Yet More Tahoe Pics

Tomo sent me yet more pics from Tahoe--and from somewhere I presumed to be Tahoe.

I could have done without this one being taken.

The rest are from a graveyard in Saitama which is on the north side of Tokyo (or so says Tomo). In an earlier post, I'd assumed the pics Tomo was sending me were all from Tahoe. Mea culpa. I tried dragging a few of the pics into Google image search but the returned results were miscellaneous comic book covers, colored pagodas, and odd looking folks dressed up in even odder looking costumes.

The red bibs are interesting. Perhaps the dead are about to rise and feast on the living? I don't know. Cool pics in any case. Thanks again Tomo for sending these.

More Tahoe

My Japanese friend Tomo just sent me a few pics from our hiking sessions together.

Actually only one of these is from our hiking together (below).

Yeah, that's me.

If you zoom in you'll notice that I basically look scared shitless, and I well should. This rock figure was at least 200 ft above the ground and steep. Also, I have zero hiking experience--unless you count my myriad trips around the flat expanse that is Contra Loma. While Tomo found every toehold and foothold and always found his hands in the correct positions, I had a knack for finding swathes of pine needles and slipping.

Thank you Tomo for keeping me alive!

The two photos below are from God only knows where, although since Tomo sent them to me I can only assume they're from somewhere in Tahoe. Any Junk Coffee aficionados know where?

Rerouted

I've been doing some running recently.

This hasn't been the case for the past couple years as I was having a difficult time breathing and was subsequently diagnosed with asthma.

But recently I've been feeling...better. Hence I've donned my trusty Asics and have been hitting the trails.

Er, trail.

I have one trail that I've been using the majority of my life. It starts out at the regional park behind my house and leads into the reserve, which, from what I've been able to gather from various folks, branches all the way out into Mount Diablo and beyond--not that I'd ever have the courage (or stamina) to endure such a run.

But the hilly intro section of the trail today wasn't especially inviting. It didn't take me long to find the owners of the huge piles of doo mucking the place. One was chewing a cud of weed and staring at me like I was a Bond villain. And then a few of his cowmigos were likewise staring me down. I know teenagers cowtip, but I wondered if cows ever humantip?

As soon as this thought entered my mind, I decided today might be a good day to take the paved urban route past the local Starbucks...

 

Estate Sale

The past three day's I've been helping a tennis buddy of mine with his estate sale. He's Persian and moving back to Iran in a few months. Prior to that, he's going to be living with his daughter while he sorts out a few health issues. But his house closed escrow and he has to move out Monday. So by Sunday afternoon, EVERYTHING must go!

It's actually been fun helping out. While my friend's connection to his belongings made it impossible for him to sell stuff at an objective price, I have no such qualms. I've been dickering with folks all weekend long. My selling associate Roy and I sold a wall length mirror for $120, a beautiful dining room set with a table, six chairs, and china cabinet for $300, and miscellaneous odds and ends for well less than their actual value.

There's an Egyptian triptych, three scenes hand-embroidered on Papyrus that I am so hoping is still available tomorrow. It's selling for a mere $100 and is a museum quality piece. My brother, who traveled the world last year and marveled at the relics of Egypt, would love it.

Tahoe

My brother's wedding really got the creative juices flowing.

Here's a poem I wrote while sitting on the beach before returning to the Bay Area:

Tahoe

I buy a coffee and walk it down to the beach. Finding a spot I like, I screw my cup into the sand and sit down beside it, timing each sip to the pulse of the waves coming into shore, so slowly one after another.

The water itself the blue of yesterday’s mood. Loved ones sitting in chairs on this very beach waiting for the union of man and wife, watching the union of lake and shore, shore and lake. Like the day itself, all looking their best.

A labrador scurries after a ball, his master flip flopping behind. Seagulls swoop and squawk their fishing cry. The sun a descending yolk.

I close my eyes and sip. Thunderheads roil overhead, expanding like rye. Rain falls from a steely grater.

My mom lays in a hospital bed, the same for two years, eyes cataracted, unable to see sun or shore, unable to see me, surrounded by bedpans and IVs, the round-the-clock TV. Dead but alive. I’m unemployed, living in a hoarder’s house, wondering whether pills hurt less than razor’s edge. If there’s a god and Mom somehow cleared the gates, does she know I’m her only son unwed? How will I buy my food this month? this trip did not come cheap. Who am I? What is my purpose? If god doesn’t exist, how can a heaven like this?

