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Lost and Found!
Dave: Last seen 1/03/98
What the hell is Dave doing now! This page tells
you. Much to my family's dismay, I'm often on the road or in a foreign country.
Friends wonder if I'm still breathing. These couple pages should settle some
nerves.
The decline of the Red Car: They let me drive!
I never liked writing essays about summer vacation or my favorite things. They were often too forced. Instead, I tried to capture elements, glimpses of things that have either ripped up my heart or caressed it.
At 18, I knew every which
nuance of our creator, how he formed the world, who's his favorite baseball
team, and even his favorite savior. 20 years later, I don't have a clue. She's a
mistress and a mystery, truth and deceit. But after all the things I've seen,
the burned baby in a garbage bin, the wet sunsets of Costa Rica, I love her
more-- inexplicable, as she saturates me with love.
They keep me coming back to the United States, just the excitement of Thanksgiving and Christmas, New Year's on Colorado Blvd, with cheese chili for the morning hangover. Mostly, they allow me a place to belong, that's all we really want anyway.
I love it. I've drunken it pink, purple, blue,
but mostly shades of yellow or red. Irish whiskey seems to be the kicker right
now or if sneaking into a soccer game, a half pint of 50% blue label smirnoff
vodka (a quick, inexpensive hit when screaming) I used to play with the full
pint until it landed me on the jailhouse floor one January night. Import beers
are also tasty, I loved Estrella when I lived in Barcelona, tolerated Pilsen in
Costa Rica, and drank Bud until it lost its kick, and domestically, I've settled
on Coors. Then there's the mindlicker of imports, Stella Artois.
