As I buttoned my SUPER HAWT H&M JACKET all the way up to my throat and stepped out of the Boise airport, I felt a twinge of excitement, apprehension, and...dare I say...closure(?) The internal "oh my god, I'm a real actor" fanfare from last year was replaced by a new "holy crap, what's going to happen this time?" tune. It's the same nerves I used to get in college, at the beginning of a new semester as I stepped into the first movement or voice class of the quarter. I know the season, I know the people, I know the place, and I know absolutely jack shit.
Day three and I've been roosting comfortably in some of my favorite old haunts again. I've had a latte from my favorite coffee place each and every day, and stolen internet from the Library! a handful of times already. My comfortable yet exciting routine has re-established itself, sans the utter terror of somehow being discovered as a mere amateur and being extradited back to L.A. to hole up at Barnes and Noble while dreaming of "what could have been." Crying in the face of my netbook while playing through Terranigma again and listening to Vic Chesnutt. No, that concern is vanished. I suppose that's a devil-on-the-shoulder that artists simply don't get rid of.
Nope. No guillotines in sight.
Instead, the feeling is replaced by a ravenous hunger to wring every single possibility out of this town and lap it up like a much less disgusting metaphor. My good buddies (also tour buddies, also two of the coolest fucking individuals on the planet) are paying 625 a munf for a two-bedroom house not far from my host family. That's 5 bucks more than I paid to SHARE A ROOM IN SANTA BARBARA. WITH NO HEAT. AND BROKEN PLUMBING. Say...oh...for example's sake...I room it with them fools for a spell...That's about 210 a motherfucking month. I've had larger checks at CPK (granted, fuckers drank a LOT.) All this excitement is, however, coupled with an immense responsibility to myself. Can I do it--of course I goddamn can. Opportunities are boundless in every possible direction. I feel gregarious as it were, but this place just makes you feel that way.
Also, it's 10 degrees in the morning. My scrotum is like a tightly-curled fist.
Love,
Dak
Showing posts with label snow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label snow. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Omaha The Beautiful (or 1 Player Mode)
Finished ZMM this morning. Felt a bit like the waning hours of an Amusement Park trip. I'm sad that its over, but I can still conjure up that roller coaster feeling when I close my eyes. I highly recommend it if you're a fan of existence.
And yes, that was a threat.
My mission for the day was to find some kind of breakfast place in Omaha. Thus far, they've appeared rather scarce--as evidently this is a city of eternal lunch. The fact of the matter is, my radius of exploration is rather hindered by my lack of wheels/jetpack fuel, so its only natural that I haven't found a decent bucket-o-pancakes base of operations yet. Five minutes on google, and I was all set to go.
I left the house after a brief chat with my host mom, Pat (Note to self--get her a giftbasket before I leave.) Yesterday's snow had all but melted, leaving white sugar-spill patches on bushes and rooftops, as if nature's cap wasn't screwed on tight enough. Armed with a cheap scarf and gloves, I was ready to brave the 30ish degree weather in search of flapjacks and (fingers crossed) a mimosa or two.
The walk was longer than I expected, but I found a bakery/restaurant and ate there. IT WAS FANTMAZING. Mixed berry syrup--delicious and racially conscious. Afterwards I decided to Robert Frost it and pick a route I'd never tried before, one that ran parallel to snow-bordered creek.
I was immediately facepunched by the utter silence of the trail. The wind held the monopoly on volume as trees and weeds rustled around me. I was in a kind of paved valley, with hills sloping upward on either side of me. Green patched with combed-through glittering white. The trail ran beneath some overpasses and I could snatch icicles down from the dripping supports. No more than 3 cyclists biked by and we greeted each other. Every now and again, there would be a huge puddle of fallen leaves (FALL! OH YEAH. SEASONS.) that I would tromp through like a Kindergartner. When I thought the scene couldn't possibly become more idyllic, I heard a faint song begin to play over a loudspeaker.
Fucking Viva La Vida.
I don't know how the hell they'll ever pry me away. Unless, of course, butts are involved.
Love,
Dakotah
P.S. Have any of you had any "HOLY EFF, SUDDENLY EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE" moments recently? What was dey' like? Drug induced/non drug induced--I wanna hear about it!
And yes, that was a threat.
My mission for the day was to find some kind of breakfast place in Omaha. Thus far, they've appeared rather scarce--as evidently this is a city of eternal lunch. The fact of the matter is, my radius of exploration is rather hindered by my lack of wheels/jetpack fuel, so its only natural that I haven't found a decent bucket-o-pancakes base of operations yet. Five minutes on google, and I was all set to go.
I left the house after a brief chat with my host mom, Pat (Note to self--get her a giftbasket before I leave.) Yesterday's snow had all but melted, leaving white sugar-spill patches on bushes and rooftops, as if nature's cap wasn't screwed on tight enough. Armed with a cheap scarf and gloves, I was ready to brave the 30ish degree weather in search of flapjacks and (fingers crossed) a mimosa or two.
The walk was longer than I expected, but I found a bakery/restaurant and ate there. IT WAS FANTMAZING. Mixed berry syrup--delicious and racially conscious. Afterwards I decided to Robert Frost it and pick a route I'd never tried before, one that ran parallel to snow-bordered creek.
I was immediately facepunched by the utter silence of the trail. The wind held the monopoly on volume as trees and weeds rustled around me. I was in a kind of paved valley, with hills sloping upward on either side of me. Green patched with combed-through glittering white. The trail ran beneath some overpasses and I could snatch icicles down from the dripping supports. No more than 3 cyclists biked by and we greeted each other. Every now and again, there would be a huge puddle of fallen leaves (FALL! OH YEAH. SEASONS.) that I would tromp through like a Kindergartner. When I thought the scene couldn't possibly become more idyllic, I heard a faint song begin to play over a loudspeaker.
Fucking Viva La Vida.
I don't know how the hell they'll ever pry me away. Unless, of course, butts are involved.
Love,
Dakotah
P.S. Have any of you had any "HOLY EFF, SUDDENLY EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE" moments recently? What was dey' like? Drug induced/non drug induced--I wanna hear about it!
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