in Summit County with the fam and the pine beetles. Yea!!

Worked couple of youth summer camps at my other job (www.totalclimbing.com) $$!!
...various and sundry other stuff.

Teh

2008-07-28T21:48:00.006-06:00

I've noticed in many emails I receive, that the author demonstrates a specific
sequential weakness when typing a certain word. Some examples are “dya” for
“day” and “adn” for “and”. Sadly, I do this, too. My personal vice is typing “teh”
instead of “the”. 'Drives me insane! Some day, I'm gonna commit the time and
energy, and just type "the" over and over a thousand times so to build the
muscle memory I need to avoid ever typing the annoying "teh" ever again! On
the other hand, one of my students who is really into computers and stuff was
sympathetic, and even guaranteed me that "teh" has been recently christened
legit, and now has its own definition: a minor adjective with no specific meaning;
a filler. So it masks the problem, sort of like aspirin for a headache, or cortisone
for professional fooze ball players. But whatever teh solution, it helps. I know
some other people who have Tourette's Typing [my term], like typing "fro" in-
stead of "for"...which is funnier. Think of the ironic possibilities that could create!



the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the
the the the the teh the the the the the the the the the the
the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the
the the teh the the the the the the the the the the the the
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the teh the the the the the the the the the the the the the
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the teh the the the the the the teh the the the the the the
the the the the teh the teh the the the the the the the the
the teh the the teh teh (Ahhh It's too hard!)the.


I definitely need to get this fro Tuesday.

Our House In The Middle of the Street...the details

2008-07-15T07:20:00.017-06:00

Here are the exciting details of our new house...purchased just in time for the Great International Recession and resulting World War. A little scary. Fear-mongering aside, we have a super-cool little dwelling, and here are some pics of it, with comments from the artist:

Your tour guide, Brianna

We have a tree swing. Cool.

The lovely and picturesque east side of our house. Our room is the upper south window; the girls' is the upper north. The living room is below our room, and the kitchen is below the girls' room. (The tour guide is looking for her cue card).

The technology nook,
the Remarkable Bookcase, aka "Lazarus" (yes, there's absolutely a story to that),
the hall to the back door and storage shed,
the girls' room

For some reason, I really dig our mailbox, and we have incredible flowers and stuff all around our yard.

front flower garden

and that's about it. In regards to the absences of Bree's partner in crime (Addison), she's inside, either learning to crawl, or eating something she shouldn't.

Feel free to drop by the place and see it for real. We'd love to have you!

National Poetry Month's featured reader!

2008-04-11T06:37:00.006-06:00

The Best I Could Find

I'd love to have you come over to The Laughing Goat as I play the esteemed part of National Poetry Month's featured reader at their acclaimed "So, You're A Poet" poetry reading series!
It'll be a great time.

Monday, April 21st
8:45 pm
Laughing Goat Coffee Shop
1709 Pearl St.
Boulder, CO
http://www.myspace.com/thelaughinggoat

For more info, click over to the "So, You're A Poet" profile on MySpace:
http://www.myspace.com/soyoureapoet

I'll have my poetry book for sale there, too. You could buy one to help finance my family's new home purchase!

Here's a sample of my work:

TOURETTE TIME
Tick, tic, tock.

(just kidding) There are actual poems buried strategically in my blog. At least one is potentially better than that one:
http://www.justaguyonthewebsite.blogspot.com

Hope to see you there!
Peace!
Clint

Our House In The Middle of the Street...

2008-04-06T15:51:00.001-06:00

Well, take a look. Here it is--the new family fort/base camp/favorite restaurant/trail head/decompression tank...all those things and more. The new House of Locks. Check it out:

211 E Chester, Lafayette, CO, 80026

Pretty exciting, huh? After renting for, well, forever, the Locks Clan has decided unanimously to become home owners. It's partly an equity issue (we want some), but mostly our hand was forced into the decision. (Many of you will remember the earlier tragic post recounting the fateful phone conversation I had with our landlord, Chuck?). All in all, it's for the best, I suppose, and I won't use time here talking about how broken-hearted we are to have to leave our current neighborhood and its amazing community. (See earlier blog entries for that).

The house is actually quite cool. It's a bit larger than our current rental, is mostly solar powered, has lots of storage, and nice little yard with a place for a small garden for Alisa. It was built in 2002, so it's not that old. We probably won't have to replace the timing belt or clutch for a while. It even has an "it'll do" kind of coffee shop a couple of blocks away for Saturday morning 'family pajama breakfasts' or for those times of obligatory peace and quiet for grading papers or writing letters.

One potential drawback is that there are a large number (hard to count accurately, as they move around a lot) of chickens across the street. This could be a good or bad thing, depending on how we spin it. But that's true about much of life, poultry-based or not. It's all in how you look at it, right-side up, or backwards and sideways. That said, we're excited about our new hacienda, and hope you will visit soon. And in case you're wondering: we move on the 27th and, yes, we need help and, yes, we'll reward you with various grillables and beer for your altruistic efforts.

re-gifting to oneself before giving the gift to one's friend

2008-02-01T06:07:00.000-07:00

You know how, sometimes, you go to a store for a gift and decide you really want that thing, too? It's like that big blue rubber ball you get for your niece from those aisle-end cages at McGuckins Hardware? The one you simply have to spin with and bounce around the store and maybe throw at other shoppers while ducking behind the animal cracker display and laughing at your stealth? "This makes me feel like a kid again. I must have it. Ahh! I shall buy two of them--one to give away and one to keep for myself!" Like that. That's what this blog is about, except it's not a big ball, it's a book, and it didn't throw it at anyone.

I'm in the middle of a book now that is the most engaging I've read in a long time. It's called Traveling Music by Neil Peart, the drummer and the lyricist for the band Rush. Rush is one of my favorite groups of all time. Since they only put out an album every 3 or 4 years, each member has a number of other things to fill their time off. These range from mere diversion to passionate, serious work. Some of Neil Peart's passions are music (no surprise there), writing, geography, and traveling. He brings all these together, along with a fascinating running biographical sketch, in the pages of Traveling Music, which is, in part, a memoir of driving his BMW Z-8 from Santa Barbara to Big Bend National Park, Texas and back in 2003. I do not intend a book review here, but I do encourage you to check it out. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.

I share a love of music, traveling, and reading with my friend Mark Pierson. In an episodic attack of “What a great idea!” syndrome (many of which are not), I wanted to get my friend something special for Christmas that would support those shared interests. It wasn’t long before Traveling Music rose to the top of the holiday shopping heap, just above Motion and Light, another intriguing and beautiful book consisting of Peart’s prose alongside his wife's black and white photography of the drummer 'doing his thing'.

Anyway, upon receiving the book in the mail (379 pages? Wow! This kid’s been busy! I was expecting 125 pages at the most), I decided I should leaf through it before wrapping it up. One page of the prologue. That’s how long it took for me to know I had to order another copy for myself. Mark, if you’re reading this, I’m on page 201 of your book and am enjoying it immensely. Admittedly, it’s a bit like kissing someone else’s girlfriend (scandalous, I know). Have no fear, though. It’s all yours once my copy makes it out from The Book Nook in Green River, Wisconsin…and Merry Christmas to all.

There it went...

2007-12-30T22:58:00.000-07:00

My birthday was a month ago (plus 4 days). I certainly hope you took advantage of the chance to give to those less fortunate. If it slipped by you, I accept retroactive acts of giving.

"Give Some To The Drummer!"

2007-12-21T15:44:00.000-07:00

Most people who know me know I'm a drummer. Never mind the fact that I've not sat behind a kit for any length of time in ten years. I’ve found that passage of time is largely inconsequential to things like that. Time, however, is the focus of this rumination.

Drumming gets into your soul. I know it was true for me, and I suspect I’m not the only one. Once I was introduced to and embraced the romance of percussion, everything became, in one way or another, about rhythm, cycles and the Beautiful Repetition. I’m not given to mathematics at all, but this was one objective left-brained structure that I ‘got’. Solid 4/4 time, 4 beats to a measure, 16 bars to a verse, downbeat on the 2 and 4, or the elegant 7/8 time, with its jazz nuances and endless variety of punctuations. Here was a structure could be trusted. It was the palette for thousands of hours of aimless driving and countless nights in the attic of Weem’s Music Store in my hometown, when various incarnations of ‘the band’ would thrash away during high school for the entire evening, until sunrise.

