I have a problem with being annoyed about things I cannot really change, especially those small human defects we all have that very often result in scenarios that are really none of my business. Like going out to dinner the other night at a pizza joint, and the young lady at the table next to me ordering garlic and pineapple on her slice ("hmmm" I thought, "that's exactly what I was going to order"). She then sent it back when it arrived as she had ordered it, and bagged on the waiter to her friend while waiting for her replacement slice (though she took the offending slice on the house as well). She had apparently forgotten she asked for garlic (or maybe she was just super-stoned). Either way, lame.

And lame that I even care! Hating on entitlement, working class solidarity, annoyed by people with bad memories, or just plain sad -- call it what you want, but that kind of shit just makes me crazy. Feel my pain -- it sucks!

So as you can imagine I've refrained out of self-preservation from posting about the really big fuck-yous that our humanness hands us, like AIG and all of the banking crooks who are in the process of using taxpayer bailouts to pay millions in bonuses and renovation of their headquarters, among other things. And that is because it fills me with so much annoyance -- nay, rage -- and helplessness that I can hardly see straight -- don't need to be reminded of that on my blog!

But this bit in the New York Times today is worth it:

A.I.G. Revenge Is All the Rage, but It Isn’t Healthy

Maybe it’s time to take a deep calming breath. Some people already have, no matter how deep their economic suffering. They are finding constructive ways to channel the anger they’ve been feeling — outlets that quell the instinct to throw a rock through the window of somebody’s mansion.

Joe Maysonet, the fitness manager at the Printing House Fitness and Squash Club in Manhattan, said there has been a rush of new attendees at boxing classes. Punching a human-shaped rubber dummy is especially popular.

While fists fly, trainers yell inspiration like, “You’re punching your money back into your pockets!” he said. “You’re punching that portfolio you used to have!”

Ha ha...humbug.

Though I do like this bit:

The dummy, Mr. Maysonet said, will not press charges. “He’s withstood it all,” he said. “Just like our country.”

The only way I can lure Trevor into thrift store shopping with me:

Spires record release party, Oaktown, 3.13.2009

six degrees of Sanchez:















Wilcox surfs and screams:















The W and Trevor:



















Support these hardworking Oakland boys and order the record here.

Back from a gorgeous, perfect weekend in my hometown. Packed a TON into a few days. Feeling really blessed right now to have such good friends and family, and to hail from such a beautiful place!

We started the weekend off with a drive out Italian Bar Road to take in the sights and spend some time with our good friend J.

Look at this gorgessity:















I-Bar is well known for its active and abandoned mining claims; on our hike we came across a few abandoned and waterlogged shafts:



















We were heartened to see that the PG&E ditches and the Stan were full and free-flowing. Our hike meandered along a tributary of the Stan and ended at one of many spectacular waterfalls:



















And then this being I-Bar and all, J ended up being a good samaritan and putting his tow strap to good use:



















That night we went to the casino with J and his mom to watch a comedy show (more tragic than comedic, but hey free Cokes) and then I won $20 in the nickel slots! Righteous.

On Friday, Trevor and I skied the best snow of our lives at Dodge Ridge:















17 degrees at 9 am! The wind was like ice, but the snow was all icing sugar.

Friday night I cooked dinner for my mom and my man. Afterward, we went to grab a beer with J at our favorite hometown haunt, and found there was, of all things, a rave going on:















Luckily we were able to cheese in just for a drink w/o the cover. Normally we go here to see hillbilly punk shows, and consequently know everyone in the bar; this time we knew not one soul. We just kept thinking: this is Tuompton -- where do these people come from?

Saturday saw us heading home into a traffic backup on 108 that extended for miles. After an hour of waiting where we moved a quarter of a mile, we called CHP and they told us there was a massive accident at LaGrange turnoff. At least a 2 hour wait. Never before have I been so grateful to be a local (and have an iPhone) -- we u-turned and went the back way through the Red Hills. I'd never really driven the backwoods of Chinese Camp before, but I knew we could get past LaGrange turnoff from there somehow. Not only did we discover a new place to hike, but a 20 minute detour popped us right back out onto the highway not but a 100 yards ahead of the accident, and on our way home.

Sunday we went to see Watchmen. I was very impressed. Perfectly cast, and well-edited from the comic. Alan Moore should be proud.

If only all weekends could be so magnificent. Makes Monday bearable!

Trevor's book, Rarer and More Wonderful has been nominated for the Northern California Independent Booksellers Association award in the poetry category.

And while I hope he wins or is at least a finalist, that old adage "it's an honor to be nominated" rings very true. Past nominees and winners include Willis Barnstone, Adrienne Rich, Ben Lerner, and Robert Hass, just to name a few.

I am so proud of him!