Like many people in show business, he was a bit difficult to talk to because he’s pushing forward his agenda, hitting his usual talking points, etc. On top of that, he has a gruff, bullish attitude. As a result, there’s some fluff in here. If I could do it over again I would dwell longer on the creative process with him, as I’ve taken a keen interest in the production of storytelling.

Speaking of hindsight – looking back over this interview now, after the show, I feel a little silly for getting as excited as I was about it. He wasn’t great; he covered some of the same old material from years ago, talked about Gary Coleman and the internet (tired topics), and made a really ignorant joke about AIDS. While I have never held him to a high intellectual or moral standard, it was still disappointing to hear him tell weak jokes and rely on the same sort of misogynistic/homophobic garbage that his brother trotted out in the ’80s. Sort of the antithesis of his angle he cops in the interview.

Either way, here it is:

CM: What’s poppin’?

WW: You know, lovin’ it – sun’s out. It’s very odd out here in Portland to have some sun in the middle of February.

CM: Especially when I’m in San Jose, California, and it’s overcast. That’s what it’s like in San Jose right now, and you guys get sunshine. Wow.

WW: Really?

CM: Yeah, man. It looks like I’m in Portland!

WW: You doing one of those five-day deals down there?

CM: Five-day deals, what’s that?

WW: I looked at your tour schedule, and it seemed like in a lot of places you were doing five nights in a row.

CM: Oh, I did a school the other night – the Northern University of California – and the next one is the San Jose Improv on Sunday.

WW: How’s the tour been going?

CM: I don’t call it a tour, man. It’s work. You know when you can call it a tour? When you can make enough money in three months to not work the rest of the year. That’s a tour.

WW: So you’re clocking in.

CM: You know, Chris Rock and those guys, they go out and in six weeks they make so much money they don’t have to go back out. And they do other things, they switch off. A movie, or a TV show, or writing or producing, you know, they go into another realm. I’m trying to get my thing to that point where I can do that. [Right now] I have to do it all at the same time.

WW: The main point of this time out is to promote the new book and DVD, right?

CM: Exactly.

WW: Can you tell me what that’s called again?

CM: The DVD is called Charlie Murphy: I Will Not Apologize. I shot that in June, up in Boston. In fact, that’s my first comedy DVD, and I’m real proud of it. It was very well put together, very well written and very well executed, so it’s a good introduction for a lot of people who may have heard about Charlie Murphy doing stand-up, but never had a chance to see me do it. ‘Cause I didn’t have the vehicle of Def Comedy Jam or whatever, those things that guys do to get seen doing stand-up. I never went on Letterman, Leno, you know? So you’d hear that Charlie Murphy does stand-up, but you wouldn’t get a chance to see him do it.
Now that I got the DVD out, you can just go to Wal-Mart, pick a copy up, and see me do stand-up! It’s that simple now. So that’s a milestone in my career, as far as I’m concerned.

WW: It seems like you’re working it backwards, because other guys come up from the bottom, and you’re stepping down–

CM: Exactly, that’s exactly what happened. I started with the movies and then the TV and then the stand-up, when most guys do the stand-up and then the TV and then the movies. But with me it was this: I already was in the movies, and that was one of the things that I thought was missing from my resume. You know, I’m here, “I think I deserve the same amount as this guy,” and they’ll go, “This guy’s a bigger star than you ’cause he does this and he does that,” so now you can’t say that to me no more. You can’t say “he deserves more than you because he’s an actor and a writer and a producer,” well I’m all of that – and a stand-up comedian – I’m all of that, too, what!

WW: Dynamic.

CM: Exactly, it was a thing where, to get respect, this is what you got to do – you got to cover all the bases, and be effective in all of them. So I was glad I was able to take on the challenge and come out on top the way I have. I’m very proud of myself, and I’m very humbled by it.

WW: So, getting started in stand-up – how did that come about? Naturally, I would assume that came out of your experience on the Chappelle Show, but was there more to it than that?

CM: No, that’s exactly what it was. Before the Chappelle Show there was no opportunity. There would have been too much speculation, too much comparisons being made. Before Chappelle Show I was never featured in anything that the result was that I was perceived overwhelmingly that I was a funny guy, to the masses. Every movie I was in before that, I was the tough guy, the mean guy. Even if the movie was a comedy, someone else was supposed to be providing the laughs and then there was me, who was supposed to be providing the moment of suspense, the tension moment, you know? The mean guy shows up, starts beating guys up, whatever. And no one would ever think for a second, “maybe this guy could be funny,” because when I came into show business, I knew who my brother was, what his strength was, and what he was known for, and the biggest thing with me was, if you are going to get involved in this, you don’t want to be in a competition or to be compared to him. So, the way to do that is to – what does he not do? That’s what you want to become the best at. That way there’s no way they can go [funny voice] “oh, he came in, rode on so-and-so’s coattails and blah blah-blah,” you know? “He’s A and you’re B.” No, no, no, it’s not. Exact total opposites. Okay? So that’s the reason it ended up being backwards for me, as far as, oh, now you’re doing stand-up.