The current and pervasive theory about the universe in general is that It all turns on so-small-as-to-be-invisible quantum rubber bands of energy and their relational vibrations. Superstring Theory, it's called. I tend to believe it's true, lacking any contradictory evidence. And it’s easy for me to believe this, based on precedent. Patterns, relationships, all the cycles of expectation and fulfillment seem to drive, satisfy, and order nature. A biological example of this is demonstrated in the fact that even our hearts beat in time, some say to the rhythm of the heart of Universe. I prefer to think they beat in concert with the angels, in the empty time between God’s own heart beat, but that’s just me, and I tend to be a bit too romantic at times.

So forget all the jokes about drummers and drumming: “How many people are in your band? Three musicians and a drummer,” Very funny. Personally, I believe interplay with the basis of the universe is a pretty cool way to spend an evening. Shakespeare once said that “All the world’s a stage”. I like to think it’s one big drum set, too. And I will avail myself at every opportunity. Tu-dum-dum!

“Give some to the drummer.”-James Brown

Right on.

potential music gifting for your friends and family

2007-11-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

Howdy. I thought I'd throw some ideas out for those gift-givers who would like to bestow music upon beloved people in their lives who like music but have a lot of it. Here are some lesser-known artists worthy of a spin or two:

The Choir-How the Mighty Have Fallen, Flap Your Wings
Muse-Black Holes and Revelations, Absolution
Stars-In Our Bedroom After the War
Vigilantes of Love-VOL, Audible Sigh
Stuart Davis-16 Nudes, Bright Apocalypse
Peter Mayer-Earthtown Square, Million Year Mind
Glen Phillips-Winter Pays for Summer
Andrew Osenga-Photographs, The Morning
The Weakerthans-Reconstruction Site
Meese-Our Album Year
Rush-Snakes and Arrows

timely, valuable and practical post about zombies

2007-10-29T06:09:00.000-06:00

This was retrieved from one of my favorite daily doses from www.steepandcheap.com. This information is valuable, trustworthy, and carries my full endorsement. Hold it...what's that shuffling behind the bushes?!

"I am not well prepared for a Zombie epidemic. I don't have a shotgun, machete, or even a baseball bat. I could scrounge up some kitchen knives, but I may as well just hand myself over to the brain-eating monsters. A kitchen knife or even a small machete is useless--you need weapons that keep them at more than arm's length. Ideally you would be armed with long-, mid-, and close-range weapons when an epidemic breaks loose. For long range you want something with serious stopping power: think pump-action shotgun loaded with deer slugs. If your grandpa has an antique 4-gauge shotgun, you might consider keeping that around. Mid-range weapons are tough, so you need to use your imagination. Look for fire extinguishers you could spray into an advancing crowd of zombies, or on the other end of the spectrum, a liquor store you could pilfer to build Molotov cocktails before you set the building on fire. A baseball or cricket bat would work well up close, and a Plexiglas shield would be useful for pushing zombies back while yelling, "Get behind me!" to your friends..."

We'll be wintering on Carnegie Drive!

2007-10-13T18:10:00.000-06:00

Update on our housing situation: Chuck has given us a big break! He promised that he won't sell the house until spring. That is a welcome bit of grace, as who wants to move with a 3 week old into a house they don't really want in the first place. We're excited we will get to winter on Carnegie Drive with all our friends. Snowball wars outside at 2:00, everyone!

making a difference

2007-10-13T18:00:00.000-06:00

Many people I know (and respect) ascribe to the following philosophy regarding procreation of offspring: there's no way I'm going to be cruel enough to birth a child and condemn them to live in a horrible world like ours. Fair enough. Seems even altruistic, in a way. But I see things differently. I welcome the prospect of my 2 daughters moving in and among this frail and broken world and affecting change for the better. This perspective may beg of some the comment "Oh, my! You are creating martyrs and unwilling crusaders, not children!" I disagree wholeheartedly. Though (I believe) we are set here to make a difference, we also consequently get to enjoy the glorious fruits of the difference we make. In my eyes, the human race is a lot like an old house: we all, either passively or actively, either assist the process of decay, or we actively and courageously determine to re-build what is broken...from the ground up, if necessary. Personally, I hope my daughters commit boldly to the latter path; heroes are hard to find these days. But, to address the joyous balance, I hope most of their days are such that the only energy they expend is on repeated laughter, with the warm spring sun hitting their faces while hiking the Royal Arch trail or skiing the black runs of Copper Mountain, with their mom and dad somewhere behind, trying their best to keep up...in this best of all possible worlds.

the explicit and implicit messages found in language

2007-10-03T15:27:00.000-06:00

Exhibit A-the dreadful telephone call of 10-1-07 from our landlord
------------------------------------

Ring, ring---

Clint: Hello?

Chuck: Hi, Clint. This is Chuck, your landlord.

Clint: Oh, hi! I haven’t heard from you in a while. How was your trip out east?

Chuck: Well, Clint, I’m going to be selling the house I’m renting you. I just wanted to let you know (that you and your family are soon going to be out on the street or paying some exorbitant amount for a cramped, older, falling-part place in a bad neighborhood with a new baby and a two year-old).

Clint: (Whooah! Did he say..?) You…what?

(silence on both ends of the line)

Chuck: I wanted to thank you for being such a wonderful tenant. If everyone was like you, I’d probably still keep the houses I’m renting.

Clint: Oh well, that’s nice of you to say (but how does that help me today, buddy?! You wanna see NOT nice?! I can show you NOT nice, too.) I really appreciate you, as well. You’ve always been prompt to return our calls and you fix anything that’s broken within a few days. (How about fixing THIS and just giving us your freakin' house, Chuck? Huh!? How ‘bout THAT?)

Chuck: Don't worry--I’ll give you 30 days notice once I talk to my realtor.

Clint: 30 days? (How generous is THAT?!) Chuck, that’s not much time (to pack up our entire existence and drive away from the million things we love about this house, this neighborhood and this area). We’re going to need at least 3 months to be able to find a place and move out. What can you do for us? (Help a brutha out, here!!!)

Chuck: I’ll talk to the realtor, Clint. I’ll do what I can. I just wanted to let you know. (Now leave me alone. I’ve done my good deed today. “Into every life…”).

Clint: OK. Well, thanks for being straightforward with us about it. I’m sure it’s in your best interest (diametrically opposed to OURS, of course!) I wonder--would you be open to a rent-to-own scenario? I think we could both win here.

Chuck: No, no. I don’t think so, I just need to get these houses of mine out from underneath me. That’s all. Have a good day. (Of my numerous headaches, you are my favorite).

---Click---

Into every life, a little rain…At least I’ve got a job. No house, apparently, but a job.

Winnie the Pooh Saves the World!

2007-09-20T21:03:00.000-06:00

I have a firm belief that everyone needs to introduce or re-introduce themselves to Winnie the Pooh from time to time. It is possible that the Future of our world depends on that one benign Act. To my knowledge, Winnie, Christopher Robin, and Piglet have, to date, solved all their problems sans any type of malice, WMD, or WmDs, for that matter. I'm sending a copy to President Bush and various Middle Eastern terrorist groups. Expect a turning of the tide in just a few short weeks. You can thank me later.

Self-Isolation and Being Recently Re-employed!

2007-08-29T21:29:00.000-06:00

I'm not the greatest communicator when it comes to my circle of friends. Though I truly love them all, I have a runaway penchant for introversion. I have a leaning toward episodic self-isolation. I'm not saying this is a good thing, I'm just confessing, because they(?) say confession is good for the soul and I need all the help I can get. It's a strange and uncomfortable place to live, being an introvertive extrovert, but we all have our little idiosyncrasies. Enough confession. My soul feels decidedly lifted, and I have other important news for all my devoted friends who have been calling asking about my family's presumed penury.

'Tis not true!! I have recently come into the good graces of one Drake Middle School in Arvada, CO. I'm teaching seventh grade honors Lit and Comp. It was one of those "I know a person who says they know a girl who thinks this guy is looking for a teaching job" kind of things. Long story short: God, in His infinite grace and enlightened timing, hooked me up and things are going much better, from a bank account point of view. The unfortunate debt Alisa and I racked up during my short but precarious descent into unemployment is slowly being repaid, and we will soon be in the black. Three cheers for 0% interest balance transfers!!

Back to my original point--don't expect to hear from me again for a long time. I'm feeling like I need some time alone. So, Happy Labor Day, and Merry Christmas and Kwanza, oh devoted, long-suffering circle of friends, if I don't talk to you before then. You deserve better...(I'm only half-way kidding). Thanks for the consistency and love, and the prayers for work.

