It’s dangerous writing in a coffee shop, surrounded by game-playing teens and housewives – it tends to pigeon-hole my metaphors. My mind is over-run – I’m full of “myself” – and I thought that writing something down might purge some of the pressure. But I can’t seem to freely write like I used to, so I have to ride a tributary of observation until I can steer my vessel on the tumultuous rapids of my thoughts. The woman next to me has a heavily adorned bag – pink leather with fat silver rivets, a stark contrast to the utilitarian Ogio messenger bag that shepherds her computer. She drinks drip – hot enough to warrant a sleeve. I think she must be grading science papers.

I’m drinking a glass of 14 Hands Cabernet. I had a professor in college that used to tell us that she graded our papers in her bathtub with a bottle of red wine. Eventually the dried red drops on my Mythology paper would be her testimony. She was a “character” – a status I think is worthy of achieving. If you aren’t a “character” what are you? People are described by what they do (engineer, teacher, bus driver) – with the exception of “characters.” Characters have a personality that overpowers their limitations in a smothering embrace. Characters have to be a little jovial though – otherwise they become curmudgeons.

It’s hard to write when a glass of wine is your sand timer – the rate of descent is too uneven to develop a steady pace.

Starting to feel better. I became overwhelmed with the knowledge of the absence of God today. I could have said that I became overwhelmed with the knowledge of the presence of evil, but that makes it sound like an excerpt from “Twilight.” In the span of a couple of weeks I have run into a couple of people that weren’t evil, but the absence of God in their life was so complete that it felt as though my heart had had a run-in with a melon-baller. They were jovial in their ignorance, but their indifference to good created a storm in my soul. Quiet reverence is no match for a jovial indifference to God. A more active role is going to be necessary…

Two months between posts gives me a quiet confidence – like I’m shouting in an empty room.

There is a condition in sales that is a little like post-partum depression. Birthing a paycheck in real estate can take months, and in the case of some clients, sometimes years. Once the home is found or an offer is agreed upon, there is still 30-60 days of waiting, culminated in a paycheck that is spent as quickly as it cashed. Working so hard for such a quick labor brings on its own case of baby blues, and I seem to get a case with every closing. Closings have been frequent, so I guess I feel like I’ve just had quintuplets. When you have that many kids at once, people revel in the fact that everyone is healthy. Knowing that everyone is healthy doesn’t mean that everyone is happy. Happiness is best maintained at a measured pace, so I’m embracing the day and finding a rhythm.

Being unable to sleep has made me highly productive this morning. I got a workout in this morning and returned home before anyone else had woken, which meant that I was able to shower and dress and get to the coffee house for a little reflection before the onslaught of work begins.

There are two men – one on each side of me – reading the paper. I don’t think that I’ve seen two people reading a paper in years. I know that my parents still read the paper, and while their rural location doesn’t lend to finding information quickly online, I believe that even if they had a good internet connection it wouldn’t replace the tactile relationship that they have with the local paper and a hot breakfast. Kami and I ordered the paper for six weeks when we first moved to the Seattle area, but we were so overwhelmed with the sheer quantity of paper that we canceled our subscription before we were forced to line the hallways.

There are two large market papers in Seattle – the Seattle Times and the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (or the Seattle PI). Oddly enough, they’re owned by the same company. They tried to sell the Seattle PI a few months ago, but with no success. So they’re going to be forced to move to an online-only format, which means that bloggers are becoming the paper, and papers are becoming blogs.

While I regret that employees of the PI will be without work, I can’t help but think that it’s little wonder that the PI wasn’t profitable. My relationship with the local papers is not a fond one – in a recent newsletter to my clients I pointed out their duplicitous nature – selling papers with a dramatic headline that the body of the article seemed to refute. As with most anything, I think that when a company becomes more concerned with the sales of their product rather than the quality of their product, their business will suffer. I have two examples on opposite sides of the issue that readily come to mind: GM and Apple. I remember about six years ago the CEO of General Motors apologizing to his customers for 20 years of shoddy craftsmanship – which was a trend not easily reversed, if their present day concerns are any evidence. Apple Computers has had slow growth in comparison to their competitors, but I know that they’ve always been concerned with quality design and quality products, and over the last eight years they’ve reaped the benefit.

The last example has become very practical to me lately. Although I wanted a MacBook Pro notebook computer, financial prudence compelled me to order a Dell computer at 1/2 the price. In short order though, it became readily apparent that Dell’s mission was less consumer-centric than Apple’s, and I’ve since cancelled my Dell order so that I can order a computer that I want. I need to practice what I preach after all: you get what you pay for, and while I could have gotten a discounted product with discounted customer service from a discount retailer, I’m voting with my dollars for a company and a product of quality.