WW: You had to break out from that and establish yourself as your own man.

CM: Right.

WW: So coming out of that experience – breaking out from the Chappelle Show, and establishing Charlie Murphy as a dynamic player, how did that effect your relationship with, say, Dave or with your brother or with any other people that you were close with at the time when you were making that change?

CM: How did that effect my relationship with those guys? In a positive way, you know? They have to embrace me as one of their peers, and it’s because of my hard work. I could have easily been a dude who’s related to somebody famous who went on stage and tried to do stand-up, and he was cute, and that’s as far as it went. “He went up and did five minutes, wasn’t that cute.” Or – “He’s really serious about it, but couldn’t do it. Made a fool of himself and embarrassed his brother’s legacy,” or what have you. None of those are true in my case. And it’s because, like I said, I didn’t go into it like, “you know what, this is what you did to get a little laugh, so I’ll come out with jokes similar to yours, and act like you acted-” no, I’m not, ’cause that’s fake, that’s not you. I didn’t allow myself to do that, and the way you not even begin to allow yourself to do that is to have something to give in the first place.  There’s always somebody who – in my opinion, at the end of the day – doesn’t really have nothing of their own to serve up. That is even willing to serve up somebody else’s soup. You got a lot of pretenders and copycats out there, and what they are doing in essence is serving up somebody else’s soup. And that can’t feel good. I don’t care how hard the crowd laughs, that can’t feel good to you, because you know that at the end of the day, you stealing.

WW: Tell me about your first experiences going out there on stage. That must have been pretty tough at first, huh?

CM: Oh, it was! I wasn’t even looking at the audience, I was looking at the floor. And I was sitting down, too – sitting on the chair, looking at the ground.

WW: Comedy is cutthroat – it’s hard to get people to pay attention and make people laugh while being up there, running the show.

CM: It’s a comfort zone that you have to achieve, that’s something internal, with you, as far as you being up on stage and not allowing the audience to do anything but pay attention to you.

WW: Is that something you already had?

CM: Of course I had that, that’s part of the education. That’s called stage general-ship. That’s a part of the craft. If you see a guy up there and the show unravels – that’s not because of the audience, that’s because of him. You got to have your shit together. Your game is weak. You got to go up there, and you are in control. From time to time there are going to be little skirmishes here and there, it’s your job – that’s where emcee skills come in – you got to put them little fires out. Because guess what – they’re not going to tell you, ‘five minutes into your set this person is going to say XYZ, and then you’re going to say…’ No, you don’t get that luxury. It just happens and you better be smart right there on the spot. That’s part of emcee skills, and it comes from constantly being on the stage. Like a boxer – the best fighter’s a gym rat – they stay in the gym. They don’t get out of shape between fights.  Bernard Hopkins has been around this long because Bernard Hopkins lives the lifestyle. He’s committed to being a warrior, a gladiator of the ring. ‘I live a gladiator’s life -  I eat like a gladiator, a go to sleep when I supposed to go to sleep, I wake up when I supposed to wake up, I train diligently, I don’t deviate, I don’t let you come into my life and bring your problems and make me change my focus – I stay focussed.’ And that’s why he’s around this long. And it’s the same way I approach comedy. I don’t wait until the next show to go, “let me go try some jokes out – let me try to write a new joke.” Every show is about money. Every show is about being good. That’s the focus, you see?

WW: So you hit the ground running?

CM: Oh, yeah, I hit the ground running. I went for two years, and that period of two years was right after the Chappelle Show went off the air, and that’s when – I’d say – my name was at its hottest. So I was able to get away with a lot of things that I wouldn’t be able to get away with now. Like, just killing five minutes, standing there.   Relying on callbacks from the show – that would never work now. Back then, I was milking it. Now, any reference to any of that has to be quick, you know. In and out – bam! – and we on to something else. We’re not exploring that; we’re not trying to develop that. We’re on to other stuff.

WW: It seems like less focussed, less driven people would fall back on that old stuff.

CM: Don’t call them less focussed or less driven – let’s just call them what they really are – frauds.

WW: No doubt. So what are you covering when you’re coming to Portland? What’s some stuff you’re going to be hitting on?

