Complacency makes for shitty blogging; Volatility and despair make for awesome blogging. Which is why I’m going to strip down naked and lie in the backyard until I get pneumonia or think of something rad to write about.
In other news, for those of you into Google Analytics, here is a screenshot of all the traffic Where’s Wetzler? has received since its inception:
Click for larger image
As you can see, the line starts off looking something like the plains of Eastern Montana before, thanks to The Stranger, spiking into a gorgeous peak which, if you squint just right, kind of resembles Mount Baker. It then drops dramatically into a fertile lowland not unlike that of the Skagit Valley, and if you look hard enough you can just make out a couple of tulip fields near La Connor. But do not despair, faithful reader: Shit is going to look like Nepal in a few months.
This I promise you.
-Wetzler
p.s. Instead of the whole naked thing (not to let you down), I’m actually going to sit back and relax, put on “For What it’s Worth” by Buffalo Springfield, and gaze at the snow falling on the hemlock outside my window. I strongly suggest you do the same.
This entry was written by , posted on December 18, 2008 at 2:11 pm, filed under Central America, Chipotle, Ravenna, Song of the Day, Uncategorized and tagged google analytics, la connor, mount baker, naked snow angel, skagit valley, the stranger, topography. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Sometimes when I get nervous or stressed I imagine I am having a conversation with Eckhart Tolle, the spiritual guide who wrote The Power of Now and A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose. I had a job interview yesterday. I was both nervous and stressed, so I decided to consult Tolle on the ferry. The following is an excerpt from our conversation:
“Eckhart, I’m nervous for a job interview I have today. I’ve tried some breathing exercises, but I can’t seem to concentrate. What should I do?”
“My son,” he says (he always calls me “his son”), “Tell me what it is that makes you so sure you are nervous. Maybe you are just becoming aware of your pain body?”
“I know I’m nervous because when I get really really nervous I have to go the bathroom,” I say. “And not number one.”
He chuckles and takes exactly 3.14 deep breaths. He exhales slowly and pretends to levitate, but I can see the back of his ass is touching the seat.
“My son, discharging excrement is one of the ways your body deals with the Ego. Your body does not want the Ego to inhabit it, so it tries to expel it. It is perfectly normal.”
“Well, I’ve shit four times this morning and it’s not even noon. Is that normal?”
“Four times?” he says, grinning. “Jesus. No,” he says, “That might have actually been the white-bean chili your mother made last night.”
He lets out a cackle. “Eckhart, please, can we be serious?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He pauses to think. “Why, exactly, are you nervous, Magweh?” (Magweh is the name he uses for me when we meditate. I think he got it off a packet of Tazo tea).
“I’m nervous because I want this interview to go well. I want this dude to realize I’m passionate about this stuff.”
“And why do you need his recognition?” he asks. “You know that you are passionate about this stuff. Why isn’t that enough? His recognition will never complete you; It will just serve to feed your Ego.”
“His recognition will serve to get me a fucking job, Eckhart! I’m twenty-five years-old and I live with my parents. The highlight of my day is watching Jeopardy! Do you know what it’s like to only feel alive from 7:30 to 8:00pm, week nights?”
“Hmm,” he says. “I like Jeopardy. That Alex Trebek has a tremendous aura, especially when he pronounces words in Russian.”
I swear he has the attention span of a three-year-old. I’m getting fed up with him but I keep talking.
“So anyway, it’s kind of hard not to get excited about recognition. I mean, it kind of makes you feel good when you’ve worked really hard at something and it finally pays off. Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t feel any sense well-being from all the compliments you received when you published…Eckhart? Eckhart?”
He’s not looking at me at all. His eyes have glazed over and he’s staring out the window.
“Eckhart!” I practically shout.
“Sorry,” he says, blinking and shaking his head as if waking up from a daydream, “I was just thinking about this piece of ass I picked up last weekend at Republic. You should’ve seen the pipes on this girl. She recognized me from the back cover of A New Earth and asked me if I could give her any dating advice so I did my thing where I get all sensitive and told her about how sometimes the easiest way to fight the Ego is by surrendering your body to another, more enlightened human. You should have seen us fly out of there. She had her panties off before I could even get her into the cab. Shit is ridiculous.”