By the way – the order that I cancelled with Dell – they shipped it anyway. They didn’t mean to, and they shouldn’t have, but they did. Which means that I have to go through the hassle of processing its return and waiting two weeks for them to reverse the charges to my credit card. The Dell computer should arrive today – I’ve never looked forward to returning something so much in all my life.

I just dropped my mom off at the airport and used the traffic as an excuse to pop by my favorite coffee shop in Seattle. The flagship store for this coffee shop used to be on Capitol Hill, which is as colorful a place to people watch as any in Seattle. That location was closed for most of last year as they built a new location – which I’m checking out for the first time today.

I had high hopes when I came in – it’s not everyday that you walk in to see an enormous white parrot perched on the shoulder of a patron without an eyepatch. The host, or perch, is an 85-pound woman in her early fifties, although she looks older than she probably is. I asked if I could take their picture (for the blog), and her response indicated that mine wasn’t the first such request. Not only did she say ”no”, but she said “Please don’t.” Alrighty then. I admit it was a little uncomfortable for me to ask, but as I walked away I couldn’t help but think that it’s little wonder that she’s alone with a bird.

My friend Alvin recently wrote a blog post about the absence of isolated thought in the digital age, and as I look around, I see his argument supported. There isn’t a single case of commingling – everyone is alone, with the exception of their laptop, newspaper or book. No one is meeting, no one is talking, and most people (including myself) reinforce their bubble with the use of white earbuds. I’ve recently been challenged at work to talk to more people, even approaching strangers and starting a conversation for no other sake then getting to know more people (networking). There are a number of recent books on this subject, no doubt inspired by this current trend of isolationism. It’s an interesting experiment: most people try to be resilient and counter my greeting monosyllabically. Eventually though, they accept my warm nature and return it in kind. Once they find out I’m not (1) an Amway sales rep or (2) a Jehovah’s witness, they might actually breakdown enough to ask me a question or two.

My battery is about to die – thanks to work that I felt I had to attend to before I started a blog post. I’m committed to writing more and updating the blog more often, so please check back soon.

I read an article yesterday that deserves some attention. It’s starting to gain a lot of momentum, so many of you may have already read it. It’s an open letter to American newspapers, written by a journalist by the name of Orson Scott Card. Card is also a registered Democrat (even though many of his views wouldn’t be endorsed or supported by many of those in his party), and the letter is a rebuke of the media’s imbalance on their coverage of the presidential race. I sent this to a few open-minded Obama supporters yesterday and it resulted in some honest talk and deep discussion. I’ve been inundated with political emails, and a good share of them are more hyperbole than truth, so I’ve largely stayed quiet on the issue. This is an intelligent and pointed discourse though, so I’m shining a light on it today. So when you have time today, take a second to read “Would the last honest reporter please turn on the lights?”, and then forward the article to anyone else that reads.

In lighter fare, most of you have probably seen this as well, but I think that Sarah Palin’s visit to SNL resulted in one of their funniest bits of late. So happy Friday – cap off your week with a little Palin Rap.

It won’t be right away – everyone has to descend from their pedestal into the valley, where many will live on a diet of dust. I’ve been in the valley for a little while, waiting. I’ve tired of my diet here, and my ears are starting to hear a swelling drumbeat from a distant height.

I’ve been too easily distracted. Too much time spent on things that don’t matter, too much time spent on things that matter to other people.

I’ve said that the blog is going to change, maybe even go away. To some degree I’ve come to find the very premise of blogging nauseating. Let me explain: when I sit down to write, I’m not nauseated by that. But I’ve read hundreds (if not thousands) of blogs, and the fascination is starting to wear thin. Everyone in the world has a blog, sharing their thoughts and opinions like they’ve earned a right to be heard. I’m thankful for the blogging medium, and I think that it’s done a lot to keep the news media accountable, but save a few examples, I think that blogging makes people lazy intellectually. I read a blog recently where I felt thrown up on – that the writer just expelled as many thoughts as possible without any sense of order or connection (and I’m horrified to realize that I’ve done the same thing many times here). Most bloggers have so many thoughts that they can’t even take the time to use full words or complete sentences, and everytime I trip across an OMG or LOL landmine I’m reminded that quantity of thought is no replacement for quality of thought.

If I try to use this blog as my vehicle for writing and thought, it’s going to be a short trip. I’m not abandoning the blog, but I am going to be taking fewer trips with it, hopefully because I’m working in a medium that challenges me to write more coherently. This might mean that someday I’ll even have clarity of thought, which might even more blog posts.

So I’m taking myself out of the valley. I’m headed for rarer air.

I’m at a different coffee house this morning – I thought the people watching prospects might be better here. They really aren’t. One gal looks like a Dr. Seuss character, too skinny and topped with a stocking cap that’s colored like a hypnotizing wheel. I’ve never been able to pull off the stocking cap look. There are a lot of looks that don’t work well on me, and wearing an adornment that hugs my large geodesic dome is one of them.