CM: Reality, man. That’s the best medicine. My shows – I’m an observationist, I watch people, I watch current events. I watch the climate of the environment I am in, you know, like what is the mood of the people right now, and why is it that way. And why do I feel the way I feel today, and what is my relationship with other people. And I glean my comedy from that.
What’s going on in the world – like today, I’m sitting here watching this… circus… like CNN – I used to have a lot of respect for them – I used to think of them as… it’s the other networks, too… as a step above tabloids, like this the legitimate news -  but this Tiger Woods thing, in my view, put them in the same category as the Enquirer because of the way that they covered it. The fact the Tiger Woods has to do a 15-minute mea culpa… on CNN… for committing adultery… ok. Tiger Woods has been around for the last 12, 15 years playing golf in front of all of America and when have you ever – he’s the number one golfer in the world; he’s the reason why people watch golf; he’s the reason why they got the golf channel on television – and with all that, have you ever seen Tiger Woods talk for 15 minutes about anything? No!

WW: [laughing] No.

CM: NO.

WW: Why is it that people are so into tearing down anyone who gets big, anyone who gets –

CM: And when he kept saying that ‘I apologize to anyone that I hurt,’ I’m like, look man – outside of your wife, you don’t owe anyone an apology.

WW: That’s a good point.

CM: Outside of your wife, you don’t owe nobody children no apology, you don’t owe nobody parents no apology, you don’t owe no old ladies out in the midwest who changed they church schedule so they can watch – you don’t owe them an apology. Okay? They’re not your wife, they’re not your family, they’re people watching a program, and that’s what’s been – people start getting it twisted, like, “oh, of course you’re real good at something, you owe me something”? No, you don’t owe me anything! I’m blessed to be here to watch you do what you do at the level that you do it. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to behave in a certain way that to my… uh…. you know what I’m saying? That’s bullshit, man! [funny voice] “Well, how do you think people feel about brah-parappa-pa.” And you know what? People that’re really having feelings about that – wake up. There’s much more important things to have feelings about than how you feel about Tiger Woods fuckin’, y’know, having sex with some women. You ain’t his wife, you don’t know him, and what you know about him is that he can play golf. Has nothing to do with sex.

WW: Exactly. They love jumping on that kind of thing because it’s flashy, but it’s not – it doesn’t have substance. You know, -

CM: Well, why is it flashy? I mean, everybody’s talking – just finished having sex themselves. You know?

WW: Yeah.

CM: So why is that flashy? I never got that. Why is that fla- [funny voice] “Well, so-and-so had sex.” Yeah, and what about you, my friend?

WW: Well, I honestly think that –

CM: You know what I’m saying? Didn’t you just finish having sex yesterday or this morning or whatever, but now you’re talking about so-and-so having sex, and it’s a big deal, [funny voice] ‘we’re all shocked that they had sex,’ and we’re supposed to be real shocked. You know what shocks me? When I walk outside and I see a giraffe drive by, driving a bus – that’s when I’ll be shocked. Cause that’s something that’s not supposed to happen.

WW: [laughing] Right, right.

CM: You know, I see a giraffe driving by, or you know, a chimp walks up to me and starts talking – then I’ll be shocked. Shamu out of the water, and he’s just chillin’ at the bar – I’ll be shocked. Anything with people – come on, man.

WW: Well, the big news up here in Portland right now is Jesse Jackson came to town to help shine some light on our raggedy police force. They shot another black man up here, and it just keeps going like this – the police shoot somebody, and they wash their hands of it.

CM: And now Jesse’s in it?

WW: Yeah Jesse Jackson came up to, you know, bring some fire, and it seems like it’s actually working, it seems like the police force up here is starting to get a little scared, they shaking a little bit, and they’re starting to re-think this whole old-boys network that they got going on. It’s real wild right now.

CM: Didn’t they just have a thing on where a guy killed three cops and they had to hunt him down? That was in Portland, right?

WW: Nah, that was in Seattle. Up in Washington.

CM: Okay, I’m sorry.

WW: That’s alright. Yeah, but here what happened was some guy who was really distraught about his younger brother dying and he was acting kind of wild, and the police came out and shot him in the back. Some real wild stuff. Have you heard about that one at all? Maybe it’s not making it that far out of Portland.

CM: I’m sure we will hear about it, you know, eventually. but that’s something that… I was watching the Rodney King – in some kind of way the Rodney King incident was on television the other day, and I have a 10-year-old son. So I made him watch it. What they did to Rondey King – I made him watch that, and I said, “I want you to understand something. Rodney King is on record for being the black man that got the worst butt-kicking in the history of police brutality. But don’t think that Rodney King is the only black man that got beat like that.”

