big empty house

this week i became the proud owner of a home theater. in one false swoop i said goodbye to the oversized stereo and undersized tv of the last millennium that had previously marked my ascension to early adulthood. i had really done well cramming them into whatever collegiate space i inhabited. microwave tops were media centers and all was well.

like clockwork, i graduated, got a job, got a larger apartment, and now own a big screen tv and microspeaker bose system and extended cable. in my own defense, he cable guy gave me more channels than i asked for, the tv is not that as big as most, and the speakers look a little older than the seller let on, so i can comfortably stay below the yuppy poverty line for a little bit longer. i still sit on borrowed furniture and my ceiling does leak water from the room above. i've got that landlord still balking on new paint. but it's that i have the time to worry about such things and that fixing and upgrading what i have has become one of my life goals, is where we should all be scared. this freedom from school forces us to find a new master. a slave to a new machine, no matter how rusty the machine is. why do we do this? gotta do something.

and because brokeback mountain is so much more in hi-def surround sound.

cold feet/warm socks

Yeah, that's better.

I've begun to understand the stereotypes against men. For years, I could stand on the outside and wonder what we as a people had done wrong to so many women. Why do we engender slumber party rants and chocolate chip cookie dough indulgence? Give us a break, I said.

Slowly growing into the roll has shown the inherent bastardness that manhood entails. It's something innate, though not as grandiose as Sarah Jessica Parker would have us believe. It's the subtly of our short comings that causes the problems. We're not out to cause trouble. We're the puppy dogs who ate the people food and threw up. That's right, men are dogs. Puppy dogs. So why not let us learn from our mistakes, get cat scratches in the face, and grow up to be those good middle aged dogs that want to sit by you on the couch and jump around only when encouraged.

I have reached phase two-medium sized dog in my Purina growth chart.

the city

new york city is exactly what i expected. only more. more people, buildings, food, people, dirt, clothes, streets, and people than i've ever seen. semi worldliness and architectural know-how did little to prevent me from emerging from the subway wide-eyed and camera happy. norman, frank, ludwig, frederick, and renzo were all there to lead the way, but it's the general cityness that really got me. that is architecture. it's not neat or necessarily high end. it's everything.

by day three i returned to stern faced urbanisto while quietly overloading on ambiance. silence is found on quiet snl sets, in back hallway hair bleachings, and amidst queens area housing projects. by the end, i'm in a half limp running-fall, down escalators across the city until the notepad sonnet of a transient pirate taught me the beauty of this great nation and its great cities. five strangers in five minutes said hello, exchanged stories of our destinations, realized none were from new york and were thus all transient, listened awkwardly, then intently to the pirates tale, then waved bye at terminal six while filtering back into the other transients.

now i'm home in san antonio to heal me blisters, sort my pictures, and make sense of it all.

san antonians on parade

I've found that my observations of San Antonio aren't that unique. In the grand encyclopedia of it all, I'd be lucky to write something unique about East Ashby Avenue without treading on a Trinity professor's tome regarding half way houses and the socio-economic implications of gentroficative relocation. This house is over a hundred years old, so the foundation was more than likely always askew, and some San Antonio College literature minor probably at some point was driven to write corollaries between subfloor stray cats and beating tell tale hearts.

I continue because the ice cream man is still spreading the good word of Tim Duncan over the wandering riffs of The Entertainer. Everyone needs a muse. Mine just happens to be selling Frito pies out of the back of his blue painted short bus to ex-cons across the street.

watched ice cube trays never freeze

I'd like to believe that the greatest times in our lives are not known until after they're over. you're not conscious of it, and if you're trying for the kodagraphic memory you'll probably be disappointed. the greatest thing on a grocery list is that tub of cookies and cream that never makes this list in the first place.

it's when you get in that routine of buying chocolate milk half gallon for half gallon of the plain white milk, that that chocolate doesn't taste so great. you know that flavor. that's not chocolate at all. it's some kind of chemically lactosey powder, more than likely, but that doesn't matter when you take that first sip after being three months sober. it's grand and naive and simple. at one point we grow up and buy that milk just to fill some sort of nostalgic craving, or worse to feel guilt and pleasure at the same time just for the sake of feeling something. i say let's appreciate ice cream and chocolate milk by the frosty bowl and glassful when you really want it, and it's easier to not take it for granted.