When I open my eyes, the sun has turned silver but the water’s still blue. A beachgoer sits on the steps leading down to the sand, gazing intently at the water, as does another further down the beach, each leaking his own dark thoughts, perhaps an outsized dream. No matter what, the water remains blue. Always has, always will.

Robert Frost I am not, although I think this turned out pretty well, especially since I haven't dipped a quill for this kind of thing since college.

Roast the Pig, Spill His Blood

So, I was the best man at my brother's wedding (actually, I was one of three). And of course one of the great things about being best man is that you get to have a few stiff drinks and stand up in front of a large crowd and roast your buddy/brother/whoever.

This is big brother fodder, because you vaguely remember those days when you were constantly giving your younger siblings hell, and it makes you feel kind of good knowing that you're gonna get to relive those days.

Unfortunately, my brother was always better at me at everything, so my attempts to roast him in a speech turned out to be difficult.

Here is the final result, completed the night before the wedding, and delivered while buzzed (although apparently well) the day of:


I firstly just wanna thank everyone that's put in time and resources to make this day a reality. Also, to all the guests, from all over the world, thanks for coming out. Lastly to Groom and Bride (not sure if the real married couple want to be stalked by Junk Coffee Aficionados), thanks for letting me play such a huge part in your wedding festivities.


In case some of you don't know who I am, my name is Patrick Norris and I'm Groom's brother. I've known Groom for thirty-two years, and I can honestly say that the three years before Groom was born were the quietest, most peaceful years of my life, because he was slash is a handful. 

When we were growing up, Groom and I used to play lots of games in the backyard, stupid stuff like baseball using our gloves as bats and tennis balls as balls. One day one of us (Groom) decided it would be a good idea to throw rocks in the neighbor's pool. What we didn't count on was the neighbor being mad as hell, and he was when he came over a little while later. When he insisted that our parents punish us, Groom did what I should have had the courage to do in the first place--he denied ever throwing a rock in his entire life.

As we got older, Groom and I played a lot of organized sports. Although I'm sure we're related (for every good-looking, bright, thoughtful son, there's a black sheep brother like Groom), I'm also pretty sure his genes were tampered with at birth. He's got the speed of a cheetah and the strength of a great ape. Competing with him athletically was almost impossible. When he beat me for the second straight time in high school tennis, tension in the Norris household was high when the local paper ran the article "Brother Whips Brother."

But as we've gotten older our relationship has changed and gotten stronger. While I was once an X and him an O and it was all about competition, now we just hang out and talk and eat Subway footlongs. We actually coined a term for these usually Tuesday get-togethers--brother bonding nights. Basically, they're Groom's way of cramming his bad TV tastes down my throat, hour after hour of "Biggest Loser" (and if you've seen the baby pictures of Groom floating around, you realize that he was on the verge of becoming a contestant himself).

During one of these nights, Groom mentioned a new girl he'd met. She was blond with a nice athletic build and a calm demeanor (To be honest, it kind of bothered me, because this was last night and her name was not Bride).

But I finally did meet Bride a short while later. I don't remember where or when it was at, but she said hey and I hey-d back, and it was like this for at least the first ten times we met.

We're both quiet, me more so than her, so it took us years to get to know one another. Bride, although you're now officially my sister, I've considered you my sister for years. You're bright, thoughtful, quiet, and caring. Both you and you're family have been entirely welcoming to me, and I couldn't be happier to have you as a member of my family.

Groom, I'm still hoping Bride's good qualities might rub off on you. But really, you've always been a great brother and friend to me. Whenever I've needed anything, you've been there in a flash. If you're there for Bride like you've always been there for me, your marriage will last a lifetime. 

So please join me in raising a glass to my brother and sister, Groom and Bride.

First Sip

S'up, my name is Patrick Norris and you're probably looking for the guy that directed X-Men: Days Of Future Past.

Firstly, you should know that I'm not that guy. There was a guy that directed episodes of Family Matters (you know, the Steve Urkel show) that was also named Patrick Norris. For all I know, it could be the same guy. Whether it's the same guy or not, I'm not that guy. I'm never that guy. People always say don't be that guy that (fill in the blank) when you're at a club or a library or a casino or wherever. In this case, I'm not the guy that directed anything.

So which guy am I? I'm a writer living in the Bay Area. This is my blog, humble as it is. My goal is to wake you up with askance observations and to keep you awake with more of the same. Hence the blog title, "Junk Coffee". From time to time, I might feature my own writings and pics.

Stephen King addresses his fans as "Constant Readers" in his books. Well, Junk Coffee Drinkers, may we develop a relationship of our own.