WW: That’s real.

CM: “He’s the only one that got caught on camera!” Okay? “There was dudes who got beat like that who was dead when they finished.”

WW: Right?

CM: And you never heard the story.

WW: It’s some real scary shit.

CM: Yeah, so when you’re going out there and dealing with these police, don’t put yourself in a position to get hurt worse by being belligerent, by being resistant – you know, any of that, because when they roll up on you, you at a disadvantage. They have a badge, they have due authority, and when they roll up to you, they presumably in the right already. It’s the same thing as when you’re being robbed. I tell my kids – if somebody pulls a gun out and says, ‘give me your stuff,’ give it to ‘em! Don’t say, ‘I’m not giving it back.’ You know why? ‘Cause obviously if I’m bold enough to pull a gun out and try to tell you to give me your stuff, I must have the jump on you. I must have the upper hand in the situation. So, why you going to resist? You don’t resist when somebody has the upper hand in a situation. You resist when you can win. And you in a no-win scenario, so you give it up. Deal with it another time, you know?

WW: Right, right – that’s good advice. How is your son taking that kind of stuff?

CM: Well, we had to grow up and get tested, you know? It’s one thing to tell somebody something, but there’s going to be a moment when that information gets tested. I hope it’s sinking in.

WW: You’re welcome to pass on this one if you’re not feeling about it, but, you know, I hate to say it, but the last time I heard about you recently was I had heard about your wife’s passing.

CM: Yeah, my wife passed December 13, 2009, bro.

WW: So how’s…I can imagine maybe diving into your work has been helping with that?

CM: That is helping with that, but it’s a double-edged sword. You know, diving into your work helps you with that, but I have kids, okay? So I can’t just walk away and be in denial about the fact that my wife’s not here, because my daughter looks just like her. And my daughter brings her name up every day, and asks me questions about her every day. So right now it’s a real strange dynamic in my life, but one of the things I’m getting from it is this: your kids only got you now, so there – there is no room for you to be weak, right now. I’m a human being, I’m going to make mistakes, I’m going to be weak. But right now you got to be on top of your game, man. You got to be there for your kids. You got to be there for yourself. You got to be there period. Right now you can’t mess up, ’cause they don’t have nobody but you, you know what I’m saying? So that’s inspiring me to go even harder with my comedy because, it’s like, [tough-guy voice] ‘yo, man – this is what you’re feeding them with? these jokes? You better go and get a gang of jokes, bro! You better go into joke central!’ So that’s why we’ve been feverishly writing, me and Freeze Love been writing new stuff every day, taking it that night – trying to work it on-stage, try to incorporate it into the show.

WW: That’s great.

CM: That’s why right now – my DVD just came out two days ago – I’ve reconstructed my new hour – so if you came to my show right now – the difference between my show now and my DVD is I probably seem more relaxed now. But it’s because I’m trying to remember all the new stuff. The pace is different. I’m more laid back, because in the back of my mind I’m going, ‘what’s that other one, how am I going to throw that in?’ where before, I knew where I was going the whole hour. So I was sharpness – BLAU! BLAU! Now, I’m a little more laid back, but it’s a lot of fun, man.

She woke up freezing under a crocheted blanket. Somebody was on the floor under a huge coat, their face turned away from the flashing, silent howl of the screen. It was Ricky – she hadn’t seen him show up. She stepped over him carefully and walked down the hall to the bathroom, passing by an open bedroom door. Inside was a dark mass of damp air. She peed in the dark.

The sun was coming up. She made her way back to the front room by the light peeking through the blinds. This time she knocked over some empties when she stepped over Ricky, waking him. He sat up and gathered his coat around his shoulders and knees. He felt in his pockets slowly. He pulled out a shiny white shape and handed it to her.

“Go hawk this for us.”

She turned it over in her hands. It was heavy. “What should I get for it?”

Ricky laid back down and covered his head with the coat. “Twenny.”

Brilliant purples and oranges tore across the cold sky, painting the MAX train as it passed. She waited for the bus, shivering, while the kids with fleeces embroidered with the name of their school passed her by. She should have asked Ricky for his coat, but Ricky wasn’t like that.

The bus came and she found herself sitting on the bus with the white thing in her hands. She opened it, and it lit up. It was a video game. Two screens – one with two cartoon faces talking to each other. A child with a sword talking to a green monster. The monster was asking the child, “What is it that you want more than anything in the world?” and the child said, “To destroy you.”

