The following three videos come from my first two weeks in my new apartment in Fall Branch.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
An Unusual Cabby: A Story in 25 Tweets
An Unusual Cabby: A Story in 25 Tweets
I improvised this story today on Twitter, one tweet at a time. It comes from a place of need. All tweets appear here in chronological order from top to bottom and have been proofread for respectful capitalization only.
Lord, I need a lift. I need to get from here to there. You're the expert, but if I may suggest a route, hang a left and aim for the glowing.
"Hang on to your shit," spake the Lord, and floored it.
In reverse. Pinned by velocity to the back of the passenger seat like a sixth-grade science project, I could just make out my past flying by.
As Fall Branch receded into the future, I saw the places I've been. At this divine speed they appeared as wet Polaroids not fully developed.
Azusa. Pasadena. North Hollywood. St. Paul. Mounds View. St. Paul again. Yonkers. Roswell. New Haven. Geneva. Minneapolis. London. Paris.
We passed green foothills in white caps, threaded through S-curves wiggling between sheer cliffs, blasted out into great expanses of desert.
And then we were riding on water. His taxi skipped across the Atlantic like a checkered yellow stone.
The Lord never asked me whether I was comfortable.
"Thirsty?" the Lord did ask unto me. "Yes," I replied, upon which He handed me an Evian bottle full of brilliant ruby wine. I downed it.
Yea, the Lord got me completely wasted. He pulled over. I fell out of the cab onto a cobbled street. The cab had turned black. "Nice trick.”
London. West End. The Hammersmith Apollo loomed high above my head. The marquee read "BLAST!" Blast, I'm late for my entrance, I mumbled.
"Don't worry," spake the Lord, "You're fired. Get in." I looked at Him, looked at the marquee, looked at the black cab and climbed in. Sigh.
The Lord buried His sandaled foot in the floorboards and off we flew, still in reverse. "Paris, right?" I asked, fumbling with the seatbelt.
I stood on the beach of Brittany at sunset. The blue swingset. The oyster bar. My friend Sanaphay, stoned and puking up oysters. Bliss.
The Lord shoveled me into the cab again, took the wheel, and punched it back to Minneapolis. University of Minnesota. "I'm tired, Lord.”
High school: Marching band, theater, English class, cross-country skiing, crushes, Live, Dave Matthews, lockers, cars and bicycles.
Middle school: Shame, darting eyes, righteous indignation, the stench of skepticism wafting from Mead notebooks. Picking fights with giants.
Elementary school: Mr. Galinsky, a class music video, the Bookworm program, a rosy girl of long black hair named Chastity. And Katie.
Baseball cards. G.I. Joe. Transformers. Mr. Rogers. Barbara Mandrell on PBS.
A wooden fence and a little blond boy named William in red shorts. Me.
An Easter Basket of green plastic grass and chocolate eggs. The reassuring smell of cigarette smoke on Mom's pea coat.
Everything goes black. "Lord, I can't follow You here.”
"Then you aren't ready to go all the way, " spake the Lord. "I'll pick you up in 87 years. You owe Me six hundred large." Put it on my tab.
The Lord sighed. "Thanks for riding with Us." I helped Him with His robes, slammed the door and gave the roof a pat. He threw it in reverse.
The End.
I improvised this story today on Twitter, one tweet at a time. It comes from a place of need. All tweets appear here in chronological order from top to bottom and have been proofread for respectful capitalization only.
Lord, I need a lift. I need to get from here to there. You're the expert, but if I may suggest a route, hang a left and aim for the glowing.
"Hang on to your shit," spake the Lord, and floored it.
In reverse. Pinned by velocity to the back of the passenger seat like a sixth-grade science project, I could just make out my past flying by.
As Fall Branch receded into the future, I saw the places I've been. At this divine speed they appeared as wet Polaroids not fully developed.
Azusa. Pasadena. North Hollywood. St. Paul. Mounds View. St. Paul again. Yonkers. Roswell. New Haven. Geneva. Minneapolis. London. Paris.
We passed green foothills in white caps, threaded through S-curves wiggling between sheer cliffs, blasted out into great expanses of desert.
And then we were riding on water. His taxi skipped across the Atlantic like a checkered yellow stone.
The Lord never asked me whether I was comfortable.
"Thirsty?" the Lord did ask unto me. "Yes," I replied, upon which He handed me an Evian bottle full of brilliant ruby wine. I downed it.
Yea, the Lord got me completely wasted. He pulled over. I fell out of the cab onto a cobbled street. The cab had turned black. "Nice trick.”
London. West End. The Hammersmith Apollo loomed high above my head. The marquee read "BLAST!" Blast, I'm late for my entrance, I mumbled.
"Don't worry," spake the Lord, "You're fired. Get in." I looked at Him, looked at the marquee, looked at the black cab and climbed in. Sigh.
The Lord buried His sandaled foot in the floorboards and off we flew, still in reverse. "Paris, right?" I asked, fumbling with the seatbelt.
I stood on the beach of Brittany at sunset. The blue swingset. The oyster bar. My friend Sanaphay, stoned and puking up oysters. Bliss.
