SpaceX has made history. Its privately developed rocket has made it into space.

“I don’t know what to say… because my mind is just blown,” said Musk, during a brief address to his staff after the successful launch. “This is just the first step of many.”

so this is what it looks like to leave earth…

source

this is just insane…

Portland police arrested a 21-year-old man suspected of chasing down a cyclist Sunday and driving off at a high rate of speed — with the cyclist hanging onto the hood.

James F. Millican was arrested on attempted second-degree assault, driving under the influence of intoxicants, third-degree criminal mischief and reckless driving.

According to a police account, the incident began when the cyclist, Jason Scott Rehnberg, 37, yelled at Millican to slow down as they were traveling near Southeast 58th Avenue and Washington Street, police said. Rehnberg told police that “his remarks may have included profanity,” according to a news release.

Millican, angered by the cyclist’s remarks, started to chase Rehnberg in his car, police said. Rehnberg biked into the neighborhood to avoid him. After waiting, he returned to Southeast 58th Avenue, police said.

Millican saw the cyclist and allegedly backed his car up to hit Rehnberg, who jumped off the bike just before it was struck by the car, police said.

Rehnberg and two other witnesses tried to block the car, saying they wanted to get the license plate. Millican allegedly drove at the three and struck Rehnberg, who was thrown onto the hood. Rehnberg held onto the windshield wipers as the car traveled at a high rate of speed and took a turn.

The rest of the story, and video, is located here. Pretty crazy.

My lamp flickered and I thought: hmm. Maybe my light bulb needs replaced? Finished this thought, and boom–all power goes out. Grabbed my phone, called Katie, hung out on the porch. Thank goodness for a bright moon. I watched the spots of flashlights swing wildly around in the neighbor’s house, bouncing off the closed curtains. Others came out with candles and speculation. Our block in darkness, but not completely–the West Penn parking garage across the street stayed illuminated.

Took my contacts out by candlelight and set three different alarms on my cell phone, since the clocks were out. Then, witnessed a robbery bust from my bedroom window. At first I thought the aggressive voices were just people in the alley, but the shouts belonged to cops demanding hands where they could see them.

What a strange, strange night. Right before the power went POOF I was feeling pretty overwhelmed emotionally. I was sitting on my bed writing about it. Then circumstance brought me back to the basics, no light/no power, watching candles shake in the breeze on porches, lighting my own. Squinting at the moon. You tend to forget how little it takes, to change everything.

Man, it’s been a while since I’ve cried. My last good session happened in April, while visiting home and feeling all that pressure for not yet being a parent/married/”settled.” I do believe that is the last time I’ve let go of some much needed crocodile tears. 

I’m sitting here at work, tearing up at my desk, which is always uncomfortable for obvious reasons. Not crying, just getting choked up. The lump. It’s a pile up, not just one thing. First the news story about an HIV+ man getting sentenced 35 years for spitting on a cop(are people STILL this uneducated about the subject? Seemingly so)…the idea of this just breaks my heart. This plus the weather—warm/cool with lots and lots of rain. I need a little sunshine, for sure. News plus the weather plus my ipod—the shuffle function seems to be currently stuck on melancholy, no matter how many songs I skip through. It’s all adding up to the fact that I need to release some shit. But now, at work, is not the time. Maybe post-five I will steal a moment to face plant into the pillow at home and just let it out. 

 And this bio writing, still struggling. I think I need to clarify the anticipated length, and I KNOW that relaxing about the entire task would help me tremendous. I’m never sure what to say about myself, besides the abstract and backwards. It all seems to matter, the details, the past collaborations and events and adventures. All of it adds up to a little bit of now. As does my mother’s absence and my father’s presence and the fact that I’ve been writing since I learned how to make a fist around the crayon. I started scribbling notes—I’m sure I will pull through it just fine. But oh the getting there

 Tonight I’m going to see Christina Springer do a poetry feature, gonna hop on the open mic and bring some flyers and push the show. I’ve been invited to read for some 8^th graders on the Friday after the book release and since I have the day off, I’ve graciously accepted. I’m going to go nose to the grindstone for the next few weeks to prepare—I’m really excited. I love any opportunity to interact with the younger folk, especially on the grounds of writing/poetry/creativity. I’m trying to remember what it was like—being in 8^th grade. I kind of remember. Kind of is the best I can do currently. We had the skating rink, the impending switch to the high school, the soccer games(the year I had a hairline fracture in my foot and had to wear a funny little boot for 4 weeks, plus crutches that ached my armpits and turned me to a crawl in the hallway between classes).  So see I remember some things. But what fears did I have? Not sure. Still painfully shy, still wrestling my hair, trying to lion tame it into something “normal.” I remember some urgency, the loneliness. The too-old-for-me boyfriend who wedged tobacco between teeth and lip and drove a Beretta. Oh sheesh now I’m remembering.

A fire by my house around 7:30pm. Leah pointed it out to me–I guess I tune out sirens a lot more now, because I didn’t notice the blast of fire trucks arriving. I live across the street from the hospital, so my immunity to those sounds must be building. Anyway, a fire. All of the front doors on all of the houses on my street popped open, one after the other. Little heads peeking out, faces. The woman in the house to my left said, “I knew my water pressure was low!” and then she took off down the street to the scene of the blaze, kind of half-running, half-walking. Very late for a very important date, apparently. Later Nick would mention the parents coming to watch the fire, who brought their children to see it as well. I guess everyone loves a good fire. I just couldn’t bring myself to be that interested.

