This is the kind off of access we all need in these contentious times.

207 days. That is how long it took for our stuff to get back to the States. All I know is my guitars and a bunch of skateboards are now safely docked in Savannah Harbor waiting to be unloaded. I should have them back next week. There is also a little boy here who will be thrilled to get his Legos back. Finally feeling like normal after so much upset.

Drove five hours to see a total eclipse for four minutes with ten minutes on either side and then drove five hours home. WORTH EVERY MINUTE OF IT.

Bad news from home. Thinking of Baltimore a lot today. Also, thinking of my friend Kenny and his family. Kenny took his own life from this bridge over twenty years ago. In a way, I hope this brings some closure to his family. A daily reminder of a place like that? I can’t imagine.

Submitted without comment.

I hate themeparks and have been stuck in them for a week now. That said, I will say getting to pull the hyperspace control from the cockpit of the Falcon was emotional. I fulfilled a childhood dream with that and had my son next to me for it. I have to say that was pretty freaking awesome.

Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station!

I have lived in a hotel for over 100 days now. Here are the things I miss:

1. Real coffee: Hotel coffee is astoundingly bad. It is plentiful but usually either Star$s or some generic swill. I cannot wait to grind and savor some real bean juice very, very soon.
2. A bed: For a good 80% of these nights I have shared a pull-out couch with an 11 year old who moves all night long or, when he gets too punchy in his sleep, the floor. I miss beds so very much. The idea of sleeping in is like a fever dream.
3. Cooking: I really, really miss being in the kitchen. I am more than thankful that we have breakfast and five nights of dinner provided but even the healthy options are questionable. Just ask my waistline. I unpacked my pots and pans at the house on Friday and now just await a few more days until I can make myself some real, hot food.
4. Being able to poop in private: Yeah. No commentary needed. One bathroom for four people is just, well, crappy. I have become acquainted with so many lobby bathrooms at so many hotels that I now can list which ones have the best toilet paper. (Answer: ELEMENT Overland Park)
5. The Outside world: Hotels are pretty sound tight to the outside world. I miss birds and small animals. It gets too quiet.
6. Not having to talk to strangers: Every elevator ride is an exercise in anxiety for this introvert. Way too many “Great weather” or “Here for the convention?” TED Talks for me.

Here are the things I WILL miss

1. Room cleaning: I go to the lounge and when I re-appear the bed is made. The trash is out. The place smells good. That is so nice. I will have to jumpstart my domestic superpowers soon enough.
2. Lounges: Grabbing a green tea and some granola or a latte and some deviled eggs anytime day or night is pretty awesome. I have become spoiled that way. Props to Autumn and Di for being like a mom to me. They are saints.
3. Real dark nights: Hotels do light tight the right way. I have taken notes to do the same to the house. Sleeping in pitch black is super nice.

All said and done, I will be more than happy to get home full time. I miss my couch. I think it misses me.

Back on Micro.blog. Long story. Here is the short version:

137 days since we left the war. 248 days since we left home. Five countries. We are back in our house. Our stuff is somewhere near Italy right now but there is no place like home. Two of my favorite beings here soaking it in.

I played with poetry after seeing an image that really messed with me.

I woke up in my old room The smell of cigarette smoke The sound of traffic I had slept so long

And dreamed of nightmares and victories

I was here again in the past It had been a dream and I knew it Was it relief or fear I felt?

I cried.

I would miss only parts of the future But, in the now, I am free to try again And make it right At the expense of others not ever existing

Liminal Liberated

It was just a dream. I was the dreamer. I will sleep no more.

Look, I tried today. I went for a walk in my neighborhood hoping to find a Nazi to punch. I failed in that quest so I did the next best thing. I went and voted.

Punch a Nazi metaphorically. It feels good.

Vote!!

Then, reward yourself. Go skate.

Scene: A Suburban Community Somewhere in the Present-Day United States in the Early Fall

Brian: Hi Universe. I am on my own this week and the weather looks great. I think I will get some skating in before the cold, wet weather sets in.

Universe: Yeah, about that, here is RSV or as I like to call it, Respiratory syncytial virus. It usually only makes little babies sick but since you act like a child, let me fill your lungs up with snot so you might die okay?

Brian: Can we talk about this?

Universe: No. Fuck you.

Brian: hack

End Scene

Posting images of myself is not my favorite thing. I kind of skate like a gorilla looking for a toilet. I will say that this image got into my head.

This spot was unique because there was a long, downhill street that fed directly into the pocket corner of the ditch. I could go faster than I typically could just dropping in. I distinctly remember the sound of my bearing spinning and my wheels digging across the rough asphalt suddenly replaced by almost silence as I hit the smooth wall of the ditch. I felt the hot air on my face and the pull of gravity as I went through the carve. In that moment, I was 14 again. In that moment, skateboarding took me back to a place where my knees didn’t hurt and the responsibilities of the world had not fully made a home in the pit of my stomach.

I was free in that moment. More free than I had been in years. And there, in a sewer, skateboarding gave me a gift.

I was thinking the other day about the parallel lives of being a skateboarder from the 1980s to the present and being a computer nerd from the 1980s to the present.

Remember the world before the jocks and beautiful people took it over?

I do.

I remember skating when it was a good way to get your ass kicked. Now, there are influencers peddling performance plans to build core strength and monetize you “personal skate brand”.

I remember the early, freeform days of the internet people the “normals” were allowed in our sandbox. The days of z-modem, BBS software, and port conflicts.

We survived both takeovers. This baby blog here is a testament to the idea that we can be free of the corporate culture that threatens our shared history.

The idea of the freedoms of the past and how they relate to the constraints of the present will require more thought and I am sure it will become a theme. For now, I am just happy that I can write here and skate a curb. Simplicity over branding. That is our penicillin.

Looks to be my first post here.

Let’s talk skateboarding. Let’s talk art. Let’s talk about the things that motivate us and keep us moving forward.

For now, a photo will do. This is why we do this.