Great, I think, I’m asking for advice and he’s telling me about some he girl he picked up at a club.
“Eckhart,” I say, “Can we please focus on me for one second?”
“Sure, man, sure, of course–sorry. OK. But I’m going to be completely honest with you: I don’t really see the problem here.”
“The problem is that I have a job interview in an hour and I’m nervous as shit!”
He pauses, then looks down and folds his hands in front of his face like he’s praying. He finally comes up for air and gestures out the window. “Look around you, my son,” he says, pointing. “Look at the way the whitecaps dance on the crests of the waves; The way the seagull glides in the wind.”
“And?”
“And because you are nervous about your job interview, you are missing the beauty that is all around you at this very moment, a moment that will never again exist in your life or for the rest of time. You are not present, my son.”
“I am present, Eckhart,” I say, “I am presently thinking that in one hour I might shit my pants in front of the editor of a major newspaper.”
He shakes his head. “Magweh, is that moment now? Will that moment ever happen? You have no way of knowing if it will or if it won’t. So why dwell on it?”
I sigh. “OK. I’ll try. But what if it does happen?”
“What? If you shit your pants? I’ll laugh my fucking ass off and have a sweet-ass story to tell the guys down at Namaste next time we’re at the Cactus Club chasing gash, that’s what’ll happen.”
He cracks up and rolls back into his seat, convulsing with laughter. He’s still laughing when I finally talk.
“Thanks for that, Eckhart. I can always count on you.”
He’s still cracking up. The guy’s been a nightmare ever since he started going out on Granville every night with his buddies from the publishing company to “chase gash.”
“By the way,” he says, suddenly getting dead serious, “Have you seen the new waitress there? She has dumps like what.”
Eckhart is not exactly up to date on the music/pop-culture scene. He constantly raves about how The Bare Naked Ladies are “the truth,” and few days ago asked me if I had heard “that new ‘thong’ song.”
“Arlight, Eckhart,” I say, “Once again you’ve basically been of no help to me whatsoever. I am going to go into this interview and I am going to be so nervous that I might actually shit my pants. And you will be there, not to guide me, but to laugh at me. Thank you for your help.”
“Don’t worry man,” he says, still laughing. “I’ll guide you towards the toilet paper.”
He cracks up again and I get up to get off the ferry. I look back and he’s still laughing but he has his hands together and he’s trying to wave goodbye with a “namaste.”
I hate Eckhart Tolle.ww
****
So, obviously I copped all this shit from fake Steve Jobs, but I would like to maybe one day have some regular blogs devoted to “Fake Eckhart Tolle.” We’ll see what happens.
-Wetzler
This entry was written by , posted on December 16, 2008 at 7:47 pm, filed under Uncategorized and tagged christopher frizzelle, eckhart tolle, fake steve jobs, job interview, the stranger. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
It is cold today, and I am worried about the old people. Old people do not do well in extreme weather. They like it one temperature and one temperature only, and that temperature is 76 degrees Fahrenheit. Anything lower and they reach for a sweater and ear muffs, anything higher and they lie sweating in their La-Z-Boys, waiting for death or the “heat wave” to pass or whichever comes first.
Today in Renton a senior citizen will attempt to walk her Scottish terrier and be found two days later huddled for warmth under the bough of a sumac tree. She will have survived by licking water off pine needles and gnawing on pieces of bark. The Scottish terrier will have eaten its own tail. Hey, it could happen. All I’m saying is: take care of your old people.
Yesterday was a monumental day for Where’s Wetzler?, thanks to Christopher Frizzelle at The Stranger, who put up a blog I wrote a few days ago about losing my mind in Capitol Hill. So far this has led to more traffic on Where’s Wetzler? and consequently more Seattleites wondering where the last ten minutes of their lives went. It has also led to me looking up the word “vicissitudes” in the dictionary.
Oh crap, my dad is about to go outside and he’s not even wearing a jacket. Be right back.
-Wetzler
This entry was written by , posted on December 15, 2008 at 1:05 pm, filed under Capitol Hill and tagged cold, renton, scottish terrier, seattle, senior citizens, sumac, the stranger, vicissitudes. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.