Worth Saying Again. Worth Saying Again.

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

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

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

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...

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!

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!

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...

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

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

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.]

More on pirating soon...

-Greenbeard, the dreaded 3-eyed Irish pirate

Nice, Happy Little Father's Day Poem

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

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

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

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

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

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?!

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...

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

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!

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...

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...)

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.