BRAZILIAN LIBRARIES.

Little piece I did a few years ago for fun. A community library in Brazil contacted me recently about using it as a poster for their facility and...sent it off today! Having conquered dozens of other continents with my arts weaponry, it felt good to know that South America has finally noticed me.

Hoping for an offer from Brazil's Ministry of Tourism to cover the Summer Olympics. I art very fast. Fingers crossed.

AND GO TO THE LIBRARIES THIS SUMMER; ESPECIALLY THE FORT VANCOUVER ONES, ESPECIALLY WASHOUGAL COMMUNITY LIBRARY!!!! They have awesome summer programs, awesome people working there, and I think they even have some books you can rent for reasonable rates, in case you still need to find a copy of Girl on the Train.

STICKMAN.

One of my goals for 2016 is to have one good conversation with a fellow @deafheavenband fan. I have so loved the ferocity and beauty of their shoegaze-inflected black metal epics; washes of sound and cloudscape dreams merging cacophony with rivers of melodic swirls. So good. But so far I have introduced no one to them who seems to enjoy them with any level of interest. Not yet... ____ #44swords #44music #deafheaven #newbermuda #pnw #columbiariver

A photo posted by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on Mar 27, 2016 at 9:44am PDT

EXPLORATIONS: HOOD RIVER, AND TWO VERY DIFFERENT THOUGHTS ON CHILDHOOD.

A) “It's never too late to have a happy childhood.”
― Tom Robbins, Still Life with Woodpecker

B) “Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

IN WHICH WE CARRY SWORDS.

December 18th. In which we look at the calendar and realise that because it is exactly one week until Christmas, we should consider starting the gift making & shopping stuff...soon. In other productivity news, we did purchase an automobile today. I don't remember all the options exactly, but I made sure it has both a rearview mirror and a cassette deck. I'm a savvy consumer. ____ #longx4 #long2014 #longholiday2014 #44swords swords/shield: @masterm32

A photo posted by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on Dec 18, 2014 at 10:00pm PST

TARANTINO LULLABYES.

Daddy?
he asked.
Shall we build some swords when we get home?

Yeah.
I said.
Have I ever told you about Hattori Hanzō?

Yep.
he said.
Who is he?

Well.
I said.
He's not really real, but his character is a Japanese sword maker in a film and he makes incredible swords that are like no other sword.

Oh.
he said.
What film is it called?

The name of the film.
I said, gliding through a green light.
Is Kill Bill. And the woman who uses the sword is called The Bride and is very acrobatic and dresses in yellow.

Oh.
he said.
Daddy?

Yes?
I asked.

Daddy,
he said calmly.
Will you please stop talking about the movie because I don't want you to give everything away about what happens.

Oh buddy.
I said.
Good call on the spoilers. You know what?

What?
he said.

How about,
I said.
How about we wait a long, long time for you to see it, so we can make sure that you have plenty of time to remember to forget anything I just gave away. Deal?

Yeah.
he said.
But I still want to watch Star Wars for my next birthday.

Well.
I said truthfully.
I'm confident that George Lucas is going to come before Quentin Tarantino in your cinematic education.

Oh.
he said.
Who's Clint Uhn-tear-uh-teen-oh?

Oh look!
I said, pointing out the window.
A deer!

MY HEART IS BEING ATTACKED, BUT IT'S LOVE; HOPEFULLY I'LL SURVIVE UNTIL CHRISTMAS.

We walked into the store for something.
Not for costumes or battle axes or hockey masks.
But the Halloween assault was already eeking out a few extra days
and extra dollars and extra shelf space in mid-September.
High on the list of things I would ban as world dictator would be premature holiday celebrating, unless it's singing Christmas songs in July. 

We walked into the store for something;
And he did what every ad agency wants every child to do when they see something they never knew they needed: massive intake of breath with the sudden realisation, viscerally, immediately, absolutely, that they now need something worse than they've ever needed anything in the history of forever. Because it is there. And it wouldn't be there unless they were supposed to have it. It has moved from non-existence to awareness to oxygen-level NEED in the space of three seconds. 

DADDY, LOOK!
he pointed and pleaded and floated in the air as the Frankenstein heads and superhero capes and dangling skeletons and bloody plastic swords reached out their invisible tentacles to pull him in; and pull out his parents' wallets.

Yep.
I said.
Cool costumes.

:hyperventilation
Can we look can we see them did you see the sword can we please just look real quick oh look daddy can I show you something can we look?

After we get school supplies,
I said.
We will look for a few minutes.

Okay.
he said.