It was flashing “PUSH A BUTTON,” so she did.

The monster said, “What if that’s not an option?” and the child didn’t say anything.

I erased some names and one unique detail that would embarrass me or someone else.

Why did it happen? I was dancing at a loft party, on a table. Liquid hits me. I figure a beer gets thrown at a wild party – I’m at a wild party. It happens again. I look, and the same group of dudes are holding up the wall, checking things out. I resume dancing on the table, which was a door. I’m hit again – a third time. Something snaps inside of me, and I come down off of that table in a fury, pushing, yelling. “You throwing BEERS on me?” and “NOW? It’s on NOW?” flying freely from my wild mouth as I shove the man I suspect is the culprit.

What set me off? What is it inside of me that made this happen? It’s not just rap music – it can’t be. This is the sort of behavior I witnessed in middle school, when I saw some of the biggest brawls in my life. The “inner city” of Portland was no Bronx, but it was serious at times, like when Michael Johnson, the Native kid from Circumstances, fought CJ’s twins (a kid named CJ was the “don” of the 8th grade, and he had two younger prodigies) in the lunchroom. It was a bloodbath. I haven’t fought since Deondre punched me in the face in fifth grade, and here I am, 26 years old, up in some guys’ face hollering, “It’s on NOW?”

I’ve thought about it a lot, and I have a couple of different theories. The one that I like (but is unlikely) is that this was an expression of my distaste for social tourism. That I was lashing out against those that would not participate in the merriment that is deserved of a weeks’ worth of work.

Another idea is that I was standing up for myself, for my self-respect. I was being silly – dancing on a table at a loft party, wearing a foppish lavender cardigan – and I didn’t want to be put down. I have a right to be this way, to dance this way. Goddamnit, I’m from here, and this is how I want to be and I’ve earned it.

Another idea is that I’m an asshole, and part of that idea is a lot of blame on a beverage that I have since sworn off of – Four Loco.

The justice of the situation came into question immediately, and thankfully a certain Ordinary Times writer was there to intervene. The loud questions I was hurling were not rhetorical – I was really asking him if he was throwing beers on me. His lack of an affirmative response made the situation less a crusade of justice than a madman’s wrath. In the heat of things I was validated by his disinterest in fighting, but what would have come of it?

When I fought in elementary school, I participated in mediation with Deondre and his mother. The mediator, Michael, was a gang mediator that practiced Taekwon-do at my Taekwon-do school, and he asked, “what could have happened? Maybe you break his leg (referring to Jeremiah kicking Deondre, who had me in a headlock), maybe you choke him to death (aforementioned headlock). Then what happens?”

What could have happened that night? What would have happened if I shoved him and he fell – hard? What if I shoved him into someone else who fell?

What did happen was I got back up on that table and danced. I don’t mean to condone this sort of behavior, but you better believe no more beer landed on me.

“I fucked up” has been a unfortunate catch-phrase of mine for a couple of years now, though it has been showing up less often. It’s back in a big way. Somehow I put the wrong name on my plane ticket to Mexico City, and I can’t change it.

James Sehorn. Do you know who that is? It’s my grandfather’ s uncle. It’s my cousin’s newborn son. It might be me if you looked at the situation just right. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of creativity in the process of international flight.

It is absolutely beyond me how – and even more frustrating, why – this happened. The only thing I can think of is that I must have put both of my middle names in the middle-name field on the website, and the second of the two, Sehorn, booted out my surname.

What a pain in the ass this is. The Transportation Security Agency, those dicks who make you take off your shoes (and your belt if you’re a longhair), have a new regulation wherein your boarding pass must match your ID. My passport doesn’t say “Sehorn” on it anywhere. My birth certificate does. My social security card does. Of course I can’t find those documents, now that it’s three weeks before takeoff.

I fucked up.

After three phone calls to the airline, what I know is this: I cannot change the name on the ticket because there are more than one carrier (airline) on the itinerary. I cannot change the name at each individual airline because the ticket does not belong to them anymore. Additionally, if I was to change the name on the ticket it would immediately cancel the tickets with the other airlines and I would have to re-purchase the ticket, which, in case you were wondering, is non-refundable because I bought it online. The airline would waive the name-change fee ($150) if I was willing to pay the difference in airfare toward a new ticket, but that would be $500, roughly the price of the original ticket.

I think my best bet is to get a new Oregon state ID with all four of my names on it. I called TSA and all that Kendra could tell me was to bring all of the paperwork that I thought would help, and good luck.

