Perhaps the Funniest Book I've Ever Read

It's not easy to write humor. 

Sure, a lot of writers think their writing is funny, but usually it's not. True, written-word humor takes just the right touch. 

Dan Kennedy seems to have that touch. I've never laughed so hard while reading a book. Granted, it could be the subject matter — the modern-day music industry via a somewhat cynical, albeit temporary insider.  It could be his matter-of-fact facetiousness. I don't necessarily know. Whatever it is, it's funny. 

But in Rock On, Kennedy also has a way of giving that humor meaning, like when he talks about Iggy Pop trashing the VIP section of a concert — proof that real rock still exists somewhere — or how it's OK to be an irony-free band like Kiss. 

Kennedy also struck a nerve with me by capturing the true draw of music: the over-and-over listening, the visions that music paints, the way going to a show can make you feel like a high school kid on a Friday night, not wanting to miss a thing. 

That, and it's funny, funny too. 

Justice?

Not really. 

But the cops did manage to recover some of the goods that were stolen from me a few weeks ago while working in an office in the Pearl District. 

I actually got a call from the officer at 2 a.m. Tuesday morning. (He works the night shift and thought the number I'd provided was a business line. But still, 2 a.m.?) Anyway, he'd pulled over a car in northeast Portland with four familiar thieves in it, and among all the other stolen loot were my briefcase and business cards. No laptop, of course, nor the library book that I'm being charged $30 for, but so it goes. And apparently there's nothing that links any of the guys directly to my stuff or when it was stolen, so there's likely little more to come of it.

Amy asked me tonight if I might still harbor some vengeful feelings. Of course I do. I must admit though, there's also a part of me that knows that the guy who stole from me probably has a life a lot darker than any I've ever known. That doesn't tip the scales in any way, but it does make me stop and think . . . 

An Eye for an Eye

I knew right away when I'd returned to my desk after lunch recently that something was amiss. 

Where once sat my laptop, full of all of my words, my photos from the entire year, my music and contacts and documents and notes and so very much more, sat only empty space. Next to the void, another empty space once occupied by a briefcase that had contained little more than some papers, a few business cards, a pair of headphones, and a stash of mints. Oh, and a hefty check that I'd planned to deposit later that day. 

Gone. All of it simply not there.

While I'd been just upstairs at a company luncheon, some daring and desperate thief had strolled right into the office, swiped my goods and someone else's wallet, and disappeared into the gray of a December afternoon. We walked the nearby blocks in vain hope of finding some sign of the transgressor, dug into the surveillance camera that had unfortunately decided not to snap any photos that day, and even invited one of Portland's finest in to file a report. But we all knew, even the cop, that the odds were not in our favor. They never are in these circumstances. 

My greatest worry was not over the computer itself; that kind of material mass is always replaceable. But what of everything on there? My pictures of Madeline on her first backpack, her first real dip in Crystal Lake, a clamming trip on the coast on an unlikely sunny day last February? What of my work projects, the stories and notes and sources that help put bread on my table and in my pocket? How do you replace things of such an intangible but incredibly valuable nature? (I joked with one colleague that I would have gladly handed over the computer if the thief had just let me back up the hard drive first.)

Lucky for me, I had indeed backed up most of my information — through mid-November — on an external hard drive at home. But what if I hadn't? 

That's what boils my blood when I think about the people who steal. They must think only of their immediate reward and not the residual heartache and complication they leave in their wake. If they knew the mess they left for their victims, if they someday felt it themselves, then maybe, just maybe, they'd think twice before swiping that next laptop or smashing that next car window. 

I have a new computer already — I couldn't be without one — and while I'm still getting back to where I was, I am intact. It could have been worse. 

And while I am not a vengeful person, deep down inside I do harbor thoughts of payback. Like what if there was ever some way I could meet the perpetrator of this crime and find out just what it is that's important to him, what to him has meaning and value? And then what if I just happened to swipe it and make off without a trace, just so he could see what it feels like?

Deep down, I think I'd like that. 

Welcome

The Enchantment Lakes Basin of Washington's Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

Welcome to Reflections in Ink, a.k.a. the Ink Blog, my first stab at adding a blog to my writing repertoire. For more than eight years now, I have been writing for a living: for newspapers and magazines, web sites and newsletters, companies and clients, and, most of all, for myself. And for 20 years I have been writing in journals, penning hand-written notes to my closest friends and family, and writing songs and stories, some of which see the light, others which may never find their way in front of any other eyes but my own.

Now I'm adding a blog, and while this first step is exciting, I can't say that I know exactly what I hope it will achieve. I don't expect crowds, but certainly I'd love to attract more readers — and, secondarily, maybe even some prospective clients — to my words. It's something that I'm sure will evolve and grow on its own as it matures. I want it to be a place where I can put down the thoughts in my head that I want to share with other people; those thoughts that I'd love to be able to say out loud eloquently but, because I am a writer and not an orator, never can. To be honest, this will also serve as a place for me to publish the writing of mine that for one reason or another doesn't catch the attention of whatever publications I've pitched it to. It happens to all writers, but that doesn't mean the stories aren't deserving of a bigger stage. This will be mine.

And finally, I also envision the Ink Blog as a resource of sorts for anyone looking for thoughts on the written word, the great outdoors, music and literature and wine and travel and home improvement and Oregon, the Northwest, the Midwest, and life with a beautiful wife, a cherished daughter and a black lab unlike any other. And that — and this — is just the beginning . . .