I am not a photographer, but even the novice among us can sometimes capture a moment if we just open our eyes and get lucky.

This is my niece Emily on her tenth birthday. This year my brother also turns twenty and I turn thirty.

I often think about this synchronistic birth order. My brother and my niece remain a pinhole through which I can sometimes glimpse previous versions of myself. The sands of my own life fall into the past when I look at them.

Emily approaches that age where the joys of childhood become the embarrassments of adolescence, where naive happiness turns to self-doubt, where peers turn to rivals.

Living so far from my family means the kids grow up while I’m away. In the kinder years, the changes in the kids are merely physical. Their bodies grow, their hair grows, their freckles emerge or go away. But there are also harder years—the years in which the growth spurts happen and their personalities radically shift.

Emily is at the cusp of one of these moments. Her body is on the threshold of adolescence and as this change comes the kinder parts of her childhood self will change as well. The next time I see her she will be a different person, and I will struggle to acquaint myself with the little person she’s become.

This photograph captures this moment for me: A girl waiting out the day, vying for the attention of her distracted family, unaware of the woman she is waiting to be.

Comment?

biosphere: noun. The regions of the surface, atmosphere, and hydrosphere of the earth (or analogous parts of other planets) occupied by living organisms.

Noosphere: noun. The sphere or stage of evolutionary development characterized by (the emergence or dominance of) consciousness, the mind, and interpersonal relationships.

Note: See comments for Greek roots

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We’re one week out from the presidential election and it’s time for an update on my predictions. I made my last round of prediction three weeks ago and a lot has changed since then.

Luckily, the tide seems to have turned in Obama’s favor after the presidential debates. Based on recent polling, primarily from Pollster but also from other sources online, I am now predicting an Obama victory of 367 to 171 in the electoral college.

Moving into the Obama category since my predictions three weeks ago: North Carolina, Ohio, Missouri, Nevada, and North Dakota. Three weeks ago North Carolina, Ohio, and Missouri were toss-up states with a slight lean toward McCain, but since those predictions Obama has widened his lead. His most significant gains have been in Ohio and Nevada where he now has a solid lead over McCain. His lead in Missouri and North Carolina are very close and could still tilt either way.

The surprise in these additions to the Obama map is the addition of North Dakota, a state that was solidly red three weeks ago but is now showing a three point lead toward Obama. Polls in North Dakota show a sharp and rapid decline of support for McCain following the debates. If Obama wins North Dakota, it will be the first time the state has gone blue since 1964.

Following this trend there are three more states which are now considered “toss-up” states that were solidly red just three weeks ago: Georgia, South Dakota, and Montana. Obama’s gain in these three states is most impressive. Recent polls show him gaining sharply in these states, but in my unprofessional opinion I can’t see him closing the remaining gap in the next week. If he stands a chance with one of these states, I would predict he ‘might’ flip Montana—which is on the verge of having two democratic senators and a democratic governor.

So where does this leave McCain? The McCain camp is focusing most heavily on Pennsylvania and Virgina, both former toss-up states that are leaning toward Obama. For McCain to survive, he must win three out of four of these states: Pennsylvania, Virginia, Ohio, and Florida.

So, should you vote in this election given where the polls are? YES! Of course you should! The only way Obama will lose this election is if his supporters become overly confident and just stay home next Tuesday. Though he is currently leading McCain in states by a ration of 3:2, many of these states are holding by just a couple of percentage points. Obama supporters must turn out the vote in order to make this election a reality.

And now, a brief history lesson:

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Before I ever began to think of myself as a writer I had my journals. I first began journaling in high school, somewhere around 1994. Luckily, most of the earliest journals were destroyed or erased. What you see in the image to your left is my stack of journals from 1997 to 2008.

In the beginning I wrote in the journals very deliberately, as though every single word mattered—as though I were laying down every word for the good of posterity. Of course, reading these journals now is a practice in humility. As one teacher once said to me, “if I had one breath left and I knew I was dying I would use it to burn my notebooks.” That’s how I feel about these early journals as well.

As I went on to college I began to write more regularly, freely, and loosely. I accumulated stacks of these journals—thousands of pages. I have mined these journals over the years and certainly every creative piece of work I have completed had a genesis in one of these volumes.

There is something beautiful about these books, even if the quality of words inside their pages is generally less than par. Each book captures the mood of the time, and when I reread these books the person that I am today must confront the person that I was at the time. The self is not fixed in time. We evolve, and with each evolution we both retain and erase previous parts of ourselves.

In working on this book (Yes, I’m working on a book—but more on that soon. I’m not ready to share yet), I am going through all of the journals one last time. I have reread every page of these books, sometimes cringing but often laughing. I am pulling out the last of what they offer, the last they have to give me.

