"Has it really been that long," I asked myself, "that I can't remember my last secret squirrel?"

Yes.

No longer content to be aimless and wandering with posts, I have decided to focus the efforts here on reclaiming past awesomeness with new secret squirrel projects. In addition to new ideas, this will become a site to host previous secret squirrel projects.

The first secret squirrel project of the new year is just an idea as of now. I had hoped to have it completed by Valentine's day (hint hint) but the day is coming up sooner than expected. No matter, the secret squirrel is patient. It's a nice feeling to be excited about something again, isn't it?

Welcome back; let's begin.

a strange sense of permanence

I built a fence. It's a modest size, about 60 feet or so. Its purpose, other than containing weeds so far, is to house a dog that I want to get. But this isn't really about the dog.

I've always wanted a dog since I was a little kid. For one, I'm severely allergic to cats even though I really like them. Dogs are goofy enough that we're kindred spirits, so it was always dogs. So what did I get growing up? Fish. Probably a good choice on the part of my parents.

Fast-forward about 30 years through elementary, intermediate, high school, college, work, college again, more work, California, and finally a legitimate higher education in Washington, and you find me here- working, loving, living. Now that I'm back home and settled in for what could technically be called a "career", the wanderlust that had fueled many sleepless nights seems to have abated as well. Of course, I still want to travel the world, but I'm not desperately searching for a place to call home.

Back to the fence. I tackled this project like I do all my projects: blind. Yet again I learned along the way, making the same mistakes I've had with other projects. "Sure, I can do this by myself." is a common problem that I have, but still find ways to actually manage. Could've done without the blisters though.

Anyway, the designated dog area is off a corner of our backyard where the outside laundry room is. Outside the laundry room is an older part of the house that was extended to build a shed, and the concrete slab is dated over 50 years ago. To put it in a little perspective, my dad was 15 when he helped pour that with my grandpa.

By the way, since we've mentioned concrete, do you know the difference between concrete and cement? Is there a difference at all? Yes, yes there is. Concrete is basically your hard finished product: sidewalks, buildings, tiles, etc. Cement is the ground powder that is used to make concrete. This fact will come in handy at least once in your life. If it doesn't, come find me and I'll buy you a beer.

So after I put my first fence post into the ground, I tagged the drying concrete with "2011" and stare. This post is only a few feet away from the slab that my grandpa and dad put in. I doubt that they could imagine what things would be like in that spot, over 50 years from that day. My dad would grow to become a man, a husband, a father. My grandpa would live long enough to see great-grandchildren, and pass away not far from the house he built. And now with another addition to the Tanaka House, the fence becomes a part of our history.

I can't imagine what life for me will be like 50 years from now. Children? Grandchildren? Life, even? I'll leave living, life, and death, and dying for another day. But I do know that I'm home, at least for now.

fill 'er up

Good food, drink, and conversation always make for a good night. So what else does it take for a soul to be fulfilled? A lover? Sanctity? God? Dog? A 50 gallon salt water aquarium?

I've taken my chances with a lot of things, some too boring to list. Some, well, probably best to leave off the internet. And yet here I exist, fortunate enough to have lived another day (that turtle from Kung-Fu Panda is right, by the way. every day is a gift.) but still searching for more. Most every day I wake up happy to be fortunate enought to have all that I have. "Count your blessings..." Sorry, not enough time. Suffice to say I definitely have more physical STUFF than I need. But I am left wanting.

Is it more spiritual than physical? Possibly. Could even be lack of sex for all I know. But I am hard pressed to believe that I felt any better when I was going to church regularly. Of course, I've never had steady amounts of sex either, so who knows.

Unfortunately, dear reader, this is what happens when too much ideas strike at one time with no outline, no notes, and no posts in months. I've already deleted three paragraphs that failed to carry out a singular purpose. I still feel the need to write about things. Now it seems to be more about writing purposefully. Heck, even I would get tired of reading this ramble. I shall do better.

Or I won't; how about THAT? Ain't life grand? Celebrate the fact that you can make choices.

the talk

My dad once asked me if I was "screwing around" with anyone.
I said, "No."
He said, "Ok."
And that was the sex talk.