The Lord shoveled me into the cab again, took the wheel, and punched it back to Minneapolis. University of Minnesota. "I'm tired, Lord.”
High school: Marching band, theater, English class, cross-country skiing, crushes, Live, Dave Matthews, lockers, cars and bicycles.
Middle school: Shame, darting eyes, righteous indignation, the stench of skepticism wafting from Mead notebooks. Picking fights with giants.
Elementary school: Mr. Galinsky, a class music video, the Bookworm program, a rosy girl of long black hair named Chastity. And Katie.
Baseball cards. G.I. Joe. Transformers. Mr. Rogers. Barbara Mandrell on PBS.
A wooden fence and a little blond boy named William in red shorts. Me.
An Easter Basket of green plastic grass and chocolate eggs. The reassuring smell of cigarette smoke on Mom's pea coat.
Everything goes black. "Lord, I can't follow You here.”
"Then you aren't ready to go all the way, " spake the Lord. "I'll pick you up in 87 years. You owe Me six hundred large." Put it on my tab.
The Lord sighed. "Thanks for riding with Us." I helped Him with His robes, slammed the door and gave the roof a pat. He threw it in reverse.
The End.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The consignment shop in Fall Branch sells home schooling materials, nightcrawlers.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
No! Nein! Iie! Aniyo! Bu Shi! Nao!
ALRIGHT, stop NAGGING!
And for the last time, Mom, I don't speak those languages. Do I look like a fucking PhD to you?! We live in a shack and subsist on possum sandwiches and I'm six, for Christ's sake.
(Sedona, Arizona, January 2010)
And for the last time, Mom, I don't speak those languages. Do I look like a fucking PhD to you?! We live in a shack and subsist on possum sandwiches and I'm six, for Christ's sake.
(Sedona, Arizona, January 2010)
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Props Where Props Are Due
This should come as a surprise to the good people at Growthink.
I owe my recent interest in crowdfunding (and angel investing, venture capital, and business planning) to Growthink. They graciously offered me the chance to assist them with my writing services. In so doing, they gave me an introduction to the interesting world of seed and early-stage business management.
Therefore I felt it only fair to give them a shout-out here. Growthink is a business plan consultancy, middle market investment bank, and feasibility study service. Since 1999 they have helped over 2,000 businesses raise $1 billion in capital.
Visit http://growthink.com to get an overall sense of the company.
Visit http:/crowdfundingformula.com to view a tantalizing video by Growthink co-founder Dave Lavinsky.
This is NOT a paid advertisement. Just props where props are due.
I owe my recent interest in crowdfunding (and angel investing, venture capital, and business planning) to Growthink. They graciously offered me the chance to assist them with my writing services. In so doing, they gave me an introduction to the interesting world of seed and early-stage business management.
Therefore I felt it only fair to give them a shout-out here. Growthink is a business plan consultancy, middle market investment bank, and feasibility study service. Since 1999 they have helped over 2,000 businesses raise $1 billion in capital.
Visit http://growthink.com to get an overall sense of the company.
Visit http:/crowdfundingformula.com to view a tantalizing video by Growthink co-founder Dave Lavinsky.
This is NOT a paid advertisement. Just props where props are due.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Feedback requested! Should I keep writing about business topics? Sample article within.
Hi there.
I am testing the waters to see whether my business writing is of worth to you and your networks. Depending on your feedback, I will continue to write about angel capital, venture capital, crowdfunding, and other business investment topics. I will also attempt to research and answer any of your questions about such topics, to boot.
The more valuable my writing is, the more likely you are to link to my articles and share them with your networks. The more links and eyeballs my articles get, the more revenue shares I rake in.
On the other hand, if my business writing is not compelling enough to warrant viral distribution, I make bunk and it isn't worth my time financially (even though I do rather enjoy it.)
That's why I am asking for your feedback.
Please read my article "How to Determine Whether a New Company is a Good Candidate for Venture Capital Funding" on eHow. It is one of many I have written, but I am choosing this one for testing the waters.
If you like the article, pass it around like the town bicycle. Also click the blue "Like" button, as spotlighted in this gratuitous screenshot:
Cheers, and I look forward to your feedback. Should I keep going?
I am testing the waters to see whether my business writing is of worth to you and your networks. Depending on your feedback, I will continue to write about angel capital, venture capital, crowdfunding, and other business investment topics. I will also attempt to research and answer any of your questions about such topics, to boot.
The more valuable my writing is, the more likely you are to link to my articles and share them with your networks. The more links and eyeballs my articles get, the more revenue shares I rake in.
On the other hand, if my business writing is not compelling enough to warrant viral distribution, I make bunk and it isn't worth my time financially (even though I do rather enjoy it.)
That's why I am asking for your feedback.
Please read my article "How to Determine Whether a New Company is a Good Candidate for Venture Capital Funding" on eHow. It is one of many I have written, but I am choosing this one for testing the waters.
If you like the article, pass it around like the town bicycle. Also click the blue "Like" button, as spotlighted in this gratuitous screenshot:
Cheers, and I look forward to your feedback. Should I keep going?
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