C-130

Came down like water

Hey, it's the new year! One year ago I spent the holiday's eve at Whitewater Tavern with Megan and those sorts, bidding farewell to the old with six dollar pitchers of Newcastle and a hefty dose of some svelte bluegrass. This time, notable for being my first new year spent outside of Arkansas, I moseyed my way across a few northwest homes and bars with a belly full of bubbly and a bevy of folks from all over (including Arkansawyers Angie and Megan!).

I've taken less time for travelling than I had expected I would this winter, coming back to the District after only about a full week of unabashed road time. A few days with the entirity of my nuclear family (newly reformed and enlarged by one) was a hoot; the time spent around most of the extensive, more distant rays of cousins and uncles was not a hoot. In fact, everyone basically agreed on said fact this year, to the extent that I seriously talked my mom into coming to France with me for her next birthday/Christmas, because her siblings would never think of following her to where Wal-Mart English isn't the primary language. My mom, whose fear of flying is so intense that talking about it has the ability to make her puke out of anxiety, agreed to fly over two continents and a wide ass ocean next year to get away from her family (this should have happened a dozen years ago).

In all honesty, I was also just ready to come back to D.C. I styaed with Angie and others in Little Rock when I was able, but when I'm down there I end up resolutely drawn back to where I grew up for whatever reason might seem the least mopey. Now, if one has a car, this isn't a problem; without transportation of one's own, hometowning can get painful. Trapped in Gravel Ridge all day, relying on everyone else to give me rides and having nothing to do other than walk around stoned in the woods was uncomfortably identical to my high school years. Even so, the quiet openness of that place is superbly tuned toward that meditative, thoughtful state that I can't find much anymore. When Megan mentioned that she'd like to come to D.C. for the New Year instead of wading around Little Rock waiting for something to happen, I'd already done the thinking through. So we stole her former roommate and headed for I-40 East. Glad I got to spend it with everyone I did.

Bear with me; I'm trying to clean up and update this increasingly cluttered document to the point that I actually use it like I used to.

I come bearing new art.


David Hilliard, Swimmers, 2003


Ezekiel Honig, People Places & Things, 2004

Seriously, there's a term we use in molecular biology that applies here regrarding the graces I wish to distribute: TNTC, too numerous to count. An a ineluctable thanks to all of you.