Sacrifice

I was listening to The Roots' song "Sacrifice" a few times this weekend. During that weekend, I had my niece reduce 90 of my CDs into a slim jacket - discarding the back cover and jewel cases. Now, Elvis Costello's My Aim is True will be an album that I will actually have to SHOW people I own, not have it on display for any potential mates to spot.

I'm donating my king-sized bed to the Salvation Army tomorrow along with a table and chair set. All of this is for the new arrival. I'm not in Oregon becoming a journalist, but things do appear to be falling in place here in Omaha. I just got promoted at my job after less than 90 days on the job - along with a seven percent raise.

Still, the most important thing to me right now is to reduce the shit I have now - that occupies a barren two-bedroom apartment - to fit into a single apartment. Then reduce some more to make room for a weimaraner.

Sheryl Crow once wrote a song about the cathartic ritual of throwing away shit from an ex-boyfriend ("It Don't Hurt"). While I haven't had a boyfriend (or girlfriend) to shed stuff from, it's been a release. Something about reducing everything that's you to a car load or three. But I'm still an obsessive gatherer of books and CDs. 20 boxes. Probably seven goes for books. Eight for CDs. Two for kitchen. Two for glasses. And one big one for 'the rest.'

I keep thinking of the bed. Mainly the dog peeing on the bed out of confusion or spite.

Last Two Weeks of Freedom

Before I go off, you should really check out this video profile of Keith Olbermann's smack down of Fox News -

http://www.salon.com/ent/video_dog/media/2006/01/31/olbermann/index.html

Love Salon.com ...

Also, check out the new cover of Rolling Stone, where the main story argues if Bush is our worst president...EVER.

Two weeks before I inherit a weimaraner. I've done a few things to prepare - like get an oil change (since I'm pretty sure I will need to run home for lunch to let the dog out), use up my remaining funds for last-minute CDs before my cash goes to vets and food (James Brown - Live at the Apollo II, GZA's Liquid Swords).

I have to admit, I'm having a few reservations. Especially this week, when I spotted a lost irish setter on my way to work. She was darting around in a large field, digging up whatever she could. After I called the owner, I played with her a bit and watched her dig up some more stuff and all I could think of was "THIS is what I'm getting in to."

I GOOGLED 'weimaraners' and 'apartments' - and most of the stuff that came up said stuff like "weimaraners are NOT apartment dogs." First off...I know what I'm getting myself into (sort of). I know weimaraners require constant care, exercise and obediance training.

I know this is a bit of a stretch, but I sort of parallel my situation with gay marriage. Yes, it's ideal to raise a kid with a woman and a man. It's also ideal to raise a kid in a home, with a stay-at-home parent and a breadwinner that brings in say...about 120 grand, ensuring a college fund. But as you all know, the majority of kids make it without these necessities. Kids thrive while living in apartment flats being raised by a single parent. Kids thrive living with gay parents. Kids thrive in households that take home practially nothing in wages.

My apartment is about to get a lot smaller. I'm hoping that I can compensate for lack of a large back yard.

An open letter to Omaha

So - I signed a lease. I'm sticking with this job since I've only been there for about two months. I'm getting a puppy, which will definitely be a life-altering choice. So... here's my open letter to the city I will be inhabiting for the next 365 days:

Dear Omaha:

I don't like you. And I'm pretty sure you don't like me. I wanted a job as a reporter in Oregon, but I am almost certain that at the age of 31 - I'm sick of the poverty thing. I want to write, but right now, I'm strapped. I'm tapped. The new job is pretty much taking all the creativity out of me.

I need experiences to thrive. And a puppy will definitely be an experience-producer. And so, Omaha - I will try my damnest to seek out other stuff to get my writing game back on. I know you have writing groups. I know there are poetry slams (nationals even). Sokol brings in cool acts (see Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Neko Case, Ghostface Killah).

Tucson or Albuquerque will have to wait. I have a puppy to raise. There are tons of worse places to live than Omaha. It wasn't an easy choice. But in the words of Courtney Love - "I'll made my bed, I'll lie in it."

The gnaw

"Put on your shoes, girl - I'm going to the coast. Where every loser gives up what hurts the most" - Aimee Mann


I'm not too sure if this is the correct verbage of the song. I'm too tired to verify it via a Google search that will flood my laptop with a ton of pop-ups. Anyway - my apartment is lonely right now. My roommate headed out east for a job. His ass-groove is still in the couch, but the door to his room is wide open, displaying a huge room with drab, cream carpeting. I looked at buying a dog and staying here, but I kept feeling 'the gnaw.'

The gnaw seems to be affecting a lot of people here in Omaha. I talked with this one girl who works at a record shop. She's considering moving to San Diego. She thinks it's 'ok' here. But she would feel more at home in San Diego - at least, that's what she believes.

Me, I've been debating this for ages. Too long, actually. And there's a reporting position open that I will apply for as of tomorrow. Even though it goes against my character to up and leave a job that I only started six weeks ago. I know the risks - I saw Network. I realize that journalism is a ferocious beast that chews you up because it's a business that grooms thousands of hungry writers a year to happily accept jobs that pay Wal-Mart-type salaries. But it's cool because nothing beats the camraderie of a newsroom. And you can live off of books, cheap vodka, coffee and free appetizers at bars.

I realize it may cost me a house. A car. A student loan.

But for the first time in ages, this just feels like the next natural progression of my life.

Oh yeah, I gotta get the job first.