I don’t want to depend on luck. Not being lucky in Mexico has some negative connotations. Not letting me into the country (or out of it, for chrissakes) would be a huge problem. I’m to meet up in Mexico City with my pal Sean, who lives in Guatemala. If I never show, he won’t be completely screwed. He’s a seasoned traveler who can fend for himself. It would be a huge bummer, though. Hell, what if I can’t even get ON the plane in Portland, and I have to eat the 500-dollar ticket?

Man, I fucked up.

This is what I’m struggling with: is the cell phone a social necessity? Am I, in effect, casting myself out of society by rejecting this norm?

I cancelled my Myspace page the other day, and true to form, there was an error and I’m not sure if it actually deleted my account. I’m sick of technology. Sure, I’m overlooking all of the ways technology has helped me, but – again – I’m certain that the problems have outweighed the benefits.

A very reasonable solution suggested to me was to get a pay-as-you-go phone, which would be useful for trips out of town, etc. That, and a watch.

I’m just over all of it, really. My only concern is coming across as if I think I’m above it all.

Letting go is good, but a positive attitude keeps the ship from capsizing. Arriving at a destination only to find the event is well past finished can be frustrating. Turning on one’s heel and heading for home to sulk is not the answer (as was my first impulse – I don’t have my phone, and I don’t have her number; goddamnit, I’m gonna have to go back home to call her). By sticking it out I had a great evening just being in the city, feeling alive and part of something wonderful.

It is behavior that is changing inside of me (though I have a pamphlet that says it is my DNA as well, caused by the cell phone). Because I have to think about other people’s plans and when they are expecting me, etc., I am getting much better at communicating clearly what I am doing, what I plan to do and what I am hoping will happen. The tough part can be extracting the same from others.

I was at an event last week where a phone rang and it did not even cross my mind that it might have been mine. I see this as a sign that my Pavlovian response to cell-phone action is waning. I say Pavlovian because I am certain that upon hearing a ring (or even more so, a text message) my brain juices me with some sort of pleasurable chemical. The connection was made long ago that the sound of a text message meant someone was thinking of me, and I was a junkie for it. Also, the ‘phantom ring’ that I used to hear so often has ceased.

The last weekend of the month is approaching, and I feel good. I have plans, and that is comforting, especially since the moments when I am alone and I can’t get a hold of anyone are trying – I am still pretty bad at enjoying alone time. I feel lost and lonely when I want to hang out but can’t. I ran into this hard when I moved back to Eugene in 2005, and I thought I had it tackled for good. That even-keel business comes into play on this one, though, so I have to just take a deep breath at times and take account of what I have that is good: I am warm, I have a place to live. I have friends near by. I have books to read and pants to mend.

I know it’s growing less and less about the phone, but I’m going to bring it back around, I swear.

It’s funny that people assume that by not carrying the phone with me, I’m inaccessible. I check messages and return calls! It wasn’t too long ago that we had answering machines waiting for us at home. It really feels like I’m swimming against the current, but what if that current is taking everyone down the drain?

There is the distinct possibility that I’m an asshole. That I just don’t want to be bothered, and I only want to communicate with others on my terms. That I am insensitive to others’ needs.

But isn’t that a modern construction, demanding to have someone instantly accessible?

A friend was just telling me about a Milan Kundera novel called Slowness, which contends (second-hand paraphrased, of course) that when we are living rapidly, we are running from our past, and when we live slowly, we are contemplating it. Are we running from something? Shame? Change? Either way, I ‘d like to take more time to make dinner.

I did just break up with my girlfriend, and whether it was a result of the experiment is debatable. It would be ridiculous and disrespectful to suggest that this study was the cause of the dissolution of our relationship, and though there is no doubt that it played a part in it, this is neither the time nor the place to examine that. This is a Scientific Study, after all, and I must carry on.

The experiment does not allow for mistakes. Mr. Kevin Stone and I attended the kickoff event for the Time-Based Art Festival at the Works at Washington High School with the intention of seeing Gang Gang Dance do their wacky thing, but they were demanding identification at the entrance, and I had, unfortunately, forgotten mine at home. I took off, leaving Mr. Stone in line, with the intention of returning with his bike key (our bicycles were entwined), realizing only as I bounded down the steps and on to Stark street that it was possible that there were a multitude of obstacles preventing me from returning his key to him. What if he got in? What if I couldn’t find him again? Luckily he came bounding around the corner shortly after I had unlocked my trusty steed from his, but if it wasn’t for his foresight, it could have been yet another frustrating event in a night teeming with such events.

All of this said, it has been surprisingly tranquil in the moments when I’ve realized that I’m not checking my phone or feeling its presence. Though I do struggle with this duality: part of the point of the experiment is to pay attention to how I feel and behave without the phone weighing on my consciousness, but that inadvertently adds to my awareness of its absence and therefore disrupts the study.

