First comes espresso.

283 days stand between riding into the heart of Center City Philadelphia on a blacked out fixie (God Bless the SE Draft - $250 out the door!) to and fro from another standing-still period of office work and chasing the next gig: Commercial salmon fishing in Bristol Bay, Alaska.

Again. (There aren't many places I bother returning.)

Bristol Bay is neither the alpha nor the omega. It is not an end or a means. It is a window. Though I have ventured north once before, for a brief 6 week respite in June-July of 2006, I had only scratched the surface of possibility before the season was up. I worked as a deckhand (being the smallest on the boat- the deck monkey- constantly hopping in and out of holds and engine compartments) with no intention of return, but left knowing that my future career decisions would hinge on finding a job that provided at least the freedom to return for six weeks every summer. The place is the last fringe parcel of America way out on the edge of the world left utterly to it's own devices. It's the Wild West and Cannery Row meets The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Commercial Fishermen in Alaska, at least those that I had an opportunity to hang out with, are one third urban bike messenger, one third gypsy, and the last third cowboy. They are independent, give-a-shit characters with great stories, much empathy and volumes of world experience. Their muses are varied, their travels unchronicled, and the sheer volume of creativity and exuberance burn brighter than any of the sky-shattering 3 a.m. sunsets I had a chance to witness out there in the Bering Sea.

One wave sets thousands in motion. And so it is that I have to get back there to better understand how to harness my own muse... to lay the first brick into crafting a life outside the conventional halogen cubicle 9 to 5. I need to peer into the window and see my own vision. Chris McCandless said, "I think careers are a 20th century invention."

The man was on to something.

But enough of this hagiography.

Much has transpired in the last four seasons and it creates an illusion of light years having come and gone since.

Between now and then is an unknown- a beginning- that this space will chronicle. Within the limits of the law and physics, I'm going to try to slam as much into this chasm of time as my bones and bank account will allow. Chasing down the taggers throwing up great new pieces on the northwest tracks (or at least photographing their work), trying not to be hit by SEPTA busses in Center City, getting out to see the local art scene with events like First Friday in Old City, rocking away with the Dropkick Murphys and Flogging Molly on the pier next week, learning how to gas and arc weld, creating new and different canvases/ interactive & found art pieces, and reading as many books as this downtime will allow. Other anecdotes will probably include landing my first real "piece" (a semi professional camera and lens, probably Nikon), getting my first (and maybe second, third?) tattoo, and the myriad adventures of eating cleanly, exploring voluntary simplicity, and making a workout out of everything. BBQ, bearing the responsibility as a new local to find the definitive best Cheesesteak (not a part of 'eating cleanly', but an infrequent undertaking), NaNoWriMo, the Gibson L-00, Robert Johnson, Led Belly, Nina Simone, BJJ, Parkour, CrossFit, Ultramarathons, Fixie Bike Races, al logha al-aribee, Hunter S. Thompson, Joseph Conrad, Ayn Rand, Howard Zinn, Epictetus, Voltaire, Salinger, Kerouac, Bill Bryson, Jack London and even Edward Said will probably get mentions. Stay tuned for more desultriness and incongruency.

...
Must prepare for aforementioned bike ride to work. First comes espresso.

Mumkin andee double macchiato min fadlik?