A short while later, we ended up there, admiring face paints and synthetic purple hair and $6 fishnet stockings and enough plastic facemasks to give Zdeno Chara nightmares. We found ourselves at an end display filled with plastic tridents. 

LOOK!
he squealed.
Can you pull one out so I can hold it?!

Buddy.
I said.
We're not getting a trident.

Okay.
he said.
But can you take a picture of me holding one?

Buddy,
I said.
That's a great idea. Unfortunately, my phone is dead, so I can't.

That's okay.
he said.
Can you just LOOK at me holding it then? 

Buddy,
I said.
Of course.

So I watched him holding the cheapest-made little trident you've ever seen;  happy little Poseidon testing out weaponry.

Daddy,
he turned to me.
When we get home can I start making my costume? I'm going to build a trident and superhero armor. Or maybe superhero ninja armor.

Buddy,
I said.
Absolutely.

We got home;
zero time waste as he assembled his tools:

scissors
construction paper
needle
thread
blow torch (just kidding)
marker
fabric

and went to work.

It will be an ongoing project.
This is his first piece of armor. 
If you're finding it a challenge to decipher the lettering,
it says (he says):

"Armor"

So that any potential enemies will know what he is wearing. 
A deterrent, which I personally think is rather Sun Tzu-savvy.

Stylish, functional, one-of-a-kind.

What inspired you to build your armor like this?
I asked.

I got the idea,
he said.
From the store.

Well,
I thought.
Perhaps premature holiday displays do have their place.
Cheers for inspiration in hideous places. 

Buddy,
I said.
I'm going to hug you.

And I did.

Then we fought
and he wore his armor.
He survived. 
To survive another day is to succeed at something.

Here's to success.

A Visual Depiction of The Seven-Second Rule.

WALKERS (HANDLE FIRST, HANDLE FIRST).

THE BEHEADING GAME (STORY: GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT).

I promised, on the eve of sleep, that I would tell him the story of Gawain and the Green Knight tomorrow. Okay...technically, I said I would tell him the story of the Black Knight (with either Arthurian Perceval or Welsh Yvain), but I think Gawain is a much more compelling tale. It has an appropriately happy ending and some good life lessons, aside, of course, from that whole idea of entering into wagers that involve letting a mysterious knight attempt to sever your head with his giant sword.

Any good younger-ish Arthurian tale books? I know the stories fairly well, but haven't found a good - a really GOOD - collection of tales yet. So I just...filter them through my own mischievous narratives in a manner that is, ideally, not going to cause too much trauma. And, in the case of Gawain, I will wait until he is a little older to initiate a discussion about the multilayered symbolism throughout, its fascinating dichotomous comparisons of nature and chivalry, and the various interpretations as seen through several different lenses, not least interesting of which would be perspectives dealing with feminism and homosociality.

I think at this point, it has more to do with the fact that there's knights and big swords.

IN A NUTSHELL.

1. A giant (green knight) shows up at King Arthur's court on New Year's Day and challenges everyone to a friendly game: a single knight may strike him...but he will return to do the same to that knight in one year's time at the Green Chapel.

2. Sir Gawain accepts. He neatly beheads him. The Green Knight picks up his head, gets on his horse, and departs.

3. A lot happens in between. A few day's before the next New Year's, Gawain sets off to keep his end of the bargain. Along the way, he hangs out with a really nice couple in their castle and deals with some ethical quandaries.

4. He finally meets up with the Green Knight on New Year's Day and...

5. You really have to just read the story, with all the details. It's a great one. And it's a happy ending, depending on your perspective.

SEATTLE.

Try to make it a good day, as most of the people here are doing.

INDEPENDENCE FOR ALL-ISH.

INDEPENDENCE, PT. 1. / Flags of Freedom.
Well, today's the day the flags on Main Street are blowing in the wind, and I listen to Neil Young (see above) and know that I am surrounded by those who will stand by me.
(Note how I just sneakily crammed the titles of three five-star songs in there)
And our son stomps around in his faux-British accent and wood sword with duct tape with orange Crocs on backwards. This here's what America's all about. Happy happy, all.

INDEPENDENCE, PT. 2 / 
How many GOOD SONGS can you think of with titles that include the words:
: freedom, independence, fight
(Not that those are the defining words of today; they just get used a lot)
They can be variations (e.g. free, independent, fought)

They do have to be of sound quality.

The pen is mightier than the spear,
but a good stick 
can write huge messages in the sand that 
aliens will able to read from light years away.
The power of thinking big.

I AM (NOT) THE WALRUS.

- Good morning!
I said. And asked the same question I ask every morning:
- What did you dream about?

- Nothing,
he said; mind moving to other matters more important.