I have no idea where this will take me…

My girlfriend, Liz P., said it was real dumb that I am doing this. I told you that and I tell you this to point out that folks are reacting strongly my plan. I’m not convinced that we can’t break free from this crazy thing, this mobile phone business.

I’ve been having trouble determining my limits for this experiment, but I’ve come up with this. The phone can’t leave my desk, except for charging (outlets in my room are woefully placed). I will not respond to text messages except by actual voice call. Though I haven’t decided for certain, I imagine I will refrain from checking my voice mail messages from away, but might also end up in a sticky situation where I need to. I am DJing weddings on the next two Saturdays, and there is always something to fetch, or fix, or some other fiasco pops off during the event, but with enough foresight, this might be overcome.

The experiment seems to be a little flawed because my experience isn’t what it would be like if things totally changed and lots of people went back to land-lines and answering machines – my experiment is one person using a land line in a sea of mobile phones, i.e. I’m still counting on a network of cell phones to be able to contact people. I must return to my hypothesis: I predict that by using a land-line the pace of my life will slow down and I will less stressed, more productive, and more present in my every-day activities. I needn’t be confused with revolution; I’m not going to change anything. This is a scientific study, after all, not a polemic. I shall try my best to follow my rules and record the results without intent.

For the entire month of September I will leave my cell phone in my bedroom, tethered to the wall.

I’ve become convinced that life before technology was somehow better, and that our brains can’t deal with – or haven’t had time to adapt to – so much stimulation. I thought a lot about this on Saturday when I was working in the garden at my house. My housemates and I installed another raised garden bed and I must have thought about checking my phone for calls or text messages three or four times during the time we were out there, pushing our hands into the soil.

I’m not certain that my theory is true, that life was better before technology, but I’m going to give it a shot. I want to slow my life down and enjoy my time, rather than speed through my days, wondering where else I could be, or what I’m missing out on. I’m going to have to make plans with people and stick to them. Brrrr!

It’s not going to be easy. Already the lack of the convenience is showing. I can’t call long-distance from many phones because people don’t bother localizing their numbers when they move. I don’t have a timepiece anymore. I wrote down a few, but I just don’t know people’s phone numbers.

I’ll let you know how it goes. If I don’t call you back right away, you might have to just drop by the house to say hi.

A blade, a single blade, spanned two train cars’ length. Count how many – six, seven, eight, nine. How many are on the hills? How many are alive on the hills? Some churn slowly, quickly. Neighbors defy each other’s will, holding when it makes sense to let go. Is it their will, or are there brakes? Have you heard them? “Like a passing train that never does,” they say. How can something so big, so graceful, be anything but gentle?

There’s a town in a hole. A town downwind from a depot. There: a town on the river. It’s volleyball, it’s wrestling, it’s softball; not football. They try to compete, but they know not to push too hard.

Every home has a remote alert, a small, gray box with a stubby antenna. If the VX or the Sarin gets out from the depot (they’ve destroyed the Mustard), everyone will know. On New Year’s Eve there was nothing happening in town at all.

Few choices for commerce are unique to the town; most places are the same places that everywhere has. One is a diner with a bassinet in the entryway and strange photos of all of the staff above the cashier. One of the cooks wore an eye patch. One of the patrons talked loudly about Jesus being present, very present. One of the sports cards that came out of the trading-card machine was of an old man, kneeling.

A junk shop has old paintings, old cast-iron skillets and an old man who likes Juice Newton. The woman across the street at the Tienda de Ropas doesn’t know that man.

A city of glass and steel, built vertically to challenge the mountains. At war with nature, who had her way with the city by sending in her coldest air to sit among the buildings and wait. It did not leave as it saw no need to.

The sun returned, and the wind moved the gray and the mountains showed themselves to the city, which yawned and rented bicycles.

At night, the old part of the city rolled over on a wet mattress and drifted into a deep, narcotic sleep as young men dressed up and played their instruments like Marc Bolan.

And in the morning, the gray returned, but the mountains were clearer than ever, peering down the long avenues.

Thanks a ton for the care package – the cookies went fast!

Classes are going pretty well. I just got through midterms, and I think I even aced my Shakespeare test. It’s been tough to get up early for that grammar class, though.