Ugh! A mom is digging for gold out of her three year-old’s nose right in front of me. I think she’s looking for an artery. I won’t be able to sit on that couch ever again. More moms and kids coming in to the coffee shop now. We’ve tried to hold business meetings at this coffee shop, but every once in awhile it’s more like a Chucky Cheese than a coffee shop. I was hoping Saturday morning would be different.

Nose picking mom is actually really nice. She has a quiet demeanor and a relative ease that I’m not used to seeing from a mother of two young kids. There’s another mother here doing her best to look like Britney Spears in the Los Angeles sun, only we’re not in Los Angeles and it’s cloudy, so those designer sunglasses  seem a little forced. Wear a t-shirt that says “High Maintenance” while you’re at it. I don’t mean to be harsh, I’ve just never been one to appreciate the high maintenance woman. I prefer beauty without the artistry in that regard.

The coffeeshop is much busier in the evening. This establishment also makes its own ice cream, and as a regular patron, I have to think that they make as much or more on the ice cream than they do on the coffee. Mornings here are actually pretty quiet – save a dedicated few that all know the baristas name, and the barista knows their drink.

I’m a little worried that I’m losing my “young at heart” status. A few of the people that are here seem so carefree. To be fair, they are all women, and all without kids – so measuring myself against young women probably isn’t fair. Still – even spontaneous events (like ducking into a coffee shop for an hour) need to be scheduled, or ratified by the house.

I can see the…umm…butt cleavage of one of the carefree patrons. Like the other form of cleavage, I have a hard time believing its display isn’t intentional. Apparently low-riding jeans weren’t meant to be sat in. I think that “Half-Mast” would be a good brand name for jeans of this sort: made for the commando in all of us.

A little girl with red curly hair (and Selah’s age) just walked in with her sister and her dad, and on her tip-toes she can just make out the jetstreams of chocolate ice cream within a stainless canister.

Johnny Cash just walked in as well – a young business man in black shoes, black socks, black slacks, black belt and black shirt. I can hear him speak now, and apparently Johnny Cash is a Russian. A happy Russian. He’s describing where he lives in Everett, which (if he’s describing it correctly) really isn’t in Everett at all. Someone did drugs at his work today, which reminds me to leave the coffee shop before Johnny Cash gets on the road.

He’s here now, and they’ve been talking across opposite sides of a small table. She’s leaning back, her arms hanging like a mannequin, the decal of her shirt stretched awkwardly across her large breast, which seems to be her point. He leans forward and starts rubbing his hands together – unconsciously telling the female of his species that he can make fire with two sticks, that he can kill wild game and wrap her in their skins.

She can’t stop tilting her head to the side, and he can’t stop talking with his hands. He’s taking up over half of the table now, as if his consumption of coffee table real estate will leave her with no choice but to sell her family’s share and take up with the wealthy coffee table real estate baron.

In reality they are talking about conversation starters, his t-shirt, and her favorite jeans, which she happens to be wearing now. He finished his entire drink in three minutes (grande iced mocha, easy on the ice), and she’s still sipping from her tall vanilla mocha, which she was warming her hands with before I got here.

His interview continues, and he’s starting to talk too much. She’s looking absently at her coffee cup, and she is staring more and tilting her head less. She’s realized that she doesn’t have to work hard with this one, and I can’t tell if this puts her off or if she’s content with the capture.

40-year old guy with long skater hair and soccer shoes just walked in to buy ice cream with his girlfriend and their two friends – but not great friends – they have the relative ease and awkwardness of neighbors.

I pack my things up and leave before I write something I regret.

I think best when stuck with loud mundane tasks. Today I pressure-washed our back patio and mowed our lawn, which was about 2.5 hours of the loud and the mundane. As I swept the sprayhead back and forth like a metronome I realized that it might be time to end the blog. It’s had a good run – over four years of at least weekly posts, sharing thoughts, pictures, events and media with friends and family. But life is becoming more and more complex, and it might be time for me to simplify things. I don’t know yet for sure, but it’s a fertilized egg of thought that will soon have nailbeds and teeth.

My tv recommendations haven’t gone that well in the history of the blog. “Creature Comforts” was pulled after three episodes, despite years of success on the BBC. I loved it, but many of you weren’t too impressed. I tried to turn my family on to a little known show on Spike TV called “MXC” – which is just a japanese game show with dubbed American voices, and as funny as anything on tv. Most of the laughs come from watching an uncoordinated contestant take an uncomfortable fall into a big lake of goo, but the dubbed commentary is side-splitting as well. ABC has replicated that show in a new offering called “Wipeout”, with American contestants and American commentary. There is an element of the entertainment that is missed (the eccentricity of Japanese showmanship and its interpretation by dubbed American voices), but the physical humor remains. I watched “Wipeout” tonight, and I can tell that I’m going to have a hard time turning it off.