I have considered burning these books because it’s time to move on. After this current book is finished, I no longer need to go back to these journals. The story that I had to tell in these books will be told, and for the sake of my own career and self-interest—it really is time to move on and let this material go.

And yet, I can’t seem to find the will to destroy these books. The husband and I are going to Burning Man next year for my 30th birthday. The festival’s theme is “Evolution” and a ritualistic burning of these books seems appropriate. And yet, I can’t seem to do it.

Each time I go back to the journals some memory is there to greet me, and I am reminded of the rooms, people, smells, colors, jobs, clothes, loves, and flings of my life. All of it is there—a record I will never be able to recreate or proximate.

So, I am boxing up these journals and promising to myself to leave them there for a good long while. If I die before I figure out what to do with the box, then hopefully the fool who inherits them will have the mercy to do what I am incapable of doing, light the match and dance around the fire.

It’s time to move on and to let the past just be the past. But, before I do, I’m spending a few last days with these books, learning what they still have to teach me and looking back on the boy who wrote all those long, lonely, melodramatic, self-absorbed, and hopeful books.

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One of the most consistent attacks that the right wing mudslingers have hurled against the Obamas is that of elitism.

Vanity Fair posted a fascinating rundown of Cindy McCain’s convention appearance earlier this week. It seems that Cindy McCain’s RNC costume probably put the McCains back some $299,100 to $313,100.

Though that amount is more than most American families make in a number of combined years, I don’t suppose it amount to much for a man who defines the middle class as anyone making under $5 million , to a man who owns eight luxury homes , and a man whose wife flies around Arizona in her own private plane.

The audacity of this couple to assert that they are more intouch with everyday working Americans than the Obamas is an outrage. But isn’t Cindy McCain’s wealth the very epitome of the American Dream? Shouldn’t we all strive to acquire such resources? Well, in the case of Cindy McCain there’s no reason to work for it when you can just be born into it.

Doesn’t this whole thing just smack of hypocrisy? Aren’t the same people rallying behind Cindy McCain today the very ones who attacked Teresa Heinz Kerry for her family’s fortune back in 2004?

Well, after all of this scrutiny into her family’s wealth, Cindy is probably feeling a bit worn. Maybe it’s time for her to steal some more prescription drugs from one of those charities that her families’ fortune enables her to run.

By contrast, Michelle Obama was born on Chicago’s Southside. Michelle’s father was a water plant employees and her mother was a secretary. Still, Michelle managed to work hard and earn scholarships to Princeton and later Harvard Law School.

It was during her time at Princeton that she wrote a thesis entitled ““Princeton-Educated Blacks and the Black Community.” Few could have expected that one seemingly benign paragraph in this thesis would be used to attack Michelle as an “angry militant” some twenty years later.

The paragraph in question is this one:

“As discussed earlier, most respondents [to an alumni questionnaire] were attending Princeton during the 70’s, at a time when the Black Power Movement was still influencing the attitudes of many Blacks. It is possible that Black individuals either chose to or felt pressure to come together with other Blacks on campus because of the belief that Blacks must join in solidarity to combat a White oppressor. As the few blacks in a white environment it is understandable that respondents might have felt a need to look out for one another . . . One can contrast the mood of the campus years ago and the level of attachment to Blacks to that of the present mood of the campus [in 1985] which is more pro-integrationist.”

From this paragraph, the right wing smear machine has built a case that Michelle Obama is an elite black militant who believes that “Blacks must come together in solidarity to combat a White oppressor.”

Anyone who could honestly extrapolate this sentiment from Michelle’s thesis has obviously never attended college or written an academic paper. Michelle is expressing a mood among Black alumni in the 70’s, the subjects of her thesis, not making a personal political statement.

And yet, the smears continue while Cindy McCain remains above such attacks. Given their histories, attitudes, and achievements I ask—which wife is the real elitist?

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Travel notes:

I have no future
I have no past
Home is beyond the farthest point on the horizon
It is a journey
I leave myself behind me and
pull my body into a future

I am not who I have been

- – -

6/29/08
11:31 CST

Just arrived in Mitchell, SD and now Brandon is trying to book us a room for the night at the Hampton Inn. We are 800 miles exactly into this journey, with approximately 1600 miles to go over the next 2 1/2 days.

Today was an exhausting drive. We left Rice Lake, WI after a fantastic breakfast at a Laundry Mat/Diner with the best sausage gravy this side of the Mason-Dixon.

We had a 3 hour detour in Minneapolis to see one of Brandon’s cousins. Minneapolis, upon first impression, strikes me as a clean, well designed city. I was impressed by the red brick buildings with ivy vines all along Clinton Street—gorgeous.

Minnesota in the summer, driving I-90 to I-94 and then west is vast and green—enormous wind turbines speckling the distance.

We watched the sun set over western Minnesota—stunning. Brilliant orange, and clouds washed in dark lavender.