i think the same applies to entire sour straws packages, though there might be people who recognize the importance of every last grain of sugar.

everyone knows now that every night now will be marc's last night in town

i'm on the move again, and hopefully not again for quite a while. our american roots as wandering buffalo chasers will lead me to a mixed agricultural society reaping the crops of my mid twenties in the semi-arid architectural terrain of south texas. my last week has me eager to settle down and build a wigwam, maybe have a few papooses around, smoking the peace pipe of my later days. yeah it's hard to leave austin. it's apparently the town to be in now, but i'm jumping ship, or kayak as it were. it's in good hands, though one could argue austin is in a fast rising coke-induced thrill ride of an evening that will leave skeletons of skyscrapers and remnants of half finished murals as creased dog ears on the rambling memoir that is my college home. it was always an on again off again address, as it may continue to be. that's such a town that will always welcome you back because my grand total of under five years has me considered an old local to the new comers. i recommend the ducks tours, yet i can't say from first hand experience. there's a lot left to do.

Day 5-6: The Desert Spirit Journey is Complete

The stretch of continent between the eastern end of the Grand Canyon and the north central side of Austin is marked by nothing. Miles and miles of sand, some rocks, and shrubs. And of course it's here that we learn the true meaning behind the trip.

My dad and I are both the same person and very different at the same time. Stubborn, easy going, anxious, thorough, sensitive, stoic, adventurous, and cautious simultaneously in different directions so that we've learned to just be silent to let the other one take this one when differences may arise. We know that before long, we'll be in that moment of perfect agreement and nothing else will matter. At one point it took an old Hopi wise man to show us the way. Even though, he looked to be in mid thirties and was born in Riverside, California, his informal tour of the old village he lived in now interested us both greatly. History and architecture, Yes! The oldest existing continually inhabited settlement in America, to be exact, and now just a collection of crumbling stone huts with old residents not far removed from the original inhabitants. No pictures or brochures, and barely a stop, but amazing.

One of the few other stops took us to Loving, New Mexico, again in the middle of the desert. My grandmother, my dad's-mother-in-law, was married here at this church back around the late-nineties to her high school sweetheart, Sonny. It was an amazing happy time in her life, and in a time when I was just beginning to get to know her better. Anyway, within the next few years Sonny died and Nanny passed away in 2002. We never had much time to learn that much about him and technically I would have family around Loving, but all we knew to look for was a small Catholic church on the edge of the town. We found it, stopped, took a picture, and went on our way back to Texas.

Day 3-4: The Grand Canyon

We woke up Sunday morning stuck with the sun rising to reveal the mountains and trees of north central Arizona. Oh and our prositute neighbor at the shanty motel seems to have broken a window and poored alcohol on the Honda. Any fears of Black Canyon City were quickly dispelled/transferred upon our service station meeting with Merle and Gene and Hoss, two old prospectors and a dog that hung around decked out in six shooters and belt bandoliers. My dad of course asked them to take a picture with his unknowing son and thus we have the first appearance of me on the blog. It's worth it.

The rest of day was spent realizing that we could see the canyon by sundown. Doing so required my dad leadfooting it past most of the towns I was told to see, but when he's making time, there's nothing you can do. To be fair, we did stop by another architecture commune, known as Arcosanti, but our pre-tourtime visit made the stop quick.

If you've never seen it and have not had someone tell you before, the Grand Canyon is big. And it's hard to express in pictures the idea of a basically flat area in the middle of the woods opening up to a mile deep. We spent a majority of our time in the park staring at the infinite abyss from above, but tried the hike Monday to find a thousand more photogenic places and thousand more reasons why we should be in better shape. Ultimately, the 3 mile trail got us below most of the campers, so we trudged back up to complete the seven hour walk. I'm not saying I couldn't have done it faster without my dad, but I might have really hurt the next day if I'd run while carrying a mule as I'd originally planned.

