Whew.

Let's put the previous year in perspective: In the past 365-odd days, and some have indeed been very odd, both Sara and I have had eight different jobs, lived in three locations, and are now navigating our admittedly thrilling, though nerve-wracking waters of a first pregnancy. The baby is due around mid-December, and should provide quite the stocking stuffer. So while I haven't had much time to write, my sincerest hope is that my communications will again be more frequent, my heart rate and breathing will slow, and my beloved Minnesota Twins will start winning (they've already been beaten to the cellar by the Royals.) Hope, always hope. Our new home is lovely, for the chief reason that it's a home. Not an apartment, not a condo, not a yert, but an actual house, with a yard. It has some really interesting cosmetic touches, like a pedestal sink, and hardwood floors so shiny I can see my handsome self in them. Plus, we're renting it, so we're not responsible for the maintenance, unless I finally decide to install that do-it-yourself chandelier I've been considering. It's the first time I've been able to write my address without adding 'apt,' or '#', and it looks so short on envelopes. There's something boastful about having a place that's entirely my own, and not having to worry about playing my Lady Gaga records too loudy, for fear that an interested neighbor will knock on the door and demand entry into my totally awesome apartment dance-party.

It has come to your attention:

Cockroaches and Bic Pens will be the only things remaining after the apocalypse.

The asshole who coined the term ‘team-member’ should be afflicted with oral herpes. Being called a team-member doesn’t boost anyone’s morale when they’re working the graveyard shift for minimum wage at the mayonnaise bottling plant four miles off the bus line.

I’ll bet there are some language geeks who enjoy bondage as much for the opportunity to create inventive safe words as the gimp suits. What shall we select tonight, dear? We’ve already used palindromes during the candle wax phase…

There are to be no more niche musical genres. Something that’s championed by all of seven horribly isolated, horny music critics does not deserve a place in the verbiage. Sorry, but it’s a guy with a laptop adding echo effects to his coughing fit, it isn’t Dubstep.

The next time I’m required to surrender my pride to a drug test, I’m going to insist that the urologist not only hold my dick while I pee, but move it around in a circular motion to parts of the ‘Rent’ soundtrack.

If increasing portions of my paychecks go to the military, I want a say in what kinds of weapons they make. I wouldn’t even have to be on the panda bear-mounted laser canon design team, but I should at least get to vote on what kind of stealth helicopters they fly.

The first guy I talked to during orientation not only participates in Renaissance Festivals, but in his abundant free time does comedy improv and makes chainmail; yet another reason why I do not play the lottery.

Sudafed used to work really well for nasal congestion. Its replacement ingredient not only doesn’t work, but has been shown to actually cause stuffiness. Instead of making me visit the doctor with no health insurance to get a fucking prescription for a box of something that will allow me to breathe, put it back on the shelves, and keep track of anybody who twitches, has a P.O. Box and always asks if anyone watches the security tapes.

On Work.

Unemployment isn't only about income and financial liquidity. Studies have shown that the unemployed suffer depression, anxiety, detachment and disconnection, and significantly fewer stolen office supplies. As the New Year is underway, along with resolutions and renewed optimism, I am back at work, gainfully employed for the first time in a year. The longest, most arduously strenuous year of my life. If suffering builds character, my savings account must be bursting.

See, going on unemployment a year ago coincided with a number of changes that shifted the sands beneath my feet, and forced me to reconsider fundamental aspects of my life. I had been feeling burned-out about a year before I lost my job, and whereas before I was able to reach down and extract more energy and enthusiasms, this time I came up with nothing, which made it harder, if not impossible to exert the kind of work necessary to at least feign dedication to a job in which I no longer believed. Corporate overlords notice this kind of thing. It all goes down in my permanent record.

One of my best friends moved an hour away, while another was increasingly spending more time with his girlfriend, soon to be wife. The social dynamics of my apartment building changed, and many old friends moved away. Like it or lump it, co-workers are a surrogate family, so my job loss also meant friend loss. Coinciding all this with the most dreadfully isolating winters made me feel a sense of lonely despair at a time of scathing self-analysis, combined with a lack of energy for such endeavors made for some, uh, dark nights of the soul.