I am persistent.
- You didn't dream about anything? 

- No, not really.
He said, brushing me off.

I am not easily brushable.
- How about telling me ONE tiny thing you dreamed about?
I asked.

He started in first gear and effortlessly upshifted to sixth:
- I dreamed about a walrus and it was evil. No, actually it was just bad. He had a knife and he didn't really have a name. I was swordfighting him with a broadsword and his eyes were glowing. He did not have his blood out or his bones out and then I was knifefighting him, and we did not become friends. I won.

- Oh.
I said.
Nice dream. 

____

(Buried in here are the names of two songs by two of the greatest bands ever. One is very obvious, one is slightly less so. What are they?)

I guess technically there's a bunch of one-word titles, like Friends. Not it though.

GO BE AMAZING, UNIVERSE.

HOW TO PLAY WITH NO TOYS, NO PROPS, AND NO FUN.

- Daddy?
he asked.
- Do you want to play battle with me? Your name can be Bob and you're the bad guy.

- Okay.
I said.
- Who are you?

- I'm D'Artagnan,
he replied assertively, pulling out his ten fingers and pointing them at me like Gandalf with nine extra staffs.
- And I'm shooting laser bullets at you with my fingers!! Grrraahhh!

- Okay,
I yawned.
- I just activated my anti-laser bullet force field so they're not getting through.

Temporarily stymied, he began circling, flashing his fingers at me and making Flash Gordon zapping sounds that I conjecture are meant to emulate the sound of laser bullets exiting fingers. 

- You do know,
I told him.
- That it's physiologically impossible to shoot laser bullets out of your fingers? At least with any degree of accuracy?

His attack got heavier and his voice dropped an octave:
- Graaaahhh!! 
He began leaping six feet into the air and landing knees-first on my stomach; a sensation that felt similar to what I would imagine laser bullets feel like as they're tearing through your spleen.
- My name is Venom!
he shrieked, launching himself twelve feet up and gently landing on my cheekbone with his foot.
- And I'm a venomous snake!!

- Well,
I said calmly.
- Lucky for me that I have my anti-venom cape that keeps any venom from getting on me.

- Grahhh!!!
he squeaked with fury.
- I'm actually a rattlesnake, and I will get you with my rattlesnake poison!!

- Isn't that what you just tried?
I asked.
- No matter, I have my anti-rattlesnake face mask on so I won't get any poison in my eyes.

His furious assault continued; an assault that had me worried to the point that I had to wake up and open my eyes a couple times to prevent having an elbow disappear through my ear. He went through a series of scenarios involving every form of weaponry known to man, or rather, to him, and coincidentally I had packed force field and anti-gravitational defense systems in preparation for every one of these scenarios; a scientific subtlety that he found increasingly frustrating. Until...

- Okay,
he said.
- Let's pretend that I have a ninja fire weapon that is a force field and ANTI-force field weapon and it can defeat all of your anti-force fields with huge fire. Okay?

- Son.
I said, nodding with respect.
- Now you're catching on.

I continued:
- Unfortunately though...
I shook my head.
- It just so happens that I have my anti-firebomb spacesuit in my pocket, so looks like I'm still unbeatable.

He growled, low and vicious.
- I'm going to defeat you!! 
...and rushed me.

- Actually, it's bedtime.
I said. 
And scooped him up easily as a baby cantaloupe and plopped his flailing ninja form into bed.
- Rest up for tomorrow, kid.

- Okay,
he mumbled, and clutched his wood sword tightly to his belly.

BACK TO ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE FIERY BLOCKROCKIN' BEATS, DUCHESS.

My daughter loves Franz Ferdinand.

For you history buffs who aren't up on the state of early 21st century rock & roll, the Franz Ferdinand I am referring to is the nattily dressed Mercury Prize-winning Scottish dance-punk quartet who has crafted a series of angular pop nuggets over the last decade, the most superlative in my daughter's opinion being "This Fire."

(Not the Archduke Franz whose assassination provided an excuse back in 1914 for a bunch of countries to go to war and fight over a few acres of land)

Nobody in my life currently has made Mae West's timeless truism more true: “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful!”

(see below)



Last year, I bought a mobile speaker system aptly titled "The Blockrocker," which makes it possible to easily play loud music wherever we are at, such as fast food parking lots, skate parks, and tops of mountains. It's Bluetooth-enabled, which basically means it can connect to any wireless device it's paired with, such as a phone, iPod, computer, etc. It has become an essential ingredient in day-to-day living, providing soundtrack on demand.