The thing about the grand canyon that you get there through isolated roads and out of cell phone range, only to arrive in campgrounds filled with an outdoorsy league of nations. Frenchies, Swedes, Germans and other types of rich North Europeans. And Darien too right as we were leaving the park, with my amazing abilty to run into classmates on family vacations. He too was on a desert spirit journey before starting work, so I wished him luck and away we went.

Day 1-2: West by Southwest

The hard core shortened summer of Austin '06 is quickly coming to close so my dad and I once again jumped in the Accord and hit the ground driving. Without a specific plan or a map from the last 15 years it took nearly two hours to even enter the hill country. However, into the 80 mph speed havens of west Texas, the Grand Canyon became a goal, grail, and brass ring of our desert spirit journey. In the race against time and raising gas prices, we arrived somewhere on the other side of Phoenix by day two. Places to note: The Tucson area Furr's Family Dining and their undercooked fried chicken and underrated overhead speaker version of Sting's Desert Rose. And then there's Taliesin West, the winter home and hemiannual campus of the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture. It was my first Wright building to see, and I can say it's all true. He was a short Welshman, he invented everything, and damnit he was an amazing architect. Here I'll thank Benjamin Lloyd Lynn for his own adventures that partly inspired my desire for dry heat.

all that glitters is not fools gold

i'm returning to san antonio for all of the reasons i always knew i'd return for. and in spite of all the reasons i told myself no. after a series of minirevalations leading me towards a multitude of paths, i simply realized we're young and there's a million things left to happen. we can't microplan every step we take in pursuit of perfection. it doesn't exist. when you realize that, my friend, it all becomes a lot easier. we're got a chance, as the children of the boom, to do great things before time runs up. after that, who knows? nobody. so strap on your sandals and fire up the tortilla machine, i'm coming home.

but not before i head west for a bit.

it's time for something biblical

that's enough. i've been delaying the decision of what-do-i-want-to-do-with-my-life for a bit too long and holding out for any longer is not helping anyone. for the past few months i've called on the loyal council of friends and family hoping to defer the responsibility, but i imagine they're ready to update their rolodexes with ink for a change. i envisioned every possible career path until i realized that i can't do that. every single great thing over the last couple of years came through some combination of short sighted opportunism and blind optimism.

so the time has come for me to make a phone call, but not right now. because it's 1am. there's time to sleep on it and room for some other sort of revelation. the problem is i've already decided.

a link to the past

i just got off the phone with nini and jayjay, the old couple who babysat me and a few generations of kids. with graduation, an announcement was sent out that preceded a cross-state forwarding marathon of congratulations and thank you cards that finally ended today. "At this special time in your life may your dreams guide you to a wonderful future filled with success and happiness." The card itself seems as old as me, out of a stock drawer of theirs, that depicts flowers, a diploma, and a globe clearly showing the great stretch of the mighty USSR. most of my earliest memories were from staying with them for the better part of my four year old days. sleeping mats. canned spinach. getting my tooth knocked out in the great wheel barrow massacre of '87. the pattern on their white ceiling fan in the white room in the back of their house that i laid under after a firm spanking. considering how many toddlers they'd had under that roof, they still recall stories of me watching chilly willy and questioning the concept of perspective.

right before that i held a conversation with my newly seven year old nephew about his birthday gamecube. i at 23 have equally been enjoying the vices of video game immersion lately along with the near sighted problem solving of saving zelda for the fifteenth time. of course, the light arrows! i clearly remember my sister telling me how she'd beaten the nes original when i was away. i couldn't ever master that maze, but i guess i've showed her.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

la vida simple

at the same fateful intersection of last tuesday's traffic violation, i found myself welcomely exhausted. a late night deadline, early morning soccer defeat, back to back interviews, and a barage of public transportation and walkable citying had left me stranded there staring at a cross signal with one eye and the lowering sun on the other.

i like this setup of a drafting board, lamp light, and playlist shuffle taking me into the wee hours, forcing the hand to actually design something that will actually be built. weak signaled univision play-by-play adds just enough spice to keep from the cabin fever symptoms of last week. not to say starting an official job will end the honeymoon, but let us not forget bigg's prophecy of mo' money mo' problems.

