The chill of a Queens wind welcomed me back to New York after my five day excursion to Puerto Rico. Nevertheless, all of my goals were accomplished for the trip: I took 146 pictures, got a little sun coloring (read: I’m slighty pinker than my usual pale), and had a nice time meeting all of the in-laws and extended familia.

Since I got back on Tuesday, I’ve been working my way through a bit of a vacation hangover. It’s basically a mental haze I get stuck in after any time I relax for too long. It’s cool though, I know everything will get back on track. Just a matter of time and pressure. That and a big damn poster of Rita Hayworth.

In case you were wondering about the title of this post, it’s a lyric from the Police song Synchronicity II (click here to hear sample). I threw this song on an iPod mix last night after hearing it on a radio station while driving in PR.

Anyway, this morning, as I was walking down Madison Avenue to work, I started thinking about some of the lyrics, of how forces are at work many miles away which could one day affect my life— Was the house I will eventually call Casa de Sahm just put on the market? Did the person who will get my next novel published start a literary agency today? Was the man who will eventually kill me in the future fired from his job this morning?

It’s psychotropic to think of at any depth (especially when you’re having a vacation hangover!). Ultimately though, we have to accept that we cannot control the majority of the forces outside of us. Just do what you have to do to fulfill your life’s purpose… and forget about the bullshit in the world that’s out of your hands.

I suppose that could be considered self-centered of me to say. But it beats the hell out of wondering what’s really crawling from the slime at the bottom of a dark Scottish lake. Cheers.

One positive thing I can say about getting older is that every year, new technology continues to amuse me. I say this right now, because I am blogging from within the JetBlue terminal at JFK Airport in Queens, New York. Usually when I’m waiting for a plane, I feel disconnected among the mass of strangers. Not this time.

No, this time I’m lucky enough to be sitting in a wireless hotspot with my laptop. Thus I’m able to broadcast (so to speak) out into the blogosphere. It’s strange in a classic sense, and yet very liberating from the usual boredom I feel while waiting. I guess it helps that my laptop has these capabilities. My previous one did not.

Of course, when the JetBlue wireless page loaded up, I have absolutely no idea what terms and conditions I agreed to. Since it was about 20 pages worth of legal jargon, I’m assuming it was just the standard spiel. But I joked that maybe it said that blogging from an airport terminal is illegal.

Maybe the catch is that I’m being monitored right now… that if I use a flagged word like bomb or terrorist, a pack of black clothed SWAT guys will rush out from a secret door, and escort me to their detention center where thick mustached men will shine a spotlight in my face and blow cigar smoke in my eyes. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. Hopefully it’s just a good imagination at work.

So I’m just a half hour away now from boarding. Then, it’s off to Puerto Rico where, unlike New York, it’s a comfortable 72 degrees (27 degrees warmer than JFK). In addition to chilling out and meeting all of the S-Rod familia, I hope to (A) get the pale gringo a mild tan, and (B) fill the Canon with at least 100 pictures. But since this is my first visit, I will be content that all have a good time, and arrive without incident. Peace.

It figures. When you want nothing more than a snow day from work, the worst snowstorm in New York City history happens on a Sunday. Then you spend a good portion of your free day digging out, and the rest of it aching.

The official reported snow amount for my town in Westchester (20 miles north of Manhattan) is that we got 24.5 inches. Some of the drifts were at least 30 inches though. For example, notice that 7 foot high pile of snow in the picture below of me digging yesterday? That’s my car.

While I realize this snow is nothing compared to places like Buffalo or Syracuse, that’s also one reason I live here and not there. Oh well. So here I sit, in my cubicle, with my lower back and ligament-impaired elbow aching, and swaying to the buzz of my fluroescent light. So it goes.

Luckily, the redemption is this: by this Friday morning, I’ll be in Puerto Rico on a mini vacation. Hopefully lounging at a beach area, sipping a frosty beverage and earning 20%. Heh heh.
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Click here for the uncropped hi-resolution version.

It’s been a difficult road back. But at long last, I’ve hung up my announcer’s mic and returned to the game zone… to stalk the running novel.

Yes, after a couple months of constructing an outline skeleton, I began the principal writing for my untitled second novel last night. It was exciting to finally get cracking after almost a three year layoff from original novel writing (not counting editing, revisions, blogs, or short stories).

I’ve read other writers talk about how there’s this mysterious quality about getting into a vast universe of characters and storyline, and I’d agree with it being a total natural high… especially if your characters aren’t 100% sane! Imagination is a fantastic drug, and damn if I didn’t miss this type of fix.

Behind it all, I’ve got a lot more enthusiasm and focus this go-round than I did with my first novel. Of course, that should be a given, as I’ve totally evolved from the bleary eyed lad who started The Art of Getting Bent way back in late 2000. However, I’m reasonably certain this one will take me a fraction of the time to write. There will be no laboring over this. Brothers learn from their mistakes.

Of course, the hard work has barely started, but it’s all good because I know I’m in the zone. Nothing but self-fulfilling prophecies lie ahead. Peace.

I was digging through some art files on my hard drive and discovered this one from about four years ago. It was a scan of a painting that was detailed enough that you can read the year on the paint covered penny.

As it turned out, I ended up trading that painting that year for a portable art desk and a cell phone. The kicker is that I never registered the cell phone before it became prehistoric, and I still have yet to use the art desk. But at least the painting is out wandering the real world… which beats the ones lounging in my studio and basement.

Ultimately, I wish I had a mini Lo-Jack on those old paintings I gifted, gave away or traded… like a “Where Are They Now?” episode for Mark’s Art. That has the potential to be quite amusing. Although I’m sure the ones I gave to a certain psychotic ex have met an untimely death in a Long Island incinerator. Alas, I’ll never know.

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Click here for the large hi-resolution version.