This one's a little better:
http://www.ted.com/talks/julia_sweeney_has_the_talk.html

More to come.

still here?

coming soon: the sex talk!

taking inventory

• Cap, gown, and diploma.
• Grad party with friends and family.
• New/old job with exciting possibilities.
• 4 hikes (pathetic!)
• Beach three times, water twice.
• Shave ice at Waiola's 5 times.
• 2 mangoes.
• First digital slr camera.
• 3 music gigs.
• 25 inches of hair cut.
• Two 1001 crane projects.
• First aid certified.
• 30 gallon salt water tank (initial), triton snail, dwarf moray (deceased).
• 5 gallon salt water tank (current).
• 4 births, 2 deaths.
• Las Vegas, San Francisco, Maui, Washington, Oregon, Big Island.
• Forklift operator.
• World Beer Pong champs (Team Columbia).
• 1 sweatervest.
• 1 love lost.
• 12 pounds gained.
• 1 pair squeak-free sneakers.
• Larger mattress, pillow top.
• 3 new body aches.
• 1 anxiety attack.
• 3 colds.
• 2 crushes.
• 2 weddings.
• 1 blog.
• No dog yet.

night surfing

I wonder what kind of tone this blog would have if I wrote during the day. I find myself terrifyingly withdrawn into a temperature-controlled, soft, dark cocoon whenever I feel like writing. All I can see beyond the keyboard is the glow of "78" from the air conditioner. I'm sure some vitamin D would change things up. For now, I'll sit in this dark arena with the monitor casting a double glare off my glasses. But on to the reason I'm here tonight.

After reading a few disturbingly real news articles, I got to thinking about Legacy again. I was obsessed with my legacy for a while. Honestly, I probably still am. What am I contributing to this world? What can I pass on that can be sustained? I don't have any kids (yet) obviously since that would probably nullify this whole rant. Kids are okay, but I don't have any right now. Moving on.

I'm starting to feel selfish about some of the things I've done to leave a legacy. Not that they weren't cool (trust, one in particular was way cool) but big whoop, I didn't change the world. What good did it do? Okay, before I get all down on myself I can honestly say that I've done things that help people become creative and inspired. Maybe... maybe I just want to do more of that kind of legacy work.

I love working with my hands. My hands are awesome. I have short fingers, but they do good work. No, for real, I have short fingers. Regular, guy-size hand, short lady fingers. Anyway, just thought I'd mention. It's not unreasonable to imagine that I can change people's lives with the work from my hands. Music, craft, writing, maybe not so much cooking. But what else? Never mind my hands. It's not about the hands.

What does it take to change lives for the better? Do we do it for ourselves, or do we do it for others? How much of a balance can there be between the two without feeling selfish? Oh, then there's altruism. Is there ever such a thing as a purely unselfish act? And then, of course, does it matter?


ps, just realize that there's a kind of counter on this thing for visitors.
hello, reader. pardon the lack of caps but I tend to type this way when I'm feeling a little more relaxed. but please note the proper capitalization of "I". it's a strange sensation to think of how far these words can go. with that, take heed, dear reader. help others when you can. if you can make a go of it, do it purposefully for as long as you are able. know that little things can change the world.

what better time

Do I miss her or do I miss the idea of her?

Over and over this thought spins, rotisserie style, with the misshapen lump of meat that causes the rotation to silently thump the sizzling air at the bottom of its repetitive rotation, in my head night after night.

Where did she go? What is she doing? Does she miss me like I miss her? Would I ever have the guts to ask? Is it reasonable to ask? Is it fair to ask?

I can't remember her birthday, but I remember the brand and distinct smell of her skin moisturizer. I remember wanting to slip my arm around her waist while she was cooking. Was it bok choi or choi sum? Something green.

But I remember not knowing whether I could say "I love you," like someone who really is in love. I want to say it, but do I want to say it to her? The romantic in me has never given up; I suppose that's where the "hopeless" prefix comes from as well. It all depends upon the time of day. Realist by day, hopeless romantic by night. I'd make for a terrible superhero.

Also interesting how physical yearning can screw up the senses. Hunger would be the most obvious example. I've written about food twice so far in this post but surprisingly, have not gone into Homer/Pavlov drool mode. But I'm talking about how a lack of physical contact, casual or intimate, can mess with the state of mind. I'm trying to remember the details on an old experiment about very young monkeys without mothers who had different types of inanimate objects for companions. Basically, the subjects that had a soft object with face-like identifying features with them were the ones that didn't end up neurotic. I'm jisting of course, and probably making some stuff up for the sake of argument. What's the argument? Well I'm actually getting thrown off track because, ironically, I'm getting hungry. I'll hurry. Okay, I like hugs. Will that work? Okay, no. I love hugs! Hugs are awesome. I wish people would hug all the time as an acceptable way of greeting. Sure I hug a lot of my friends all the time, but I'm talking about instead of shaking hands. Imagine that. Who doesn't feel better after a good hug? None of this shoulder-lean-in-pat-pat-done crap. Alas, there is a time and place for everything, even hugs. I guess it would end up creepy even for me if people hugged all the time. I like hugs because they're special. If normal is the baseline then special shouldn't happen all the time. But how cool would it be if special was the baseline with intermittent moments of normalcy? Good golly, I think my life is like that. Well shit, thanks to everyone for making my like special!

