And now I just wait. A friend of mine, Gina, has volunteered at a kids' cancer camp, Camp Mak-A-Dream. This year she's going to be on Staff all summer long and color me inspired - but I've sent in an application to volunteer at one of the Young Adult sessions. Basically it'll be spending a week in the mountains outside of Missoula, Montana with people my age (18-25) who have terminal illnesses. I realize that I'm setting myself up for heartache, but I've been assured that the good by far outweighs the bad.
I'm just hoping that they have a sense of humor. Along with the application they requested a resume. Now, I'm thinking that they really don't want to know the details of my 7 to 5 existance which is what my current resume depicted. So instead - I created a life resume. Sure, it has the normal job information, but I've also included the years as a dishwasher and lawnmower. Quality hours were spent on that riding mower where I would listen to music while turning loop after loop around the Dental Center. Expanded on the interest section to detail my interest in music, travel, and creativity. I also included the following important facts:
- Coffee of choice - Mexican Beanery (aka Cinnamon Mocha).
- Theme Song - “Easier” by Glen Phillips because I was that Birkenstock geek rock dude…
- Known for - rambling off bits like Winnie The Pooh author A.A. Milne’s full name is Alan Alexander
Time will tell...the application is in the mail and if selected there's a phone interview, background check and all the sorts.
Evidently I've been saying 'Italian' wrong for 25 years and now I notice others that say it wrong. Eye-talian. Iih-talian. Something like that... I also know that I have issues with how I say street names in Los Angeles. Thanks to Glen Phillips and Ryan Adams I can say Cuehenga and La Cienega. Now because of Kathy I can add Los Feliz to my repertoire. What can I say...I'm from Montana. Let's here you say Absarokee or Roy. Okay, that last one was a trick - and you were probably thinking 'Waaah' if you live in Colorado or are a hockey fan.
Two issues of Child magazine showed up in the mailbox today. Must have been missorted I think to myself but when I look at the label...nope they were sent to me. Um, okay...maybe someone knows something I don't...
Took a little trip down to Los Angeles this past Saturday. The plan of the day was to just get out of the Central Valley and see Glen Phillips play at Largo. Even with that strict itinerary we managed to find some hidden gems. One of which is driving on the steepest street in Los Angeles. Thing is, you go to San Francisco expecting the steep...but in LA? Nah. Oh Contrare Monfrare. While Fargo Street is technically the steepest, I have to give it to Baxter for overall experience and the two killer humps to this camel's back. Kathy's car was a trooper but did make funny sounds afterwards - but that could just be because we were lost in a not so good neighborhood...
What else...hit up Venice Beach and took in all the sights and the freaks. Gravitated towards the ocean where people were congrated around this drum circle (and one flute). Gotta say - music is amazing in the fact that these beats drifting through the air drew in people - sitting, standing, dancing, smoking... Speaking of the music, that was the cap of the night. Went down to Largo and waited in line with the rest of the Bar People. Evidently this is a class distinction in LA: the Dinner People - those who call for reservations, and the Bar People - those who are there for the music alone. Place sold out though - we were some of the last let in and we weren't even accused of stalking the girl with the fuzzy green purse from Zankou Chicken. Like all LA stories...guess you had to be there. Actually you didn't, but I would have to explain in a lot more detail and that's just boring.
SXSW (South by Southwest) is right around the corner. One of these years I'm going to have to make a real effort to go to that. Especially since all of my lesser known "underground" bands are on the verge of stepping into the spotlight. Read for yourself in the LA Times: Dispatch, Howie Day, John Mayer, and Jack Johnson. It's a little more poignant with Dispatch since I've been listening to them for quite some time now - back in the day of One Fell Swoop after this girl Kate sent me a tape. It would be much deserved though...much deserved.
Decided to tackle The Closet today. We have two closets on the exterior of the apartment here - one filled with boxes of shit and one with the water heater, more boxes, and two of my roommates tires (long story). Well, I'm knee deep in shit now - out on the patio having unloaded everything and now I'm going through boxes. Now, theoritically I could just toss them into the garbage seeing as for nearly 3 years I've not needed anything from them, but that wouldn't be any fun now would it. These are filled with memories of college such as notes, old tests, and PFO letters. PFO letters? That's what we called them - Please Fuck Off letters sent from the companies telling you so subtlely that while your skills are impressive at this time there are no openings in the company for which you would be a match. I plan on shredding them for a little satisfaction, all but one. I think I'll keep the Chevron one...seeing as I work for them now. Take that you bastards.