Living in the dorms is crazy. I keep meeting all kinds of people in the lounge. I’ve been doing most of my studying there because my roommate makes the room smell pretty bad. He leaves food out and has some pretty gross habits. His name is John, and he’s an exchange student from the 1600s – pretty crazy, huh? I think he’s the only guy on campus from the past. I end up having to catch him up on basic things all the time, and it’s kind of a pain. I mean, I’m sure it’s tough to live in a different time and all, but I have my own stuff to do to – I can’t hold his hand all the time. I might have to see about getting moved if things don’t change.

Last week, John came back to the room drunk and puked in the trash and didn’t clean it out until I asked him to. I had to complain to the RA about that – and the bedpan thing. He uses a bedpan, which is totally gross. Our rooms are pretty small – I’ll leave it at that.

On the plus side, he did help me with some of my Shakespeare reading, and he’s teaching me how to play guitar (he’s really good). I tried showing him how to use the ipod speakers you gave me, but he’s not really into my music – he mostly just plays his guitar, which is cool.

So, overall, things are pretty good. I’ve been staying busy, I even joined an indoor soccer team.

Wish me luck!

One morning I was admiring this effect and noticed a strange light on the top of a mid-sized building. Green lights, perhaps six wide and eight tall, arranged in a diagonal array atop a pole, facing southeast. It can’t be for helicopters because the building is adjacent to taller buildings, so what is it? I can’t help but look at it now; every morning I check to see if it’s lit.

Yesterday the lights were red. I can’t really explain the way this made me feel, but superstition worked its way into my thoughts.

I work at a therapeutic nursery for children – aged birth to four. Normally I just drive the bus, but yesterday I filled in for the teacher’s assistant in the two-year-old classroom. The kids are wild and hilarious. A little boy poured all of his cup of milk into his bowl of cereal, ate most of the cereal and then asked for more milk. After pouring the milk back into the cup for him, he fished the last of the Kix out of the cup, poured the milk into the bowl and asked for more milk. A little girl – who had, upon arriving in the classroom, immediately went around the room and threw everything on the floor – went ahead and threw his bowl of milk on the floor, too, ending his experiment in gravity and the nature of liquids.

Spills can be cleaned and attention can be re-directed. Some things are more difficult.

This girl’s need to make chaos of the room was unappreciated by another girl, “D,” who needed stability. The first girl, “C,” got out the little xylophone and brought it over to me, sat down, and proceeded to make a racket. D immediately came after her, eyes alight with fire, growling fiercely from the back of her throat. She put her hands around C’s throat, and when separated, continued to thrash and kick at her, never averting that vicious stare, limbs shaking with rage. Two or three more times this happened – grabbing at other kids’ throats or collars, eyes wide, that unreal growl, and the shaking, as if there were more rage in her little body than it could handle.

It’s easy to over-simplify the reason behind such behavior with platitudes gleaned from made-for-TV specials, but there are so many factors at play. It may have been her family that gave her these ideas, but it may not have. I dropped her off at home and dad seemed a friendly guy, with the house relatively clean and warm smells of something being fried wafting out from inside – and a huge television on. Stress plays a large part in a lot of these families’ problems. Everything from physical health to the ability to deal with children’s needs is impaired by stress, and living in any form of poverty is stressful.

That said, the son of one of my family’s close friends – who is now in law school in New York – was a biter when he was three. A fierce biter.

Today, the light was green again, but before the bus came, it started to blink. Every. Three. Seconds.

I don’t know what it means.

The story begins with our protagonists, Warren G and Nate Dogg, cruising the eastside separately. Warren, though the principal of the song (it is on his album), runs into trouble, while Nate Dogg causes a car full of girls to crash on account of how fly he is. Nate Dogg, the king of the gangster-croon, the Sinatra to Snoop Dogg’s Dean Martin, is the tougher, more resourceful man in the narrative. He swoops in, saves the day (fends off the perpetrating dice-rollers) and then delivers Warren to the immobilized girls, relegating Warren to the role of Sammy Davis, Jr. in this contemporary gat-pack.

But this is where the song gets interesting: the third act of this narrative isn’t narrative at all, it’s the duo bragging about the abstract splendor of their well-being and how nice their music is.

It’s only natural the story should end with such ephemera. Trace the steps: The shepherd, Nate Dogg, leads Warren G, our pilgrim, out of hell (getting jacked at a crap game) and into purgatory (he still needs to find some girls). The third verse’s cyclical non-sequiturs “the rhythm is the bass and the bass is the treble” are the heaven the pair are after – a high, blissful experience that we can only assume is what one finds at that fabled eastside motel.

I can still feel that intense draw from the first time I heard Warren G’s opening line: “It was a clear, black night, a clear white moon.” He sets the scene in the style of epic poetry, as if nothing less were to follow. I think these fellas knew what they were up to.