i think vintage has become vintage.

a long, hard week of work means my the spareseness of my refridgerator has become comical. at this moment, it contains:

> salsa.
> one leftover sweet potato.
> two chicken breasts.
> coconut.

> two twenty two ounce shakespere stouts from rouge brewery.
> yellow curry sauce.

> worchestershire sauce.
> tobasco sauce.
> one grapefruit.
> minced garlic.

so last evening around 4.30~ish randy, halliday and i broke out two bottles of prosecco over a recently printed set of elevations and an updated floor plan. needless to say, the productivity was tactile. this seemed to be the fitting way to start off tq's going away night; an evening that involved innumerable whiskey drinks, some intermittent microbrews {err, pbr}, terrible dancing at the goodfoot, admiring amateur breakdancers at the goodfoot, concluded by the most horriffic meat lover's scramble at this late night diner in northwest portland.

so here's saturday morning again; paralyzed by my aches, pains and dehydration. i've been reduced to an inanimate object. drinking tea because grinding coffee takes too much time. boiling water on the other hand is a much more efficient process.

clearly, i haven't used this blog to do much more than indulge selfishly in my own thoughts and postulations; this much is clear. the irony here is that the most significant part of my life at the moment, my obligation by definition, my purpose, is something i never really talk about. the monster i'm referring to is my career.

so i've been struggling with this. is it an issue of privacy? am i turning into my father? perhaps. but i think it has more to do with how i've grown accustomed to discussing anything architecture/design related and being greeted with blank stares, terrible questions, deafening silence, and swift changes in discussion. so why push it? why force empty discussion down people's throats? clearly, my fear of imposition as well as perpetual self-doubt are behind the wheel here.

but maybe that's okay. it goes without saying that any sort of expression, even something as minimal or trite as a self-indulgent blog are in a way, an act of escapism. i can burrow into my own little world here and hopefully gain some perspective in the end. then again, maybe i should just go talk to people.

is this thing on?

so, i couldn't help but notice that my last post received noticeably less comments. have i lost my touch? was it too long winded? unsatisfactory call-outs? devoid of inflammatory remarks? too ... safe? or have i gotten too big for my britches? is this a sign i will never make it in the dog-eat-dog blogosphere? clearly, i didn't make nearly enough outlandish proclamations about my lifestyle as a lowlife wage-earner.

the thing is, as long as bill simmons' commentary on espn.com continues to keep me in a perpetual state of shock and awe, western assimilation will continue full speed ahead ... or ... something like that. so why am i so consumed by this man's writing? well, for starters, he makes the nba interesting. that should turn some heads. in fact, there's a good chance i'll start following the nba, simply because his player analysis, pithy commentary and storytelling style have me on the edge of my seat. i may even become a trailblazer fan. there. i said it.

david stern, shake this man's hand, send him an unsolicited christmas bonus, send him a bouquet of holiday muffins, he deserves it. there's no way i am the only half-assed sports fan out there who is captivated by his style. needless to say, he's getting added to my 'heroes' list on myspace.

in hindsight, i realize this post completely lacks substance, seems aimless and is downright boring.

next, i plan on crafting a musical year-in-review post, teeming with insight, reflection, elitism and hopefully something for the kids.