Screenprinting

I was going to write some but then I started looking through this xanga blog ring, which caused much laughter and nostalgia. But I really enjoyed seeing Damezumari, AtlAtl and The Show Is The Rainbow play, especially the first two. And fuck damn it's after four. John's really grumpy because ProTools has something wrong with it and he's been trying to fix it all night.

Here's hoping tomorrow is largely devoid of angry words.

Business Plan

I just went to Hodgepodge books. Hmm. It was very cold in there. And not as punk rock as I expected. Somewhat to my suprise, there were no "real" books there. As in written by man or woman over a long period of time, sent to a publisher, accepted, edited and published, then ordered by the bookstore and sold at a mark-up. It was all either used or independent books. Hmm. I'm really not sure what I think about that.

I will say one thing. The owner did not speak to me except "Hi." when I walked in. That is a hugeowrongo move, in my opinion. Most of the people she's marketing to would probably like to chat, and the material she's selling is entirely unnavigable for an outsider. Except for the used books, nothing there was familiar to me. In a new business, especially such an esoteric one, she needs to initiate her customers into what she's doing.

And these independent books are the same way. If you just pick them up off the shelf with no prior knowledge of them, you don't know what's going on. Is it an essay, a short story, a diary, a political treatise, a cd review? Yes, it's in the "personal" section but what does that mean? Some of them actually have a dust jacket style description on them, and that's usually the ones that look more professionally bound. And honestly, sometimes, the reason it's independently published is because it's not worth paying to publish. I'm sorry, that's not always true, but sometimes it is. It's the same with music. There are good labels out there, and good publishing companies that actually publish and record good books and music. And if they don't take it, there might be a reason.

And anyway, my whole philosophy when it comes to an independent business is if you want to open something, do it all the way. Don't do it half-assed until you have enough time or money to do it all the way. Get a loan, get a sponsor, save up, work it out somehow. Especially if you're going to live off this business. I know several small business owners. Some successful, some not. The key thing to the successful ones? They took care of every detail of their place before they opened the doors. They made sure they could compete before they even started up. They have good locations, good atmosphere, good product and good public relations/customer service. Hodgepodge has a bad location, not so great atmosphere (cold, small), and bad pr and customer service. But it looks like they might have a really good product. There is potential for those kinds of books to sell. It's just couched in an inaccessible place.

That's really the key. Accessibility. Make your esoteric product accessible, and people will find it and love it. At Shades, we make high quality espresso accessible to people who've never experienced it by being an a high traffic area (still a independent community area, but not out of the way) and by making people comfortable, and by being willing and eager to teach and explain. It's what IKEA did with modern design. They made it cheap, they made it friendly. Now everyone can have something beautiful in their homes. Target did it with designer clothes and also furniture. They made them affordable and accessible. It doesn't diminish the beauty or quality of the product, to have it availible to the masses. And books and music, they're not inaccesible because of price, but because we indie/punk snobblobs hide it from them. Or more often, the mega-market bookstores hide it. But if an independent book or CD was presented to the man on the street, and it was actually good, what's the chance he wouldn't enjoy it? Look at Death Cab For Cutie. Look at Dave Sedaris. Look at fucking Lemony Snicket. Sure, there will always be something a little to extreme for the masses. You don't see IKEA carrying Jonas Bohlin's concrete chair because it's, frankly, like some "indie" music and writings, a little silly. But good stuff, like Phillipe Starck and Iron and Wine and Dave Eggars can find a place in the wider world.

In short, Hodgepodge was a little better than I expected, but still had all the earmarks of a unnecessary tragedy.

A Cry For Help

I have not been to a party I didn't host since grade school (excluding Al's and Craig's birthdays).

Hobbit Hole

Do a little web, make a little blog, get down tonight (bum bum bum) get down tonight . . .

I thought that as I was making myself a snack, thinking about writing.

I'd like to know how everyone is, and really know. I wish I had more "heart to heart" friends. I've got about a ton of chit chat friends, people who I can talk about music and art and goofy ideas and political ideas and games and fun and "the scene" with but none whom I can talk about life and troubles and right and wrong with, who I can get advice from and give advice to. I'd like to ask "how are you" and get an answer.

I've taken to studying in the bowels of the TU library. Normally I hate spending any more time on campus than I have to, but I discovered this little corner of the library the other day and it was exactly the kind of place I like to hole up in. It's on the "intermediate level" of the library, in among the bound periodicals, between actual floors. All the walls in the actual stacks at McFarlin are white plaster, the floors are concrete. It's also underground. The other floors of the stacks have floor to ceiling windows out onto the circulation desks and computers, but this one is completely sealed. It's all warm and quiet and there are these lovely dark wood desks with chairs not so comfy that they make me fall asleep and just comfy enough that I don't get antsy and have to sit on my feet, then cross my legs, then sit sideways like I do in class. When I have to go to the bathroom or get another book or something, and I must ascend to the light and air and noise of the ground level, then I remember I'm at TU. But as long as I stay buried, I'm happy to be in school.

I remember the first time I came to the McFarlin library, on my tour at TU. These two engineering majors were showing me and my mom around, and they showed us all the computers, and the lounge, and told us about all the offices, and I kept asking, "where are the books?" and I got no satisfactory answer.

I am listening to Iron and Wine's "Our Endless Numbered Days", am about to read Thomas Kuhn's The Structure of Scientific Revolutions and don't know what my cat is doing beneath my chair, but he's making a lot of noise.