What the hell was I complaining about again? Oh yeah, missing her. I don't know if that will ever get resolved, but it sure makes for good brain activity. I think I like this better than sudoku.

you haven't seen the last of me.

For many years during and post-high school I'd describe myself as a "Jack of all trades (master of none)," mostly because I had no intentional focus as far as what I wanted to do with my life. I haven't thought about that description for quite a few years now, but have been starting to feel that way again. I've been dipping into a few different projects to try and get the creative sparkles twinkling again (some successful, some quite painful) and I have come back to a short list of thoughts:

I still haven't mastered anything.
I don't know if I ever truly can or want to.
Most all of my talents and skills make me happy.
I still haven't figured out a way to sustain a lifestyle that I want by those talents and skills that make me the happiest.
Work is agonizingly purposeful; acknowledging its purposefulness makes work less agonizing.
I want to learn how to whistle loudly without using my fingers.

gathering thoughts...

updates forthcoming...

stay tuned...


ps, happy Star Wars Day!
May the 4th be with you.

rock 'n roll

Okay, so maybe it wasn't a Far Side cartoon. Now I think it was a Kliban cartoon (you know, the guy who does all the cats for Crazy Shirts). Of course, I still can't find it anywhere online. And I think I should really stop doing image searches on sex, cheese, rock 'n roll. The internet can be a scary place.

On the other hand, I finally learned how to post pictures.

starting

Of course, it isn't technically "starting" a blog so much as it is a continuation of collected thoughts. There have been a few online as far back as MySpace (which was mostly out of boredom), then came Facebook but it left no room for more than a casual idea here and there. I don't expect to change the world here, but then again, this blog is mostly for me.
This would be a good time to let anyone out there reading this that I will be a lot more open about ideas, thoughts, and feelings here than the typical Facebook Lars. Ellison Lars is still the same guy, but here he has a truer voice. Sheesh, maybe I will have to put up that "adult content" thingy in the beginning.
I haven't been able to decide how to structure these posts yet. It's not like I'm writing an essay or going through my capstone project again, but I also don't want to bore myself if and when I re-read my posts. Well... frick. Just write. Yes? Yes.
So why not break it open with something interesting? I guess it doesn't get much better than sex 'n drugs 'n rock 'n roll, as opposed to this version: (okay, so my first attempt at posting a picture up here failed. I wanted to put up a Far Side comic that had some scruffy looking rats wearing leather jackets singing about "Sex and cheese and rock 'n roll". Har har har. At least I'm getting better at using the italics shortcut. Remember Far Side? It was badass. Calvin & Hobbes too. God, I miss reading comics. But where was I... oh yeah, something interesting.)
Drugs: drugs are awesome. There's a damn good reason why people become addicted to drugs: drugs are awesome. I've tried my fair share (translation: I smoked a lot of dope) and managed to walk away without becoming an addict. Sometimes I wonder why I stopped short, but then I remember what is was like to see people who stayed strung out. "Fuck that," is basically what I said to myself. But yes, drugs are awesome. They are created to serve a purpose and do it without fail (just a heads-up, we're covering Creation and Purpose-Serving at a later date). I don't do (illegal) drugs now and highly doubt that I'd ever again, but I definitely appreciate tylenol and the 'tussin. If I ever break an arm I'm good to go.
Rock 'n Roll and Sex will have to be covered at another time as well. The Taco Bell is making me sleepers, but I feel I should at least end this post with an applicable story. The first time I ever smoked out was... well dammit now I'm wondering how that story, if not this whole freaking blog, might screw me over in the future. Well let's see, if I run for a government position (doubtful) or am associated with a high-ranking official (probable) will it affect them as well? Maybe as long as I don't talk about sex 'n drugs 'n rock 'n roll. Well then what would be the point of having this blog in the first place if I can't talk about whatever the hell I want? And here come the indigestion.
Damn you Taco Bell; you win again.

I suppose my inaugural post should start with a joke.
What do you call a deer with no eyes?
No-eye-deer.
What do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs?
Still no-eye-deer.

I hope these posts get better.