Thruster Reversers

2007-07-24T08:15:00.000-06:00

The thrust reversers. According to the pilot coming over the loud speaker, that was the culprit keeping our plane on the ground in Salt Lake City. Now, I'm no pilot, but my emotional state just overpowered my sense of safety and I thought, 'We are planning to reach DIA by flying FOREward so I fail to see the importance of thrust REVERSERS working properly'. This was, until I realized that those particular items are employed not during flight, but in landing and were a key component in stopping the airplane before it would skid along the runway and slam into the terminal building, maiming any number of innocent travelers and exploding in a blaze of...whatever. I now have a new appreciation for two things: the phrase 'airline terminal' and, you guessed it--thrust reversers. The pilot on the intercom said something about experimental isolation and disengagement of these thrust reversers and that the plane's engines would be tagged with red tape by the ground crew, and that substitutional methods of landing would be employed upon our arrival at Denver. Based on my recent considerations, this was a barely acceptable proposition but, since my job was simply to fasten my seat belt and place my tray table in its upright position, there wasn't much I could do save nod my head in concurrence and feign placidity of spirit.

There's no big plot twist to this entry. We made it to DIA without incident. Our airplane landed and stopped completely intact and as expected. The red tape must have worked.

Buying Dinner with Friends

2007-07-24T08:06:00.000-06:00

While visiting my friends in Dallas last weekend, there was one setting in which I realized I was truly among an adult group, (though I never thought I'd say that about this particular group). During dinners out, at some point, one person would wave their hand, rise from their seat, or make some other important gesture and announce that "It's on me" or "I'll take care of dinner". This is a statement of (at least the benefactor's) apparent arrival at adulthood. For this is what adults do, the having of serious phone conversations, the owning of homes, the buying of their friends' dinners. This act is interesting on a number of levels.

In one way, it is a statement of financial arrival. "I have the means through which to purchase not only my meal, but yours, and I will do so." A declaration of blessing and security spread out before us on the table.

It is also at once a fulfillment of the American need for immediate gratification: "The unsavory portion of this meal is no longer my responsibility. I can relax and enjoy my coffee" and a meditation in denying it, a certain fasting against such a mindset, as it also infers the benevolent expectation of happy reciprocity at some point in the future.

Finally, buying dinner proclaims a strong sense of permanence regarding the people involved. I think that's my favorite part of it. In many cultures today, sharing a meal is a declaration of deep trust and friendship. Not so true in the United States of our Americas, but I'd like to be an agent of change regarding that. As soon as I get some money.

Thanks to all you who bought my dinner last weekend. Your time is coming. All things to those who wait...

Wisdom from the Weekend

2007-07-23T16:37:00.000-06:00

I just returned from a nice little weekend hanging with some
of my best friends in the world. Every now and then, we all
converge upon a certain secret location and reflect on life
and cause a measured level of havoc during the process. I
write this sitting in the airport leaning against some weird
"cell phone-plug-in-for-this-[fill in the blank]-must-have-
service" kiosk.

The plane is late. The group still waiting for their plane
and occupying my gate, the LaGuardia crowd, is getting restless.
There is a measure of trouncing and hoof stamping among the
pilgrims. Conglomerate, laptop-toting cows in a pen. Time to
check out of the scene and reflect...

There is never an occasion of intersection with my friends that
I do not gain a substantial litany of new ruminations, accumulat-
ed wisdom, and other considerations. There is a veritable faucet
of "outside the box" conversation that occurs.

So, after a time of meditation, low-level levitation and reflection,
I respectfully submit, for your consideration, the following tid-
bits of wisdom, misconstruences and misspeelings and potential
reality as seen through my friends, long may they roam and procreate...
or at least go through the motions of such.


I have deemed the following list the "20 Epiphanies":

1-Forks do not fling themselves.
2-Slobber is an unfortunate by-product of dogs and some women.
3-That 'Scream' mask is the scariest piece of vinyl I've ever seen.
What is it about that thing?!
4-We all own too much stuff.
5-We all spend whatever we've got.
6-The Mayan calendar stops in the year 2012. In a related story,
there is supposed to be a second killer asteroid heading for us right
now. We thrive largely due to a constant informational barrage of
potential disasters and misfortune on a global scale. Why is that?
7-Swimming pools have a maximum density.
The equation is as follows: (F+x) + (By)/PV. This equation is absolute.
8-Sometimes in life the wires seem invisible. Sometimes they are
painfully obvious. Either way, they're there.
9-Silly string is.
10.Silly putty isn't.
11-There should be a direct correlation between what we say and how
much time we have to say it.
12-If the luggage bag doesn't fit in the overhead compartment, push
harder.
13-"Feathering" the clutch is not the answer for obtaining more power.
14-Planet Earth is the coolest series ever on TV, aside from the
collected works of Matt Groening, which is, without peer,the most
anthropologically important documentation of our American culture...
for better or worse.
15-When they're not there, they're there.
16-Or they're at the other place.
17-The opinions expressed herein are not necessarily consistent with
that of the ownership and management of the Parent Company.
18-No one knows who comprises the Parent Company, though there are
rumors.
19-It is imperative that we respond to our world by being the Hands
and Feet of God. We must wash ourselves often and thoroughly. Behind
the ears, too.
20-Some houses are built with straw, and some with bricks, but you
can also build houses with wooden palettes. And they're pretty good
ones, all told. I guess you can build them with tumble weeds, too.

There. The 20 Epiphanies. Though they were born of the weekend and
its specific activities, I encourage you to experiment with their
breadth, and consider applying them to your larger life in such areas
as relationships, Faith, care of domestic animals and children, business
and financial decisions, sex, and car maintanence.

Being Fired and Comfort Food

2007-07-19T11:54:00.000-06:00

Comfort food is really important to me, especially these days, since I'm in that aforementioned and unenviable state of (un)employment. See earlier blog entry. It's a big part of my coping structure. That, and speaking Mandalese to inanimate objects.

Three related comments:
Turley's is a little local restaurant in town. It's the best comfort food in the world.

I'm out of Raisin Bran again.

It takes a LOT of time to look for a job...

Oopses and Ferrets

2007-07-19T11:48:00.000-06:00

That reminds me---I recently became an unwilling participant in the inevitable dark side of the employment cycle. Yes, I got fired. Never been fired before. A total shock. It's kinda weird...like those 'naked' dreams where you're at an intersection and realize you're...well...naked. It's also a little like having a ferret as a pet, except there's LESS responsibility, not more. Ferrets require a lot of time and energy. They can't be in direct sunlight for long, and they, like, really hate the cold. I kept my ferret, Sigmund, in a cage by the window for a while, then I learned they hate the cold and it was February when I realized that, which was a little too late and, at that point, our relationship was forever changed until one day, for no apparent reason, I let it out of its cage and it didn't go anywhere--it just sat there on the window sill wondering what to do with the heightened sense of freedom. There's the parallel, I guess. But its food was in its cage, as was its water and that little chew toy. Ferrets like chew toys, just like dogs and alligators do…most of them.

Outstanding quotes from White Noise

2007-07-12T19:44:00.000-06:00

Some memorable quotes from the wonderful novel White Noise by Don DeLillo:

What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation. (31)

There were no addresses. Her friends had phone numbers only, a race of people with seven-bit analog consciousness. (41)

Television is just another name for junk mail. (50)

"You know what's in my medicine chest. What secrets are left?" (62)

People have no tolerance for you particular hardship unless you know how to entertain them with it. (65)

He wore his camouflage jacket and cap, an outfit with complex meaning for him, at fourteen, struggling to grow and to escape notice simultaneously... (109)

Society is set up in a way that it's the poor and uneducated that suffer the main impact of natural and man-made disasters. (114)

I feel sad for people and the queer part we play in our own disasters. (126)

"I'd like to lose interest in myself. Is there any chance of that happening?" (152)

A California think tank says the next world war may be fought over salt. (226)

There was a pause like a missing tick in eternity. (232)

Murray said it was possible to be homesick for a place even when you're there. (257)

It's all corporate tie-in. The marketing, the fear, the disease...you can't have one without the other. (264)

This must be how people escape the pull of the earth-the gravitational leaf-flutter that brings us hourly closer to dying. Simply stop obeying. Steal, instead of buy. Shoot,instead of talk. (302)

"The nonbelievers need the believers. They are desperate to have someone believe." (318)

Finding and Losing and Pineapples

2007-07-11T06:23:00.000-06:00

I think that, no matter your particular perspective on faith, this is a cool story, and worthy of consideration and such. Peace and pineapples, Clint

Otto Koning was a missionary in New Guinea. He worked among a native tribe that had known only their village ways. One of those village ways was stealing from others.

When Otto arrived and moved into a hut, the natives often came by to visit. He would notice that after the natives left the missionary's home, various household items had disappeared, and he would often see these items again when he went into the natives' village.