This Is Not What I Meant To Write At All

This is the second night in a row that I have had solitude before midnight. How very strange. John used to be King of the Night, he and Joe staying up late in our living room long after Ash and I went to bed. Now that he's working at the Crack Shack (ask him) he's either asleep or gone home by 11:30. He has to get up at 4:40, report for duty at 5:45 at his boss' house to pick up the pastries, and open the Shack by 6:30. All that to say, here I am eating Barbara's Cheese Puffs, the last in a long line of . . .

Things Eaten/Drunk By Me Today (in chronological order)
Bowl of granola with protein enriched soy chai instead of milk
leftover curry from Brookside Lao Thai
cup of presspot coffee
cup of "cafe mocha" from the machine in the library ($.75)
homemade crackers I found in my bag
Barbara's Cheese Puffs (round one)
apple
chocolate chip muffin from Panera
glass of iced presspot coffee
two servings of John and Jamie's secret recipe spagetti and marinara with pastrami
mint chocolate biscotti from Shades
oversized glass of chocolate milk
chocolate coconut cookie
Barbara's Cheese Puffs (round two)

During the time I was eating the apple, John and I were taking a walk around our neighborhood. We never walk here, mostly because it's not entirely safe. But today I realized that just on the other side of the overpass is a very nice neighborhood, Tracy Park. So we just walked down the street and around the man-made rocky slope that is the 51/75 interchange, walked a few blocks and were in the city park at 11th and Peoria, also called Tracy Park. It's a lovely place and a lovely neighborhood. The park has two fountains, one is one of those in ground sprinkler things for kids to play in during these ridiculous summers that they started putting in because not all the neighborhoods could afford pools. And the other is an old fashioned wrought iron fountain, all green with oxidization, and it lines up perfectly to the entrance of the building I'd like rent for my store. It's very odd, it's really directly in front of it, but several hundred feet away. And there's a sidewalk that runs straight towards the door, and benches positioned directly facing the shop. I wonder what the story is about that building and the park, if they were built at the same time or if the owner of the building paid the have the park situated that way . . . I'm pretty sure the park would have been built after the building, if they weren't built at the same time.

But yeah, you should go to that park, it's really nice because you've got the cemetary on one side and downtown on the other, that shop on the other and the neighborhood on the other. And right next to the park is what I consider to be the most beautiful house in town. Now I haven't seen the Frank Lloyd Wright house in town, but I'm not sure it could beat this place. It was built by a student of the architect who built Boston Avenue Methodist Church. A student who disdained all the ornamentation, but loved the angular, heaven stretching lines. This student also did not use much symetry (sp?) and used bright colors. The result, a most beautiful fusing of art deco and modern design that makes my heart want to burst with the beauty of it. If I lived in a house like that, I think I'd cry every morning. That house also symbolizes, to me, Tulsa. The art deco is Tulsa's history, it's very proud history of art and culture that really shaped us. But the quirky, simplicity of it, that's Tulsa's soul, and it's possibility.

I really do love this town. It's not where I want to be forever, or even soon after now, but it's where I want to be right now, and it's my home.

Identity Spike

It's all very hard, sometimes. Very hard. It's very heavy, and I'm very tired.

I just wish I had someone to talk to.

God damn it. I described writing in here to someone the other day as, "whatever I feel like writing that's fit for public consumption" or something to that effect. Is the above fit for your consumption? Is it too damn emotional or melodramatic? Is it too personal? Should I keep hiding? Should you? No. I ask in earnest and I answer in revealed truth. Fuck no. My feelings are perfectly suitable for your consumption. I have every right to broadcast them. You can do with them what you will. But I will broadcast who I am and what I feel and believe with every word and movement and typestroke and raised hand and cup of coffee and dollar and note and research paper.

AND I'm even getting good at Latin!

You've Still Got It, Baby

Hey there internet. This is Jamie. I'm sure you remember me. I know we've met a few times since we split up, and it's been kind of akward. But I really think there are a few sparks left. So what do you say? Shall we give it another try?

Yes, so I have a computer again. I won't say my computer because everything that made it mine is imprisoned on a defunct harddrive. It's not gone, but the circuit board is broken so we can't get to it. So if anyone out there has a Hitachi Travelstar notebook harddrive model no. IC25N030ATCS04-0 that they're ready to get rid of, send it my way. You may have the key that will end my data's cruel imprisonment.

Our Top Story

Skillerns, Kyle Hansen, this one's for you.

International Aid

Shades of Brown is collecting donations to send to the Red Cross for the tsunami victims. Please come by and drop your change in the jar. We've collected nearly $200 so far. Look at a newspaper from the last week, and then just try to not give something. Please.

The Random Pyrotechnics

Last night at midnight, it was champange popped off 27th story balconies, poured from the bottle into already drunk mouths. It was yelling at the ants of people on the streets ("Fuck you, Tulsa" -John) and scanning the horizon for the random pyrotechnics of gutsy lawbreakers inside the city limits.

This morning at seven, it was a peanut butter sandwich on stale bread, a Morning Edition story on American rainbow trout caviar, and the first song of the new year, Death Cab's "The New Year" played over the SOB system while making the first pot of coffee of the new year.

Welcome, 2005, may you yield many a more hilariously mundane NPR stories and evenings of perfectly balanced alcohol consumption, and spurn empty pantries and high death tolls.