In other news, the book the book the book. Shifting some pieces, making it work. Reading reading reading as if for the first time again. Getting ready to push them out of the nest. I think a release show would be nice, when the time comes. Although I must admit the idea makes me feel a little awkward, like I want to look down at shuffling feet kind of kicking at rocks like aw shucks. I like the idea of sharing the words that way, finding some writers to read at said event, etc. That will be a fun process. And! Maybe there will be tacos. Okay now I’m excited.

I danced all weekend. My knees are bruised, and the body is sore. Of course, even the best nights are not without their personalized strangeness–Saturday night an Edgar Winter man reached for the doorhandle to come in and last night witnessed a brief scuffle. Plus thai food and coffee and rum and shot glasses on strings. Oh and overly honest new mothers leaning over our game of pool at Remedy. Plus live music, new sheets and a block of knives.

Sick again. Back to the doctor tomorrow.

• Woke up at 5:45am with the radio/alarm and totally thought it was Saturday, and that I was on the beach(courtesy my HomEdics machine). Needless to say I was quite unimpressed to come to terms with it being Tuesday and I was not on said beach but rather in a too-small bed with a cat on my head and swollen eyelids.
• Rode in today. At a stoplight on Penn a little kid gave me two thumbs up. Then his mother yelled at him.
• It’s almost 70 degrees and it’s January.
• My coworker has switched from smoking cigarettes to stogies only. I am not kidding. He’s very “this is a logical step in the right direction for me.” I don’t really get it, but whatever. His 15 minute smoke breaks are now 25 minute cigar puffings. Congrats, It’s an Idiot!
• The Croatian candy bar on my desk that is “Punch” flavored.
• Accompanied by a mini gummi hot dog. The mghd is frightening enough–more creepy is not knowing how this appeared on my desk. What cubicle gnome is sprinkling the creepy sweets?

Well, my niece Maddie has been tossing cookies left and right for about a day now. My goodness–even observing is exhausting. Seeing a baby get sick just breaks my heart, but my sister and her husband are simply amazing, attentive parents. They have a tag-team thing going when it comes to clean up and cuddling that no American Gladiator could contend with.

Things are winding down here for the evening–a few friends are over and a movie is on, but the movie is just too mainstream and corny for my tastes. Or maybe I’m just missing the attention span necessary for optimal viewing. I myself am recovering from Thanksgiving dinner–of course I had to have a bit of turkey, and of course I ended up getting quite sick myself(I’m a vegetarian, so yeah I took a risk on that one. Stop making turkey good and I’ll proceed with more caution, maybe).

Before I dive headfirst into some muchneeded writing, I thought I would share the following:

The Bra Stash

Satin Bra Stash allows you to carry credit cards, currency, room keys, or valuables in your bra. It is a satin, washable pouch with snap closure, with two straps that snap around the base of each bra strap. Very lightweight and comfortable, it is even hidden when wearing a tank top.
3.5in X 4.5in

Survival kit-in-a-can

Contains 38 items which can provide warmth, shelter and energy in life threatening situaions from the desert to the arctic. Compact, lightweight, and watertight. Items include waterproof matches, boulion soup packet, bandages, compass and more!
4.25″ x 3″ x 7/8″

from flight 001

The What the F or, what they call, the Lillebaby Euro Tote:

Who the hell carries their kid like an under the arm hot dog?

Camera From Paris

Disposable camera that contains 27 undeveloped souvenir shots of Paris photographed by up-and-coming artists (every camera is different.
(from up to you toronto )

From Law & Order to the presidential race of ‘08, here comes Fred Thompson.  In the new Rolling Stone, there is a fantastic article that pretty much rips him to shreds.  He wants to be president. He’s been quoted as saying the following in regards to playing one on tv and being one in reality: “neither one of ‘em are hard.”

Anyway, read the article.

I just want to say that I think having an actor as president is horrific in a fantastic way.  Reagan did it. Life in Hollywood, how the famous are treated and perceived, is quite different from Ronnie’s days though.  I think a lot of Americans feel “relieved” to see a familiar face in office. If you watch Law & Order in a dedicated, consistent manner, then Fred Thompson is in your living room at least once a week.  Like an old friend, eh? 

Personally, I think it’s a damn joke that he’s running.  It was so last minute that I wonder if he felt peer pressured to do so because of the hype, or his actor street cred, whatever you want to call it.  But how poetic is it–Hollywood in the big house.  People eat that stuff up.  We live in a time where Britney Spears’ hair clippings and half-empty Red Bull can are sold on e-bay.  We know the name of her kids and the status of her downfall better than we know our neighbors, or that person we see on the bus 5 mornings a week.  Pop culture is small talk. 

 As Americans, the media has shown us more socialite vagina than war casualty facts.  We text instead of shake hands.  Everything is too personal, but estranged. 

 I see a common thread between Tinseltown and the White House though–drama/scandal pave the roads to both.  Hell, some politicians deserve their own star on the Walk of Fame at this rate–lying with a poker face and feigning regret when caught. 

I could go on, but that’s all I have time for.