It goes that Otto had a small garden outside his hut. The only fruit he could grow on the island was pineapples. Otto loved pineapples, and he took much pride in the pineapples he was able to grow. However, whenever they finally began to ripen, the natives would always steal them. He could never keep a ripe pineapple for himself. This was a frustration, and he became angry with the natives. All during the seven-year period in which this took place, Otto continued to serve and preach to these natives, but he never had one native come to the faith.

Understandably, the more the natives stole, the angrier Otto became. He took a furlough to the United States and attended a conference on personal rights. At this conference, he discovered that he was frustrated over this situation because he had taken personal ownership of his pineapple garden. So, after much soul searching, he released his selfishness about his garden and ceremoniously gave it to God.

When Otto gave his garden to God, he no longer got angry and was free from worry. What was more interesting is that when the natives took fruit for themselves, they started bringing him fruit, as well.

The light came on one day when a native said to him, "You no longer get angry when we take what we need from the garden. You must have become a Christian, Otto. We always wondered if we would ever meet a Christian."

by Os Hillman, Nov. 24, 2006

Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. - Matthew 10:39

Funny, huh? Anybody want a pineapple?
:)

Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

2007-06-27T15:23:00.000-06:00

These speak for themselves. Thanks to a couple of kind friends (Jason and Kristen, you rock!), the Locks family was able to take our first real family vacation. We got to say "Hola" and "Con permisso" a lot, and Bri drank a little sea water and skinned her face on the Mexican cobblestones.This is because she's not yet acquired an appropriate understanding of acceptable vs. unacceptable risk. All in all, we had a great time. We saw iguanas, some jellyfish, and a fringed lizard. (How cool is THAT?!)

Brianna's "One Day 'Til!"...

2007-06-07T13:07:00.000-06:00

..."summer break-sit-around-and-watch-my-daughter-do-funny-things" Day!

So Long and Thanks for all the Raisin Bran...

2007-06-06T06:45:00.001-06:00

To all of the wonderful friends who responded to my recent post regarding the unsatisfactory depletion of Raisin Bran in the Locks household--
Thank you for your concern. I'm doing OK now, and the lazy susan (should that be capitalized?) is fully stocked.

I'll continue to update you on all news job- and breakfast cereal-related.

2 Days 'Til...

2007-06-06T06:38:00.000-06:00

My daughter, Brianna, was 20 months old yesterday. I've come to realize that, after 19 months, it sounds weird to use 'months' as a time mark. "She's 20 months old", which isn't old in the first place, and just seems stilted. I think I'll begin using the method of countdown for a while and see if that makes more sense to me. This week, I'll count down how long until I get to see her every day, since school will be out. Brianna's now 2 days 'til. So am I. Hold it--that's confusing...

And if that wasn't bad enough...

2007-04-14T07:59:00.000-06:00

I'm out of Raisin Bran.

I Like 'Doing the Trash'

2007-02-08T21:03:00.000-07:00

I think I like 'doing the trash'. Like all dwellers of the Locks abode,
(save Brianna, since she's only 16 months old), I have a few little
chores around the house. They include the occasional shoveling of snow
from the porches and front sidewalk, the mowing of the lawn, the
scouring, drying, putting away (and occasionally chipping) of the
dishes, the fixing of various this-es and that-s, the folding and
putting away of freshly washed clothes, and the appropriate storage and
disposal of the house trash and recycling. Granted, none of these tasks
are remotely grievous, but there is one I realized, just today, that I
really enjoy. I enjoy the taking out of the trash and recycling. (You
may be thinking 'Hey! Those are TWO tasks-trash and recycling.' Not in
my book, buddy. They are accomplished at the same time, and they are
kept in the same way-station under the sink, and moved to the same
general area of refuse along the side of the house. So, there).

Every Tuesday and Thursday evenings around 7:00, I conduct this task. I
gather up all the trash and recycling in the house, remembering that
little black trash can in the bathroom. To simplify the process for the
reader, I track it all into the correct containers. I place it all in
the other correct containers outside, along the side of the house. The
neighbor's flood light illumines the way. Then, I return with the
freshly-emptied trash and recycling containers, kick off my 'outside
shoes', and slide the back door shut. I open up the doors under the
sink and replace the containers, where they will dutifully wait until
the next morning, until my wife deposits the oatmeal box or the junk
mail from the post. It's not long until they are all full again.

Why do I enjoy this chore above the others, or at all? This, my
friend, is a microcosm of life, much overlooked for its rich metaphor.
I've realized that taking out the trash effects a comfortable sort of
closure, compartmentalization, and sense of accomplishment. The whole
of personal actualization is right there.

Closure, because I get to see the remnants of meals, mail, and
materials nefarious. It's the end of the edges of things. The
leftovers. And it's a good feeling to see them go. Away, things we
don't need! Be gone! Simply! No more potato peelings, King Sooper ads
or...whatever THAT thing is.

Compartmentalization. "A place for everthing and everything in its
place"-Ben Franklin (or Janet Jackson, I don't remember which). Anyway,
there are specific places under the sink for each type of recycling and
the general refuse. What a meditation it is, to gather and remove it,
piece by piece, category by category, to the correct bin outside.
"Order, above all. Sometimes."-me

Doing the trash also lends a sense of accomplishment to my life. After
I'm done, I take a deep breath, stand back and think "Wow. I've really
made a dent in this whole 'home ' thing. I'm quite the home dweller. My
wife and child must really feel safe and comfortable here because of
me! I deserve a beer." So I do.

There aren't many things in our existence that are sure things: the
proverbial death and taxes, the effect of human-produced greenhouse
gases and resulting rise in global temperatures, the inevitable return
of halter tops...and trash. To be able to squarely and confidently
negotiate such a universal and weighty issue...that's a pretty big
deal.

We get our bags at Costco. Sometimes I try to smush the kitchen trash
down so I can skip Tuesday nights. It usually works.

2 Christmas Poems

2006-12-15T20:08:00.000-07:00

Christmas 2001 #1
"Jerusalem"

So you should shift your eyes a bit,
Just a bit to the right.
With a nod towards Christmas time
Which is just around the corner.
I can smell it like I smell
The Colorado evergreen.
In one winter breeze-wafted breath,
It comes and-sweet surrender!
It disarms all we fear
Like a pilgrimage kiss upon a sandstone wall
Riddled with bullet-hole scars and salvation.
They are many times the same.
Many times. The same.

So you should turn your beautiful face,
Just a bit to the right.
With a nod towards Christmas time
Which is just around the corner.
I can smell it like I smell
The cedars of Lebanon.
In one winter breeze-wafted breath,
It comes and-sweet surrender!
It disarms all we fear,
Like rose petals fallen to the ground.

Christmas 2001 #2
"Unity"

Like everyone here connected,
Shining and holding hands.
We string from the mailbox to the roof
To the tree
A metaphor of you and you and me.
And we string from the garden fence
To the gutters
A picture of this round world.
We sweetly lay from the skirt to the star
A golden symbol of all that we are.
And we share the wine from body to cup
Like a crimson glacier all splintered up
With the geologic time and motion
that is not unlike the
Shining and holding hands,
The kind of electricity that a smile
And a family can throw out in beams

To a not-so-shining world.

Christmas Wouldn't Be Complete Without...

2006-12-15T20:04:00.000-07:00

http://www.angelfire.com/wa/zzaran/calvin.html
calvin and hobbs snowmen comics.

In-Flight Fear

2006-12-08T23:23:00.000-07:00

My pervasive in-flight fear is not that we will crash into a mountain (I was flying from Denver to Dallas) or be accosted by terrorists with saline solution or fingernail clippers or even narcoleptic pilots (big cover-up, there!), but that we will be on our merry way, at a comfortable cruising altitude, and collide with a chevron of unwary, innocent geese or a flock of top-secret CIA carrier pigeons. No one comes out smiling of that one. So far, the skies immediately ahead are clear of any avian activity. Furthermore, the lady beside me had abandoned her seat for an empty row in front of me (leaving the equivalent amount of space as first class) and the beverage cart can be heard rolling up the aisle, in perfectly wonderful understated-while-still-being-intrusive style.

The light-footed, cap-tooth flight attendant looked at me suspiciously, as it was clear I had not purchased my set of zombie headphones, and asked for my choice of beverages. I chose coffee. He then set in my open tray table a small, condom-sized plastic/foil vacuum-pack with embossed repeated AA insignias promising “Premium Snack Mix-a blend of mini pretzels, honey roasted sesame stick, and cheddar corn bites. Net weight ½ oz. (14.2 grams)” Why wont the U.S. adapt the metric system Haven’t we made our point, already? Of my Premium Snack Mix, I enjoy the mini pretzels the most and don’t care so much for the cheddar corn bites.
Looking out the window, I swear I see an alien crop circle among the patchwork of eastern Colorado fields! Within its intricate and wholly indecipherable pattern of symbols, on sentence is carefully crafted, in both English and French: “Wouldn’t a set of in-flight headphones be nice right about now?” No, they wouldn’t. But I’d appreciate more of those Premium Snack Mixes.