Sunsets here seem to linger. The light holding on beyond the horizon, warming the sky, bringing a levity to night in this strange place. The sunset lingers until we cross into South Dakota—Sioux Falls shimmering in the distance like a respectable small city.

We push through an approaching delirium, destined to reach Mitchell, SD.

The crossing from Minnesota to South Dakota seems to mark a transition in my head. Though others may draw this line at a different place, I feel that we have distinctly left behind the Midwest and we are now traveling through the mythic American West.

See more pictures from the road by clicking on the image below::

Cross Country 08: Rice Lake, WI to Mitchell, SD

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As most of you who read this site already know, the husband and just moved from Chicago, IL to a new life in Portland, OR.

So far I haven’t given a true account of the journey cross country, an experience that has forever reshaped my notions of America and led me to realize how little I knew about this great land.

This nation is enormous, beautiful, and vulgar.

Over the next few days I am going to post photos from our trip cross country, most of which were taken from a speeding car, as well as a few notes about our journey.

Our first day of driving took us from Chicago to Stoughton, WI where Brandon’s family lives. After a very nice visit with the family we drove another four hours north to visit my dear friend Molly in her new home in Rice Lake, WI.

Having only driven through the southern end of Wisconsin before this trip, I will truthfully admit that I have been deeply skeptical about reports of how beautiful Wisconsin really is. The southern route is mostly flat, with far too many billboards and strip malls for my taste.

North of Madison, however, the state flourishes with rich forests and big blue skies. The Wisconsin that I saw on this trip was a beauty to behold, and I am certainly glad to have made this trip.

Our first night we stayed with Molly in Rice Lake and enjoyed a most fantastic night. As always, Molly and I talked for hours—having the conversations that only she and I can have. She fed us dinner, a first, and all of the food was fantastic.

The next morning we drove to a small diner/laundrymat and did a load of clothes while enjoying the best souther breakfast that I’ve had north of the Mason-Dixon. By noon on Sunday we said our goodbyes and set out on the rest of our journey.

Realizing that this night was one of the last midwest evenings I would have with Molly for quite some time was difficult, but the quality of our friendship will never diminish or fade. All in all, this was the perfect first day of driving.

Click below to see all of the photographs:

Cross Country 08: Part 1—Chicago, IL to Rice Lake, WI

Journal Entry:
Driving west now, past the WI Dells, the trees are wild green and we’re driving just in front of a storm front. The cats have finally stopped meowing and the husband and I have taken a break from talking to listen to the radio as I write. We are 195 miles into this trip. We are light, unmoored, eager to be on the road and driving. Saying goodbye to our friends was difficult, but we have no regrets about leaving Chicago. Already we know how necessary this move is. Two men, two cats, and our plant Bozeman (later renamed Butte)—a family on our first trip cross-country.

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Greetings from the West Coast. Today, July 8, 2008, officially begins my 30 day respite from the world of work and toil. It’s been ten years since I’ve really had a period of my life without paycheck work, where I can free my mind of clutter and coworker prattle and really focus all of the energy I have on my self and creative work.

We do not live in a world where this type of behavior is favored. The basic demands of our capitalist culture lock us into a lifelong cycles of work, production, and sanitized recreation. We are tricked into colleges and graduate schools, coming out of those institutions with pieces of paper that have no intrinsic value in and of themselves. More importantly, we come out of those institutions, most of us anyway, with mounds of student loan debt—amounts so high that we pay for them every month for thirty years before we see our way out. My combined loans from and undergraduate education at the University of Kentucky (most of which was paid for) and an MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago topple well above the $60,000 mark.

This is the beginning of the trap, followed by clothes, food, housing, cars, insurance, plane rides, vacations, big screen TVs, psychiatrists to keep us all in check. It’s an unyielding, relentless, pitfall of a way to live.

So, for thirty days I am stepping outside of it. Organizing my days in a way I see fit, working toward no goals other than goals of mind, body, and spirit—-essentials that I have neglect for far too long.

Today I jogged in Pier Park in the St. John’s neighborhood of north Portland. The park is truly a beauty to behold, with it’s swaths of unearthly pines blocking all sounds and sites from the city. Dirt and paved trails lace through the park, and try as I might I never seem to hit the same trail twice.

Today’s run was difficult. After a long, withdrawn winter in Chicago I’ve put on 15 pounds too many. I am out of shape, a chronic smoker, with a terrible diet and a sedentary job. But these things are changing. Since arriving Brandon and I have found the Portland farmer’s market, and we stocked the kitchen with loads of fresh fruit and vegetables, local meats, spices and herbs from the surrounding countryside. Brandon has been on a kick of preparing simple, wholesome, and delicious gourmet quality meals. Even the simple meals (salami, ham, and sharp Wisconsin Cheddar cheese on olive and garlic bread and champagne mustard—fantastic) become works of art.