So it wasn't just the weather that made my Oregon trek necessary, but the physical relocation that would and has allowed me to make some sense of what happened. Plus, the Vikings, and Twins had terrible years. It was just time to go. I read nearly nothing but philosophy, burying myself in the Stoics and Existentialists, trying to re-purpose my worldview, and glean a sense of perspective to orient myself at a time when my tethers had snapped. I'm proud of the fact that I didn't go batshit lunatic, buy a rifle, join a cult, or donate to the Tea Party. One of the Stoics' central tenets is that things can always be worse.

I don't think there's enough attention paid to the mental and psychological ramifications of unemployment. A job is more than a paycheck, and I never realized that until my lack became a fixture. That it coincided with other changes in my life made it harder to understand and contextualize. It put a strain on everything, including my relationship with Sara, who, bless her beyond words, has been understanding and patient with me as I have made my way back to a semblance of routine, normalcy, and self. I get that change is life's only constant, and that actualizing it leads to growth. Please, though, no more of that for a while. Let's not only help the unemployed with job searches, but also with what it means to them to wear the stigma of not being a provider, and not having anywhere, or anything to do for days, months, and years at a time.

Fantastic, especially around the 2:50 mark.

And now: The year of our Lord, 2012!

Like my Uncle Mark, time is relative. While I generally agree that the perception of time accelerates as once taught appendages droop, 2011 seemed insufferably long. Events that happened merely months ago seem to have occurred in another bygone era, and my flashbacks from the earliest part of the year are in black and white.

Every fresh three-hundred sixty five day cycle brings transitions, and 2011 saw my Changes R' Me chain go public, lashing my emotions to a thrill-ride of bullish and bearish emotional ups and downs. Moving to another state, hundreds of miles Westward stands as the biggest development, as was the deepening of my relationship with Sara. Then there was the time I wound up under the Stillwater lift bridge, naked except for my sheath of poison oak, dancing around a fire and chanting Cheryl Crow lyrics.

Never before have I been so attuned to, and felt so influenced by world affairs; the Euro crisis, the Japanese tsunami, and the introduction of a new Muppet. Man, I miss Fozzie. While the political freak show continues its macabre theater nationally, my new Oregonian Congressman was hastily dispatched after rumors of alleged sexual misconduct, culminating in pictures of him wearing an orange, full-body tiger costume. Roar. Today, I gave money to Ron Paul's campaign, very neatly arranged for a donation of $20.12. I'm willing to fork over an additional twelve cents for such wit.

There were some great releases in music and movies that helped brighten the year. Thank you, Netflix, you've helped save my life. As if further marking the insularity I felt all year, most of the music I adored was tailored for headphones, best savored over hot tea, or cold whiskey. I keep hearing about 'memes,' and aside from the odiously perplexing 'planking' trend, I think this past year was one that saw us all moving beyond defining cultural events, and into the fractured, niche-driven existence of 'liking,' something, and moving on.

Comedian Bill Maher states in the preface to his new book his incredulity of how quickly things change now, and how it's hard to satirize the increasingly ephemeral. As in politics, my vote counts singularly in an increasing swell of gobbledygook. I sometimes feel like a lone swordsman brandishing my steel against a Mongolian Media Hoard. But, what choice do I have, except to remain steadfast in my own values and beliefs, to do my best to accommodate, love and respect others, and remember to change my socks more often?

It has been a year of stresses, but if the past is any guide, it teaches that time, events, and emotions are cyclical, and that twenty-twelve might usher in tranquility and peace. Not all stresses are negative, either, but too many of them cause people to do asinine things, like voting for the Tea Party, or buying ferrets. If not on a global scale, then at least at home. More than at any other time, we're all riding this thing together, and so I wish everyone reading this a positive and civil new year.

Music I've been creating...

For some reason, the phrase 'Canadian thing' got stuck in my head, and it turned into a great melody. These are songs I've written on Garageband, and I never fail to be amazed at what technology allows me to do with recorded sound. Some of the Mp3s take a few seconds before playing. Enjoy!



I call this one 'The Victorian Watchmaker' because I always think of a stooped old man with a huge handlebar mustache that siphons up his tomato soup.



This track, named Orange, was written at 4am when the piano chords sounded soothing, but sleep wasn't coming.



This sounds a lot like Yo La Tengo, which means I've done something right.



In my mind, I was in Ibiza, having a really strong Vodka Red Bull. Boom, boom, boom, boom!