In-Flight Movie, pt 2

2006-12-08T23:21:00.000-07:00

Apparently, airlines show TV programs during flights now. They will sell you little headphone sets so you can hear the programs. They have a lot of commercials in these TV programs which, I believe, are the whole reason for the programs themselves—to facilitate the showing of the commercials. It’s like walking in order to put on shoes. And we’ve become as accustomed to their lied and half-truths as we have to steering wheels and carpeted floors. I propose the commercials cost more to produce than did the programs themselves. So that means the commercials are create so you buy stuff in order to make money to be used to pay for more commercials. Is it not the serpent feasting on its own tail? I didn’t buy headphones. Instead, I used the time to reflect, read a little Virginia Woolf, and write this commentary on what everyone else was doing. Most people bought headphones. Most people are being lied to right now. I’m looking at this great cumulus out the window.

In-Flight Movie, pt 1

2006-12-08T23:20:00.000-07:00

Once the plane pulled away from the gate today, they were kind enough to show us a short little independent movie. It was a comedy, as far as I could tell, about (appropriately enough) a fictional airplane ride. Immediately, the plane had to make an emergency landing in a field. To be honest, the landing was uncreative and void of all suspense and tension. It was, instead, a splendidly negotiated landing by the pilots, and hats off to them, as both the plane and passengers were, as far as I could tell, completely undamaged. I had to admire the composure and almost non chalant manner with which the passengers went solidly about the business of administering oxygen masks to the children first, then to themselves, and leaning forward in textbook crash positions.

Later in the movie, the same plane and the same passengers were forced to make another emergency landing, this time over water, with the same results. At this point, I had to wonder whether the pilots deserved unmeasured praise…or a pink slip. Twice in one flight?! The movie ended abruptly with a blue screen and a watermark of the very airline on which I was traveling. I didn’t like the movie that much.
They showed the movie first in English then turned right around and showed it again in French which, on a flight from Denver to Dallas, was a little confusing.

Flying Alone.

2006-12-08T23:19:00.000-07:00

I love flying alone. I love the whole process, beginning to end. The rituals of packing, getting to the airport, riding the shuttle train to the concourse, the double-checking of the gate and departure time, and then, finally, taking my seat and settling down, usually grabbing a short nap before take-off. It all boils down to a great time for me to reflect and consider, unencumbered by anything familiar or of responsible import. These days, it’s tough to get time alone, and even tougher to get blocks of time in which I can really just sit back and consider my life, my personal victories, challenges and their potential solutions, and the recapturing of my Purpose. Spend time thinking about the BIG existential Stuff. It’s definitely a healthy process for me…cleansing and focusing. It’s kind of like stepping into another world, like an extended meditation. I got to do that yesterday, flying home to see my family. I came up with some good ideas, a few new questions, and got a few things straight. I guess the old adage is true: “When in doubt, go higher.”

Time and Temp

2006-12-06T23:18:00.000-07:00

Thinking of finally taking the family photo this Christmas? Consider Elements Photography for all your photography needs. Contact us at www.elementsphotos.com. The time is 11:18 pm. The temperature is 42 degrees Fahrenheit.

There it went...

2006-11-30T18:09:00.000-07:00

My birthday was last week. I certainly hope you took advantage of the chance to give to those less fortunate. If it slipped by you, I accept retroactive acts of giving.

Thank you for calling time and temperature

2006-11-30T07:18:00.000-07:00

It was cold this morning. No...I mean REALLY cold. I met up with a friend at the Laughing Goat coffee shop before work. He told me that he'd just called time and temperature earlier and it said that it was only 4 degrees!That was his point--that it was only 4 degrees. That's REALLY cold. But I replayed his words to make sure I heard him right. "You called time and temperature?" I asked, incredulously. "Sure," he said. "No kidding?!" I said. He didn't get the significance. Thing is, I couldn't believe that was still around. When I was a little kid, my mom used to use the time and temperature line as a bribe: "If you're good, I'll let you dial time and temperature." A cheap strategy, but one that didn't cost her a dime and, for a single parent, was an easy motivation and diversion.

In my hometown, my aunt Effie used to supply the voice to the recording. That made her kind of a local hero, supplying all sorts of dinner conversation. Being pretty naive and a bit given to the surreal, I used to think she just sat there in this little telephone booth all day. The phone would ring, she would dutifully check the clock and the thermometer on the wall then answer the phone in her perky little voice, giving the caller all the pertinent details. I used to wonder why she never said "You're welcome, Clint" or "Hey, saw your mom at JCPenney yesterday," but I just guessed she was the meteorological equivalent of those British soldiers who aren't allowed to talk, the ones who stand in front of Buckingham Palace. She was like that, but without the big furry hat. I don't think she wore a furry hat. After a while, I stopped trying to talk back to her, and just appreciated her filial restraint, and devotion to the process.

So, my friend gave me the number this morning (303/443-1910, by the way). I'm going to save it in my cell phone under "Comfortable Things That Mostly Stay the Same", if that'll fit. I'll call it on days I need a centering, to remember that some things do stay the same...sort of.

"Thank you for calling time and temperature, sponsored by First National Bank of Brownwood. The time now is---7:02 a.m.---The temperature is---4---degrees Fahrenheit. Have a good day and remember-for all your banking needs, choose First National Bank--the people's bank."

Thanks, Aunt Effie. Nice hat.

Ow, wow...again!

2006-11-14T21:15:00.000-07:00

My birthday's in 11 days!

:O)

Love is the Greatest Revenge

2006-11-14T20:50:00.000-07:00

www.tremolomusic.net/
How sweet!

Food for thought and choking on:

"Is art entertainment?
Art teaches us about who we are.
Entertainment tells us who to be.
Art is a public service.
Entertainment is a private product.
Art opens our minds.
Entertainment thinks for you.
Art is publicly offered.
Entertainment is publicly traded.
Art is the words we wish to say,
but lack the language to say it."

-Justin Dillon
lyricist of the band Tremolo

Atticus Finch

2006-11-07T18:10:00.000-07:00

Heroes. The word conjures all sorts of ideas in peoples' heads, from Spider Man and Batman to firefighters and family pets. My hero has always been my grandfather. This may be partly due to the fact that he died just before I ate whatever it is that adolescents eat that make them go crazy, cynical, and good-for-nothing for about 10 years. Either way, my grandfather was and still is the Platonic Ideal . I knew there was a bullet-proof cape under those pinstriped farmer's overalls, and that his Red Man chewing tobacco had magical properties. He could read the minds of strangers and kin alike, still raging Texas thunderstorms, calm the most horrible of my grandmother's tirades, get any tractor unstuck from mud with his bare hands, and could harvest more hay in one afternoon than all the other neighbors put together. In short, my grandfather had only enough flaws to keep him balanced securely between man and Titan. This is the way it's always been, and this is the way it is to this day. So how is a fictional character created by a cantankerous Southern recluse stepping into the same light as grandpa? Simple. Atticus Finch and my grandpa are juxtapositions and cross references of one another. Shades and compliments. Sunrises and sunsets meeting in a blazing midday light and heat. There's more...

On belay, with a bottle

2006-11-06T23:38:00.000-07:00

http://view.break.com/158118
Check this out, Bri!

As a guy who really hopes his daughter comes to realize the beauty and allure of rock climbing, here's a video that makes his imagination run wild!

That's all, from just a guy.

book release party!

2006-10-29T15:15:00.000-07:00

This Ocean Used To Be A Desert
book release party!

Albums Bistro
on the Hill@1124 13th St,
Boulder
303-709-5272

This Wednesday
open reading at 8:00 pm
Ocean book release at 8:30

I'm really psyched that a local press has picked up my poetry book for publication. I'll be reading some stuff from it this Wednesday, and it'd be great to see you there!

My Daughter is A Dinosaur

2006-10-28T10:51:00.000-06:00

The Next Obvious Step
This has been happening for some time, now, but I'm just recognizing it, and becoming intrigued. It has come to pass that my daughter now clomps around the house on her hands and knees, referred technically in most academic circles as the 'crawling phase'. Most of the time, she crawls like normal babies do--on her hands and knees. Sometimes, however, she crawls only on her hands and feet with her butt high up in the air. Hilarious. I've not figured the reason for this, what it is that makes her prefer that specific method of locomotion at specific times but, when she does this, she looks like a dinosaur, specifically a diplodocus. The word dinosaur means 'thunder lizard'. Again--apropos.