I'm not particularly concerned with whether our kids are technologically-savvy; those things are kind of inevitable. I'd rather them learn how to track down earthworms, climb trees, and do calculus first. But they pick stuff up fast, like how to snipe music playback devices and figure out how to play the same song over and over and over

and over

and over

and over.

And over, and over again. Like "This Fire." Which really is a fantastic song with an insanely catchy chorus, but the trajectory of my relationship with it has gone from:

Like to Love to Weariness to Total Fatigue to Almost Hate to Acceptance...

...and now I'm almost starting to Like it again, but I'm not sure where things go from here. I do know that my dad - my daughter's grandpa's (Lee Long) single greatest attribute is an ability to take something that's sort of funny, and through brute repetition, force it to be funny over time. Blunt-force repetition is such an underrated aspect of humor. Tell the same C+ joke enough times and it finally gets to funny is a guiding mantra.

This situation is beyond humor. At any given point, Becca or I will hear the familiar opening bars, and soon, two children appearing from the twilight zone with music device in hand, face-busting grins and affected nonchalance as the song plays through for the 87th time that week.

I try so hard to be angry, but sometimes the combination of an overplayed greatest song ever in tandem with the brazen dancestep trickery of a Thomasina Sawyer is too much to keep a straight face. When you can't beat 'em (as in defeat 'em), might as well beat 'em (as in blockrockin' dance moves and chorus song-a-long). Rock on.
____

Franz Ferdinand
This Fire
Franz Ferdinand

2004

OF COURSE THERE'S NO CODED AGENDA HERE.

The art of sneaking up
is becoming a lost one;
spying a lost art.

Not the lame NSA kind that brazenly makes phone taps and Constitutional breaches casual reality;
but the real kind of spying,

that involves:
patience,
total concentration, 
focused breathing, 
perhaps a degree of athletic prowess,
and innate sense of timing.
Of course knowledge that the only prize at the end

is the internal satisfaction of having totally gotten somebody good.

There are a few things that I say without arrogance,
just as hard fact;
one is this:

I am an incredible spy.

Someday the Master must pass along the baton,
which is why I am drilling the next generation to excel in this disappearing art form.

Practice, practice.
Someday, they'll thank me.

Like we'll all someday thank Mr. Snowden.

BIG FISH AND PRETTY HORSES.

One of the things I love about the Winter Olympics is that it's an opportunity to show my children the kind of stuff that I used to do before they were around, like do crazy snowboard jumps.

"Did you do stuff like that?"
they wonder with wonderment,
as we watch Sage Kotsenburg soar 600 feet in the air upside down.

"Yeah, more or less,"
I answer,
more or less honestly.

I'm starting to believe myself.

All the Pretty Horses, and All the Other Ones Also on the Road (Homage to Cormac).
ALL THE PRETTY HORSES, AND ALL THE OTHER ONES ALSO ON THE ROAD (HOMAGE TO CORMAC).

MEILANI #24

Steve, Colette, Meilani, Jonny / photo: joseph ivan long ©2013

I remember the first time I met her. At an ice skating rink. She was about fifteen.

Nine years later, and I am so glad she is my vivacious, mischievous, one-of-a-kind sister-in-law. What a great addition to the family.

Happy b-day, Meilani.

RETURNING FROM BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION (SEE ABOVE) TWO HOURS AFTER BEDTIME. WITH SCIMITAR AND GRANDFATHER.

A CAPE, A DOLL, A SCIMITAR, ONE EXPLOSIVE LEAP INTO OBLIVION.

In our home, people are welcome to use the couches for sitting, as long as they're not being used by little people for jumping. That takes priority.

GAME OF.

photo: joseph ivan long ©2013

I will tell this in two parts:

A. Last month, my mom was hanging with our children and had them write up Christmas wishlists of what they would like to GET for other people. The list my son came up with included the following:

1. For Mommy - sword
2. For Daddy - sword
3. For Sissy - sword
4. For Granda - sword
5. For Everyone - sword
Sword for me. Scimitar. 

B. My newest brother, Micael, got ahold of this list and took it seriously. When Christmas rolled around, we each found ourselves in possession of a sword. Courtesy of him, a table saw, a jig saw, and a palm sander. And HOURS AND HOURS of work.

No two swords are the same. Hand cut, hand carved, designed with precision and polished for each personality. UHH-MAZING. I have already done fierce battle with mine, and these babies are not cracking. One piece. No glue, no joints, no nails. Forged in a garage. You think we had a happy three-year old at Christmas? Imagine a room full of three-year old giddiness. And flailing swordplay.

So. Rad. Micael: we are honored to have you in our family.

Ecraison l'infante.

UPON THIS ROCK.