and i spilled a bunch of milk

if anyone wants tips on simultaneously breaking your car's window while defending your illegal right turn in front of the motorcycle cop you just cut off, i'm giving lectures all this week. though despite the best efforts of both myself and mother nature, i came out of the day mostly unscathed and slightly more employed than the day before. yet i'm not making it easy.

just want to be a better man

right before the point of self flagellation became an entertaining alternative, things have gotten interesting again. pouring out my heart, soul, and resume to the electronic world has reaped a couple of job opportunities that see marc fulfilling two destinies. i can do contract work for an engineer out of my apartment at a low hourly rate which involves trudging through flee infested ram shackles and shortchanging father's day weekends. OR, i can sit in air conditioned comfort, getting my registration credits, whilst earning a great salary with good security and great BENEFITS.

and he seems to have chosen the former. why? well actually i always forget which is former and which is latter, but i can say the design/build engineering gig seems to be a bit more of a risk and thus a challenge to myself. i still feel the need to prove things to the world before i get free health insurance. and i wonder if health insurance covers the soul.

and i feel fine

We seem to have made it through the demonic day of hell spawn unscathed. Lava and lightening filled tornadoes wouldn’t sound that complicated though when compared to the act of God called adulthood. For some reason having placed yourself in a quality position doesn’t make the decision making any easier. I recall an English IV AP paper I wrote that compared the comparative happiness of the educated versus uneducated based upon Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Sadly I don’t remember my conclusion and I got a virus here freshman year that wiped out my hard drive.

Now I sit here a graduate, clinging on to rentable laptops and free wifi on the south mall at midnight checking to see if anyone wants to offer me a job. I have achieved the slacker stereotype.

So in the meanwhile why not have that Austin summer you always dreamt of. Swim, run, and fetch to your heart’s desire. Stroll around the capitol at night and look at fountains. Build a sand“castle” and get a sunburn before the clock runs out. These are the days of our lives.

don't want to be a richer man

a "crossroads" of sorts has come up. within one week i've graduated, found out that the firm i thought i was starting was gone, will be moving out of my house, and more. again everything "intersects" all at once. i wish i had a "sign" to "guide" the "way."

so here's a farewell to the mercat palace and to blackland architects. here's to moving into beehives and moving on to more secure jobs. i hear the sirens calling. a mercat is half cat/half fish.

dear nina,

thank you. it's been kind of a rush of everything over the past five months and i feel like i haven't given credit to you enough. amidst the moves, weddings, papers, projects, graduation, and jack rabbit navigation you've been right there or at least a long winded phone call away. i'm proud of where you've put yourself and can't wait to be your loyal cheerleader in the coming months.

thanks to everyone else for the past five years, though i don't think we're entering some kind of bookend. or maybe it's one of the intermediate bookends that holds the middle of a volume of encyclopedias. they're usually not fancy or gilded, but they serve the same function of holding stuff up. yeah, that's what y'all've done, supporting volumes H-K while definitely touching on the hearty LMNOP of our next stage. and now i'm mixing my metaphors. hey, who wants to go swimming?

how i wonder what you are. -marc

the final review

i'm a few days removed from the big presentation, but i'm not exactly sure how long. outside of school and finals, all i have to schedule by are major holidays and graduations. and i can't even seem to pull that one off. the point is that i'm done with this semester and all school indefinitely.

in celebration, i will allow myself to stretch. no papers or exams or design focus forums to cramp my spine. just me going about the months, setting my own schedules, and being responsible to myself and that which i really care about. i'm laying down, standing up, or doing whatever possible to avoid what this wicked wooden chair has done to my vertebrae over the past year. the world is a big place, but even more than that it's infinitely large when you look closer. so we'll start there, sitting in the middle of a field. outstretched. rolling around in the freakin grass.

roll on.

texan rain storm

to say i'm writing by candlelight wouldn't be not true, but the warmth of a seventeen inch monitor seems to lessen the effect. nonetheless, a huge storm rolled in tonight and knocked out power for a few good hours. so in the midst of tomorrow being my last day of school ever and me spending these past couple nights entrenched in my new job, it was nice for austin to just shut down for a while and chat with kate amidst candles. everyone's plans seem to be falling into place, despite the fact that no one knows what the hell we're doing.

get your children out of the muddy muddy. children of the lord.