If I was cool...or had an inordinate amount of time to figure it out, I would post this picture I saw of a diplodocus. But I'm not, and I don't, so I won't, but here's the link to aforementioned picture:
http://www.cbv.ns.ca/marigold/history/dinosaurs/datafiles/diplodocus.html

Use your copy and paste skills, if you're so inclined. If you're not, just pay attention throughout your day for earth-shaking thumps and ker-plops. Brianna just may be coming around the corner, in full-on Diplodocus mode. Little Thumper Thunder Lizard.

Oh, wow!

2006-10-26T19:58:00.000-06:00

Hey!! My birthday's in one month!

Uhhh...?

2006-10-21T01:41:00.000-06:00

啊，上来这里还不错，空气清鲜

On The Potential Evolution of the Dolly Madison Zingers

2006-10-20T18:47:00.000-06:00

I'm not at liberty to whole-heartedly pursue my next million-dollar idea yet (due to potential legal entanglements with the parent company, Dolly Madison, basic physical production concerns, and simple time constraints that disallow the creation of any viable business plan, among other things). I feel comfortable, however, with at least introducing the idea to you because I have an unfounded and cheerfully naive view of human nature that no one would DARE steal such an important idea. Also, I believe it's important to let you all know it is coming, so you can rest easier and walk lighter in the knowledge that life is about to become so much more, well, organic, without having to give up that which we all love so much.

I'm, of course, talking about Dolly Madison Zingers, and especially exalting the raspberry coconut variety with vanilla cream filling. There is but one distinct weakness to these wonderful little sponge cakes--they are not real. Up to now, I've just accepted this as an unfortunate part of life, that not one ingredient is derived from any vague semblance of natural ingredients. I've recently come to see, however, that this does not HAVE to be the case.

More on this epiphany, coming soon...

A Poem Because My Little Girl Is One

2006-10-03T19:04:00.000-06:00

Happy Birthday, Thumper!!

Confirmation of Angels

It is the smell of lavender
That gets us through
And the wash of warm
Water over our backs.
See the sign of the Covenant,
In a rusty weathercock,
Blowing and spinning 'round,
We find silver
In a winter wind,
And gold
In the autumn breeze.
Red ruby
In the summer sunset,
Indigo raindrops
In the heart of spring.
And within it all-
The sign of the Covenant,
Confirmation of angels
In the atmosphere
spinning down,
Spinning down...to touch us,
Spinning down.
10/05

Worth Saying Again. Worth Saying Again.

2006-09-26T21:03:00.000-06:00

Just A Guy On The Website
Worth Saying Again:

I mentioned this to my friend Brady on his little blogsite. I think it bears repeating, because it's one heck of a tightrope we as young, sensitive parentals, walk.

It's difficult...downright political...to compliment your good friend's babies on looks, ability, or natural coolness on the internet. This is because you never know when another of your friends are browsing the comments, and thinking in the back of their minds "My kids are just th' bomb, you know? I mean, they are the top hair o' the camel, no doubt!" and such. Then they see my comment about, say, how the Speers have the cutest kids this side of Colorado and that the lil' uns seem to be grandly taking to this world of wonder and wackiness, and that I'm sure they will both grow up to be President or at least wonderful, award-winning anglers. They see this comment and, all of the sudden, their perspective is wrecked, their fatherly feathers shaken and stirred, and they begin to doubt their own lineage's worth and assemblage. OK. If that's you, don't feel bad. The Speers got lucky. There are many other babies that are uglier and less-adaptable than yours. And your little child-person is more than likely Way-Way-Cool on the 'Way-Cool' scale. You sould be proud of that little bundle of joy you made, and are making. It could have turned out much worse. I'm sure they will grow up to be something remarkable, too. Personally, I hope my little kid (who lives in Colorado, by the way) matures into one heck of a league bowler...

Moving boxes, the soggy truth

2006-09-18T06:41:00.000-06:00

It's been really dry lately and I assumed this meteorological trend would continue. That being the case, I stored all the ~30 moving boxes (see earlier blog entry) in the back yard, against the house to await re-dispersal into the community. OK, then. Those of you who live in Colorado know the current weather pattern has changed...drastically. I no longer have the boxes posted on Craig's list under the "Free if you can pick them up" section, as they more resemble a variety of brown mushy fungi than sturdy, confidence-inspiring and fresh-smelling cardboard boxes.

Just thought I'd bring about closure to this discussion. The Cycle of Craig has NOT been completed...though the life cycle of the aforementioned boxes have, and it was a sad, dubious end. So it goes.

Moving, part II

2006-09-18T06:40:00.000-06:00

So, for the majority of our lives-past-parents, Alisa and I have belonged to the curious phylum of apartment dwelling beings. Until now. We've just moved into our first real house together last week. Different, this is. (Before we go too far, I should clarify: we're RENTING, not buying. BUYING a home in Boulder requires more than a meager teacher's salary, a cute little baby and equally cute stay-at-home mom, and school loans out the...you know. So, renting.) Anyway, different, this is, from apartment living. How, you may ask? I'll share:
1. There are no longer any sketchy 'next-doors' below you, bellowing their personal favorite country music selections at 6:45 a.m.
2. There are no longer any abrasive 'next-doors' above you, bellowing their personal favorite horrid death metal music selections at 11:45 p.m.
3. There are none of the aforementioned 'next-doors' smoking on their balcony below or above, forcing you to seal yourselves into your little 800 sq. ft. carpeted, vaulted ceiling-ed ZipLock bag of an apartment, sucking stale recycled air for the sake of your child (and you) not contracting the Black Lung.
4. After a trip out, you can walk right in your front door without first negotiating 6 flights of stairs while carrying an infant, 7 plastic grocery bags and clothes in one arm, and keys, diaper bag and an unwieldly bicycle in the other.
5. In a house, there are certain specific responsibilities such as watering the lawn, raking the grass, mowing the grass, putting up curtains and towel racks, arranging then re-arranging the storage shed out back, borrowing the neighbors' tools (because no one amasses yard tools when living in an apartment), purchasing and laying area rugs in certain rooms...and the list goes on.
6. In a house, at the end of the day, you can gather up the fam, pop open a couple of those beers the neighbors brought over "just because", and sit on your own front porch, engage in small talk or consentual silence, and watch the sun set over the Flatirons. Arguably, one could do this in an apartment, but not really. Different, this is. We're just silly happy with it all.

Moving, part I

2006-09-18T06:38:00.000-06:00

My wife hates moving. She ranks it as one of the most annoying and aggravating things in the world, just below bunchy underwear. Myself, I enjoy it. I find something very therapeutic about it. Moving reminds me of playing existential Tetris, not only in the physical packing of the moving truck, but in the process as a whole. There's a yin and yang found there, a deep re-evaluation that is avoidable when one packs up their life into cardboard boxes and plastic crates. Moving forces a re-evaluation of what is truly necessary, what is needed, what can be done without, given away, recycled or trashed and brings about a poignant way of re-shaping perspective. Moving is a contemplation of all of those things...but I'm glad it over. Now I just have to find a way to get rid of those leftover boxes. Hey! Craig's List!

Oops...

2006-09-18T06:35:00.001-06:00

I've just been made aware in a specifically regrettable way of one potentially show-stopping danger of the Baby Toy Tether: young babies have no concept that consistent breathing is essential to life, and that it can be interrupted by simply wrapping a 3 foot-long string about the neck and going about its business as usual, unattended. As mentioned earlier, this is a potentially damning development to our product, and we at B.T.B. Co, Inc. are working hard to bring about a resolution. It's just a relatively good thing that preliminary tests were conducted on a certain kitten named Snowboots, whose next of kin , by the way, have been notified.

Never Mind the Deck Chairs--Abandon the Ship!

2006-09-18T06:35:00.000-06:00

As it goes with the majority of those good ideas and personal goals that so briefly sail the open seas of the human condition, I've run my pirating profession up against the rocky shoals. Yes, I've scuttled my existential ship. That's right--No more pirating. Even with my quite conservative and moralistic approach to the profession, and my decidedly gentleman-ly ways and more-than-reasonable fair exchange wages for the crew, I've come to the conclusion that pirating does no one any good. It is the cause of innocent children being violently deprived of their Capri Sun (not-so)fruit drinks, and leads to unexpecting parents being separated from their jewels, clean underwear and colorful picnic coolers. I hereby renounce pirating for the duration of my life, and ask the forgiveness of all those lives I've hurt in any way during my highly successful but clearly dubious career on the open seas, er, Reservoir. I will earnestly set my sights on a more practical, high-browed profession to serve the purpose of feeding my family: Fair trade Madagascarian Coastal Lima Bean farming. More on this later, as research and progress merit. During this painful transition, I just say: "Sad days bring forth the rain that waters the spring flowers". Argg, me mateys.