I’ve also limited my smoking to 1-2 cigarettes a day, consumed at night. No, I haven’t technically “quit” yet, but as my running increases I anticipate a marked decline in my nicotine cravings. If these craving begin to get the better of me, then I suppose I will have to go the cold turkey route even though smoking is one of my favorite things in the world to do.

As for work, my job for the next thirty days is to reshape my body and to recapture the writing bug. I will be writing a lot, most of which will probably never see the light of day. This “Notebook” is going to be a record of my progress rather than one of the actual work.

So day one, I feel energetic, my mind is cloudy but free and I’m recognizing the need to lay down a schedule for the next 29 days (this is what I do first, followed by…., etc., etc.) Is it wrong to impose structure on this “down time,” maybe, but this downtime needs to be productive and holding myself to my own rules seems to be the only way to ensure that will happen.

So, now I’m off for a shower, chores, and a few course hours of writing. Hopefully by my check-in tomorrow a schedule will begin to emerge and my anxiety about making the most of this time will start to wane.

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Friday, everything we own will be loaded into cubes which will be set off on their way to Portland, OR. We’ll have a final dinner with our dear friend ESR, then wake early and grumpy, grab breakfast and coffee for the road, and leave Chicago for the last time as citizens of this place.

These past six years have been full of change, subtle revelation, shifts in perception and awareness, heartbreak and great love. I have lived in this gridded city for six years, and in that time I have had many distinct lives. I was an art school slacker. I was a boystown club kid. I was the only white guy at a hispanic nonprofit. I was in the theatre world. I was in the publishing world. I had the worst breakup of my life. I have found the greatest love of my life. I have been single and now married. I have been a writer and a dj, a sex editor and a college teacher. I have lived so many lives in this city, that saying goodbye to them all is as complicated as it is freeing.

I moved to Chicago on August 1, 2002. I leave now on June 28, 2008. It seems like such a short time when written down, but how long and wonderful these years have seemed. And how trapped and hopeless I have been in the city. City of broad shoulders; city of constant contradiction.

On the morning of June 28, 2008 we will drive north to Madison, WI for a quick visit to the husband’s family. Then, we’ll keep driving north to Rice Lake, WI for a final midwest evening with my dear friend Molly. Margaritas, discussions of Blanchot, and many long hours by a campfire will pass and then we’ll sleep and wake; drive to Minneapolis for dinner with another friend, and after that my expectations vanish.

We will drive through Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Washington, and finally Oregon. Once we arrive I set out on a month of reconstruction with the following goals: stop smoking; run every day; eat healthier, get smarter about money; secure a career I can live with; and finally write every single day for thirty days. These are grand undertakings, but the way I see it there’s no better way to tackle every roadblock in my way than to do it all at once and with complete dedication and focus.

So, I will try to update this blog from the road—giving my impressions of an immense country that I have only flown over until now. I am nearly thirty, and in many ways it seems I am only just beginning.

Friends and readers, be well. For those Kentuckians and Chicagoans reading this blog, I will miss you all terribly but the distance will not severe the love I feel for all of you. For now, this is JHW signing off for the last time as a Chicagoan on this beautiful summer afternoon in the city.

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The wind chill today hovers somewhere in the teens and there are still large patches of filthy black ice covering the neighborhood sidewalks. Yet, an enormous weight has seemed to lift as we enter the last throws of the dirty end of winter. Any morning now we will wake to birds chirping, the sun shining, and the first signs of green returning to the few trees still on the street.

For the first time in weeks, I sit at my desk and watch whole families pass on the sidewalk below my window. This winter has been too long, the cold too much to endure, and the isolation too much for all of us.

To those unfamiliar with life in the Midwest, it may seem strange to consider the idea of isolation in a city the size of Chicago. Indeed, every day I enter a flux of people moving about their days, pushing through doors you had opened for yourself without so much as an “excuse me”, swerving within inches of your car at unreasonable speeds on the interstate.

There are so many people in this city, yet in the winter we withdrawal from the people we want to see into a long hermetic season. At night we sit in our apartments, paralyzed by the cold, unable to take brief walks to the park or the local square, transfixed in these little caverns inside from the sub zero temperatures. During this time a magnifying glass is placed on our problems, fears, and goals we have not reached. We turn inward, not to the mindful peace of contemplative solitude, rather into arrested self-involved solitude.

I am grateful for this gradual release from winter, eager to see the city bloom again, hopeful that people will become less haughty, self-consumed, and aggressive.

But then, this is the city, and aggressive selfishness is a way of life here. So, we bucker down and wait through the last days of winter, knowing that the spring will be somewhat better but aware that any change we need must come from within ourselves. Still, perhaps the spring will be more kind.

Photo by mattsabo17 courtesy a Creative Commons License.

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