Originally Posted Monday, June 16, 2014
I need a staff to help with this blog. If nothing else, they could go through old files and find things for me. I don't have the time. I don't have the time to make all the images I want to make, and sometimes. . . I just get exhausted. But regardless, the next morning, we must go to press. So to speak. It is a tough solo gig, I promise. Perhaps I'm just getting old.
Yesterday, a man stopped by my house. He wanted to buy my Jeep. I've been thinking about it, thinking how little I want to go out and clean it up, buy tires, get the electrical system fixed. . . all of it. So when he asked how much I would take for it, I told him. He had most of it in cash, but needed to go to the bank to get more, then to get a truck to tow it away. That meant I had time to process my decision to sell it.
I bought the Jeep brand new in 1985. It was the first new thing I had ever gotten for myself. I bought it because I had just finished my M.A. degree and thought I deserved a present. It was quite fun. I had long hair that fell past my shoulders then and a physique that pretty was good. I ran every day across the Country Club College campus with my dog. When I got the Jeep, the Shepard/Husky mix went with me everywhere. The Jeep was white and not so many people had them and we became quite a well known figure. It was the only car I had, so when it rained, I donned a rain jacket. People I didn't know would stop me and ask if I was the fellow with the white Jeep and the dog. Then they would tell me a story about seeing me. I was always quite pleased, of course, for that is why I did it all, I am sure. I wanted to be some modern mixture of Tarzan and Indiana Jones.
Thinking about it yesterday afternoon, I remembered that every girlfriend I have had since high school had ridden in that Jeep. No. . . they'd all had fun in it. I was I was a very safe rebel, I guess, almost like real danger only with a seatbelt. I knew some of the scariest people on the planet, but I was not one. The Jeep, I guess, was a symbol of all that. I wanted to look like one of the pictures in a Patagonia catalog.
Now the dog is dead and the Jeep and I are both in disrepair. At least the Jeep might have a second chance. I may have to start a chronicle of my life with the Jeep, little vignettes of suburban madness. There are plenty of good tales to tell.
I bought some photo corners yesterday and started making my summer journal out of the Fuji instant pictures. I am not so good at that. It is spacial. Maybe with practice, I will get better. I have always said that I have a lot of estrogen, but it doesn't show when I make the summer book. Every little girl in the world make scrapbooks that I envy. I think it is genetically programmed, but I may be wrong. I sit with photos and corners and colored pencils and am simply frozen with befuddlement. I do the first thing, and it looks like shit. Then I begin to sweat and my hands shake, and then I push it all to the side and go on the internet to look at other people's scrapbooks. Look. . . I'm embarrassing myself by even telling you that I am making a scrapbook, so give me a break here. It's just another piece of the puzzle.
Yesterday, a man stopped by my house. He wanted to buy my Jeep. I've been thinking about it, thinking how little I want to go out and clean it up, buy tires, get the electrical system fixed. . . all of it. So when he asked how much I would take for it, I told him. He had most of it in cash, but needed to go to the bank to get more, then to get a truck to tow it away. That meant I had time to process my decision to sell it.
I bought the Jeep brand new in 1985. It was the first new thing I had ever gotten for myself. I bought it because I had just finished my M.A. degree and thought I deserved a present. It was quite fun. I had long hair that fell past my shoulders then and a physique that pretty was good. I ran every day across the Country Club College campus with my dog. When I got the Jeep, the Shepard/Husky mix went with me everywhere. The Jeep was white and not so many people had them and we became quite a well known figure. It was the only car I had, so when it rained, I donned a rain jacket. People I didn't know would stop me and ask if I was the fellow with the white Jeep and the dog. Then they would tell me a story about seeing me. I was always quite pleased, of course, for that is why I did it all, I am sure. I wanted to be some modern mixture of Tarzan and Indiana Jones.
Thinking about it yesterday afternoon, I remembered that every girlfriend I have had since high school had ridden in that Jeep. No. . . they'd all had fun in it. I was I was a very safe rebel, I guess, almost like real danger only with a seatbelt. I knew some of the scariest people on the planet, but I was not one. The Jeep, I guess, was a symbol of all that. I wanted to look like one of the pictures in a Patagonia catalog.
Now the dog is dead and the Jeep and I are both in disrepair. At least the Jeep might have a second chance. I may have to start a chronicle of my life with the Jeep, little vignettes of suburban madness. There are plenty of good tales to tell.
I bought some photo corners yesterday and started making my summer journal out of the Fuji instant pictures. I am not so good at that. It is spacial. Maybe with practice, I will get better. I have always said that I have a lot of estrogen, but it doesn't show when I make the summer book. Every little girl in the world make scrapbooks that I envy. I think it is genetically programmed, but I may be wrong. I sit with photos and corners and colored pencils and am simply frozen with befuddlement. I do the first thing, and it looks like shit. Then I begin to sweat and my hands shake, and then I push it all to the side and go on the internet to look at other people's scrapbooks. Look. . . I'm embarrassing myself by even telling you that I am making a scrapbook, so give me a break here. It's just another piece of the puzzle.
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