There's Pirating, and then there's the Baby Toy Tether!

2006-09-18T06:33:00.000-06:00

There's Pirating, and then there's the Baby Toy Tether!

Apart from pirating, I recently happened upon another idea (more truly, it was an inspired idea from on high. Really and for-true! I think it is divinely inspired! Like, angels carrying the whole idea down to earth on a silver platter, or something!) for making enough money to feed my family in this dark economic climate. It was obvious, always there right in front of me--the baby toy tether!! Its design is simple, its construction time- and energy efficient, and the marketing, well, it'll sell itself! Being a father who gets sick and tired of picking up baby toy X, Y and/or Z countless times while trying to pour myself a stiff drink or attempting to clean out the fish tank, I really think this idea is going to kick in. And when there's such an obvious universal need, and as the design is so simple yet revolutionary (consisting of just a large Chip Clip securely attached to a thin piece of 3 foot heavy duty string), I don't see how it can fail. The Baby Toy Tether. I'm working out the details...More later.

OK, fine...

2006-09-18T06:31:00.000-06:00

OK, fine...

So, pirating on a reservoir brings with it its own set of problems, as I've found. I am, however, actually being able to provide food for my family in the form of a variety of sandwiches, Little Debbie snacks, Capri-Sun and other high fructose sugar fruit drinks, but I've not been able to pirate many things of financial value, pawnable resources or gold dabloom, for that matter. Not being a prideful man, er pirate, I've decided I need a very specific type of career consultant if this is going to measure up to my--admittedly high--expectations.

more on pirating...clarifications and qualifications and such

2006-09-18T06:30:00.000-06:00

more on pirating...clarifications and qualifications and such

Pirating. The simple mention of the word conjures up visions of the open seas and swaggering figures bent on a variety of reprehensible and inhuman deeds. Uh, that's mostly right, if you're thinking of my specific brand of pirating, aside from that part about "the open seas and swaggering figures bent on a variety of reprehensible and inhuman deeds". Anyway, I've decided that I'm going to base my pirating operations out of Boulder Reservoir. That way, I don't have to re-locate during the summer, and I can still attend the midnight drumming circles I've come to love so much. Now, you may say to me, "Hey, Clint--(that's Greenbeard, the Dreaded Three-Eyed Irish Pirate to you, buddy!)--don't you know that the majority of reported modern pirate activity is off the coasts of S.Africa and Indonesia? Boulder Reservoir, in its long and illustrious history, has never NEVER had any reports of pirating?" Have you ever thought that this may be the reason for choosing my particular locale??! Get off my back. I'm working here.
My motivation, because we all have one, is soley to feed and clothe my family. I want to be a quality provider, and pirating seems to be a better path to that than Amway or Spectrolink long distance pyramid schemes which, by the way, do NOT work and only tie up one's time and energy.
That's what I've got so far...Anyone have a good parrot for sale? An eye patch? Mustache wax?

Pirating to Supplement Family Income

2006-09-18T06:27:00.000-06:00

OK. I've got it.

And I came up with this while sailing far from the influence of Johnny Depp and the (resulting?) recent re-surgence in popularity of the genre/characterization. I actually was tipped off to this by none other than the National Geographic-a worthy and upstanding literary source, to be sure...

To subsidize my meager income from being a public school teacher of English and enlightening the minds of certain high school students, I am going to spend my summers pirating. That's right. Even now, I'm practicing the swagger, the accent, and the unmistakable authenticity of various prose, vocabulary, and dialect. It's not as easy as it seems-coming up with a character sketch that both fits my personal temperment while still adhering to the universal Pirate Code. After much consideration, I would be a "gentleman pirate". I would kill no one. I would refrain from raping, pillaging (well, I would pillage), and burning others' property. It seems only fair and right. What would I gain from that reprehensible behavior? I just need the booty. (Baby needs new shoes).

Overwhelming! There is so much more to consider, build, work over, and obtain. First off, I would need a ship--a worthy vessel--not too tidy, but not too unkempt. Not too big, not too small. It must have little holes for guns because, even though I have sworn gentleman-cy, I have to be able to bluff my way into the darkest corners of my potential victims' hearts and minds, so they will freely volunteer their booty (Baby needs new haircut), without a fight. [memo to self--can my crew commit murder, in my stead? Must consider this.]

Nice, Happy Little Father's Day Poem

2006-09-18T06:25:00.000-06:00

So To Make You Think

On that morning
I drank my coffee black
So to make you think
I'd grown into a simple man,
A strong man.

(I pretended that the smoke
Thick in the truckstop cafe
Didn't bother me at all).

I remember-
On that morning
I talked a bit lower
So to make you think
I'd turned into a serious man,
A sensible man.

(I made out that the years,
Thick with your departures,
Were all just ions, unattracting).

I remember-
On that morning
I grabbed the check like a martyr
So to make you think
I'd grown into
Less of a leaver
More of a rock
Less of a coward and
More of a man
Than you.

I remember-
On that morning
We walked outside together
Into the crisp of December.
We shook hands.
I attacked you and absolved you
With my eyes,
While yours were bloodshot,
Cracked windshields
With a sudden, innapropriate flash of pride
And a completely appropriate shock of regret.
I know I heard your voice break.

So we parted ways,
Affecting a certain gift of closure,
A certain airing of our past,
A single slice of all I needed,
And a sliver of healing, at last.

Love Poem to my Wife

2006-09-18T06:24:00.000-06:00

If you were a Bolivian Spotted Newt

If you were a Bolivian Spotted Newt
And amphibious Alisa,
I would ever so gently
Put you in my pocket
With a folded, wet paper towel,
And we would down to the Reservoir
And spend all afternoon
Sliding underneath rocks
And playing Marco Polo,
If you were a Bolivian Spotted Newt.

That's good, huh?

Master of all I survey...

thoughts on rock climbing

2006-09-18T06:19:00.001-06:00

exciting new entry about rock climbing...take one:
Got up way too early on Monday and hiked into Rocky Mountain Nat'l Park where Carol Cotchek and I climbed the Flying Buttress on Mount Meeker.
It's been on my short list for a long time, and deserved its spot there. I liked it. It was cool. Really high. Neat-o potato. Descent sucked. Wanna go back...like NOW!-----I like the Park. If you don't look one specifically wrong way, you feel like you're a thousand miles from any civilization. (If you look that one specifically wrong way, you can see Boulder, the view of which, apart from my earlier context, could be worse). The Diamond on Long's Peak (Meeker's next door neighbor) is calling again. Didn't summit last time--got caught in those infamous hail storms in August. Bummer. Making plans...

Peace out! Love your wombat.

The Cycle of Craig and What We Need

2006-09-18T06:18:00.000-06:00

My wife and I did it. (Get your minds out of the gutter. What I mean is...) We finally completed the Cycle of Craig. First of all, if you've not heard of the beautiful service that is Craig's List (www.craigslist.com), shame on you. Craig and his List could single-handedly bring the lumbering WalMart bohemoth to its shambling knees and give economic ownership back to the people. Buy, sell, give away, barter...it's all there for the clicking.

What is the Cycle of Craig? It is as follows, in order, and we've done it.
1. become intrigued about CL due to an offhand comment shoveled innocently into a conversation over coffee. Go to the Site.
2. become intrigued about Certain Item (In our case, it was a portable dishwasher for our new rental, and we didn't want/couldn't afford to spend $500.00 on a new one).
3. contacted seller of Certain Item. (They wanted $100.00. Cool.)
4. engage in economic liason meeting. Make the Exchange.
5. Move into the advanced stage of Selling. (In our case, a nice kitchen table. $150.00. Interested??).
6. Sell said Item.
Cycle complete. It's that easy, and there's no paper receipt to throw away, nor crunchy white plastic bag with that stupid yellow smiley face that will end up in our open space or landfills.
Go to Craig's List, instead. Visit the List.
This entry not intended to fan the flame of the rampant consumerism in the good people of our United States of America. You need less than you think. It is just a tool to help level the playing field. Wal Mart and Borders sucks. We all need less than we think we do.

http://walmartwatch.com/
http://yro.slashdot.org/article.pl?sid=06/05/08/2252246&from=rss (especially interesting!)

That is all.

new poetry from Some Guy

2006-09-17T16:40:00.000-06:00

Just A Guy On The Website

How Things Should Be

Sound is absorbed
Into walls of a room,
Like birds in the deep blue sea,
Fish in the wide blue sky.
Vibrations diminish
To the point of the nothingness
Moving alongside
The current of evening
To a taxi ride home and undressing,
Taking off the day,
Exchanging the filth
And the stains of a push
In the city
For minute pieces
Of eternity,
One another,
And the way things should truly be.

----------------------

Sex in Heaven

Incorporeal communion-
Take the cup of honey-sweet sweat,
The bread of breasts and a single rib
And moans that rise to heaven.
They do not have to rise too high,
For heaven is surrounding us,
Above, below us and, of the course,
Dripping from within us.

We have the stars of Heaven,
We have the Cistene ceiling-
Pulsing through our opaque skulls,
Rising in our veins.

You and I are desperate,
So we must escape!
Hand in hand, heart to heart,
Brushing wings through silver hedges,
slipping through the holy groves,
Of these celestial gardens.
Taking each our turn
At pulling one another
Quick around the corners.
We hit the ground like first redemption!
Fall into a mess of feathers!
How we are entwined together,
How our kisses search each other,
How we are enthralled...
How we are enfolded!
How our bodies quake as one!
How it's all exploding
Like a million spilling diamonds!
How our quivering limbs go limp.

We lie in a deep and holy repose,
We hold each other close.
Then we rise, adjust our robes
Pull the fractured feathers
From our folded wings and
Yes-straighten up our halos,
All the more now given
To the glory of praise.

---------------------------

I'm Not OK

Whatever it was, i didn't mean to do it.
And I don't need you to tell me-
I know that I blew it.
The flying shoe across the room
Communicates so well.
Better than I do, hear tell.

Whatever I said, I didn't really mean it.
And I don't need you to tell me-
You know that i seen it.
Godzilla glare, sharp teeth stare
Super-heats the yard,
Flamethrowin' frozen Christmas card.

So come on home, baby,
The key's in the snowbank.
The mat's on fire.
The blanket is melting
By the telephone wire,
And the CD player is still broken.
The kitchen is a mess.
But I'm just not OK
Without you.
Not OK without you.

----------------------

Here We go Again

2006-09-17T16:39:00.000-06:00

Just A Guy On The Website

Well, here we go again. Real life is forcing its way in between the multiplicitous joys of summer, like a bamboo schut under fingernails soaked in gasoline and lemon juice. Yes, I can see the lumbering beast that is the 2006-2007 school year approaching on the not-distant-enough horizon. As testimony of that fact, two days ago, I received the innevitable and nauseatingly positive and encouraging 'Letter'...the one all teachers receive from their School Administration about this time of year, the purpose of which is to (not so) gently nudge us out of our comfortable summer slumber and strip us of our dreamy but wholly incorrect belief that the summer months will never end. It is a painful time for all teachers. Painful and Unfair. Unfair and Oppressive. I want my blankie. The letter states that we must report on Wednesday morning at 8:00, bright and early, ready to smile, offer useful suggestions on this and that, and begin being collegial and productive. This is a high expectation for us. For my part, all I want to do is have a few more days (read:45 years, or so) of good climbing, hanging out with fam, and sleeping in. No chance. No time...No trust fund. I choose to revel in this dark cloud of self-pity for at least the rest of the week, and be angry. If I were still a pirate, I could fire a cannon ball right through the month of August, obliterating it. There would be a general confusion and scrambling about while the pieces were gathered, and I could slip quietly and unnoticed into that parallel universe of my dreamworld where I giddily ask the daily question of myself: "What do I want to do today?" and the answer is always different, but it is never "Back to work". Oh, that the pirating thing had panned out.

Where'd I Go?!

2006-09-17T16:38:00.001-06:00

Just A Guy On The Website

So, it's Saturday morning and it's freakin' raining. I should be hiking into Eldorado Canyon and climbing with a friend of mine (http://mountainproject.com/v/colorado/boulder/eldorado_canyon_sp/105759453) but, as I just mentioned, it's raining, so that's a bad idea. Instead, as a distant, distant off-the-charts consolation prize, I should be making out a test for my Sr. Lit class over Marquez's Chronicle of a Death Foretold. That's what I was intending to do when I booted up the ole' Sony at the coffee shop. Then I thought, "Oh--I should check my email to see if...well, whatever..." and I found an an email that suggested I "check out my Space site". So, now I'm officially distracted, open up a new window and search for this guy and can't find him.---(this entry is going nowhere isn't it?)--- Then, I decide to search for mySELF...in a very surface, literal, non-spiritual sense. Just wondering if I'm out there in MySpace Land. I'm not. And I think that's weird. I'm absolutely not there. I searched for 'Clint Locks', 'Clint Locks' in quotes, 'clintlocks', and a variety of other nominal search strategies, and I simply don't exist. Now, this is interesting. How disturbing. Creepy. It's like seeing your name in the obituaries, or like seing that your name was left off your support group roster, or like being ignored at a party. It's like what I imagine being walked through by a ghost would feel like.
On the other hand--what a load off! This officially absolves me of so much responsibility. I've decided that I'm not going to finish making my Sr Lit test and I may not go to work on Monday at all, now that I don't exist. And I'm not finishing this blog, either...'cause what's the point?

Today, I'm Busy...

2006-09-17T16:38:00.000-06:00

Just A Guy On The Website

Why do we do this to ourselves? It's like a form of self-torture. Maybe each of us are somehow bound to perform this infliction on ourselves as a piece of a universal penance. To pay for losing the picture, for breaking the frame...for abusing the gift of time. What if
we
all
just
slowed

down?

sunsets. conversations. rainbows. appreciating the grace of a stone. seeing instead of looking. actually enjoying our food. actually enjoying our spouses/lovers/friends. actually enjoying LIFE.

??

Gotta run...

Just A Guy On The Website

2006-09-17T16:36:00.000-06:00

Just A Guy On The Website

In remembrance:

SEISMIC ACTIVITY

Naturally, an earthquake begins in the earth,
and moves into the buildings.

Today, the earthquake began in the buildings,
and moved into the earth.

CHRISTMAS, 2001
pt 1

You should shift your eyes a bit,
Just a bit to the right.
With a nod towards Christmastime
Which is just around the corner.
I can smell it like I smell
The Colorado evergreen.
In one winter breeze-wafted breath,
It comes and-sweet surrender!
It disarms all we fear
Like a pilgrimage kiss upon a sandstone wall
Riddled with bullet-hole scars and salvation.
They are many times the same.
Many times. The same.

So you should turn your bashful, beautiful face,
Just a bit more to the right.
With a nod towards Christmas time
Which is just beyond our sight.
I can smell it like I smell
The cedars of Lebanon.
In one winter breeze-wafted breath,
It comes and-sweet surrender!
It disarms all we fear,
Like rose petals fallen to the ground.

Winnie The Pooh Saves the World!

2006-09-16T12:56:00.000-06:00

Just A Guy On The Website

I think everyone needs to introduce or re-introduce themselves to Winnie the Pooh from time to time. It is possible that the Future of our world depends on that one benign act. To my knowledge, Winnie, Christopher Robin, and Piglet have, to date, solved all their Problems sans any type of malice or WMD...or WmDs, for that matter. Further, I'm sending a copy to President Bush and various Middle Eastern terrorist groups. Expect a turning of the tide in just a few short weeks. You can begin breathing easier now, and thank me later.

Meteorologic Irony And A Lesson...

2006-09-16T12:13:00.000-06:00

Yes!!!! Today, the weather is beautiful! Clear, blue Colorado skies, enough breeze to keep things moving around and, at 65 degrees at 8:15 a.m., a perfect day to get out! Just like I'd hoped for. Problem: I've made fairly elaborate and multi-layered plans to volunteer at a benefit trail-building project then go climbing in Eldo with a couple of friends. The 'problem' part is--wife left suddenly last night in order to oversee the launch of her friend's baby out of amniotic fluid and the mythic safety of the womb and into this more colorful and interesting, albeit dangerous world--ex-vitreo. Fine. I knew this was coming. Makes sense. So, I gotta stay home and be daddy and supportive husband...my job. Love it, usually. Today, however--having trouble not being selfishly myopic and wallowing in self-pity. Caught myself two or three times being such, and dutifully beat myself into an appropriate submission. That worked for a while. Wish I wasn't so slow at seeing the Big Picture and putting my own petty 'needs' away. I guess it'd be easier if this wasn't just the latest frustrating installment in a grand series of the universe to conspire against every plan I've made to have a little fun...(Oops. There I go again. See how easy it is?! Eveyone join in! Let's feel sorry for ourselves and scowl-like-we're-gonna-die-if-we-don't-get-what-we-want, on '3'. Ready? 1, 2...)

2006-09-13T21:45:00.000-06:00

hi.

This is that first obligatory entry, where you're just trying out the whole thing and don't really have anything of substance to say. That's all.