praise for
days of naze
but if you try real hard, you'll find / you get what you need

days of  
n a z e  




strung out 
brush with greatness 
soul food  


A little audio gift (85 kb .wav)

for my Faithful readers on

the first anniversary (7/14/99) of

the site. Hand cranked to help

you on the long march.

An obnoxiously large

(101k .wav) audio greeting

from the Author.

December 21, 1999   
Before I Die

The topic was Buddhism.

In a round about fashion. I don't remember how it came up, but I was corresponding with a certain clandestine Boston expatriot:


It's funny that so few understand that "nirvana" means to be extinguished. It's the one element of Buddhism I can't quite get with. Eliminate fear and desire? I want my desires to define me.


Oh, I don't know. Buddhism has a lot to say for it. I, personally, am more inclined to Tibetan Buddhism than anything else, but I think it all comes down to what religion fits your natural inclinations. So I guess you'd be a Hedonist.

Hmm...probably yes.

So when I was thinking about what to do with the last days of the Millenium, this e-mail exchange came to mind forthwith.

[Editor's note: You know the Millenium doesn't end until 2001, I know the Millenium doesn end until 2001. But it's like my devoutly atheist friend from high school, Bryan, who in a bout of depression conjectured that if there wasn't a heaven and hell before, then the sheer will power of my Fundamentalist friends had probably created them.]

So you want your desires to define you, Naze? Well, lay it on us. What do you want?

The incomplete (and sometimes wildly improbable) list of what I want before my voyage on the starship Gaea is done:

I want to learn one Scottish fiddle tune on my viola so well that I could reel it off in my sleep. Something sad, slow, beautiful.

Three Spring nights in Paris. Fresh bread from wood-fired ovens so delicious that the politicians caved instantly when the bakers threatened to cut off the supply in rebellion against new regulations. A warm evening breeze walking to the hotel from a sidewalk cafe. To be mistaken for a native and to momentarily fool them with an exquisitely turned phrase of high school French.

"Quelle jour est Lundi?"

"Lundi est le premier jour de la semaine."

[translation: "What day is Monday? Monday is the first day of the week. -- Yeah, I know. Probably not going to cut it...]

Four Autumn days in New York. An afternoon at the Frick Collection. A pastrami sandwich from the Carnegie Deli so big I'll have half to eat later in the rowboat in Central Park. Circumnavigation of Manhattan with revelatory views of the Lighthouse and Lady Liberty. Kick ass chamber music at Carnegie Hall. A walk through Harlem to see where Malcolm X and Ralph Ellison lived.

I want to get lucky at least once before May 2000. God, it's going to be a long year...

I want to tear the aluminum siding off my house and reveal the wooden glory underneath. Once the last piece has been hauled off by the recycler, a squadron of highly trained people prep and paint it exactly to our specifications. Goodbye faded yellow texture, hello style.

I want to write one sentence -- one sentence -- that approaches half of the perfection and grace of the second movement of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.

Halfway through the shared bottle of tequila, I want to hear Rob make good on his promise that he can play the Mexican Hat Dance on his bass trombone in any stage of intoxication.

I want to play the perfect volleyball match on an underdog team against a top squad. I want to sky for the set in perfect form and bring the ball down so hard on two blockers that they have to shake off the sting. I want to dive and pancake for the game winning save. I want to serve three mind-boggling aces.

I want the opportunity to turn down a serious proposition from a beautiful stranger.

I want to kiss the ground in Sonde, Norway. I want to share a cup of Pere Backe's (my third cousin?) wicked home distilled potion and toast the Norse gods who gave us most of the names for the days of the week. I want to walk three miles of the countryside and yes, dammit, I want to see the fjords.

I want one more moment like yesterday afternoon, when the great cumulus clouds came apart after a thorough drenching of the city and you could practically hear the trees sigh and time stop.

I want to hear one album, see one movie, and read one book that will make me change my Soul Food lists.

I want a road trip with Steve and Chuck. Not necessarily to the Booth. Maybe they could come up and we'd look for Sasquatch.

I want to cycle from Seattle to Portland in one day. Not at a screaming fast pace. Just fast enough to get from the Emerald to the Rose in one piece.

I want Cathy to lip synch Maria McKee's performance of Steve Earle's "Promise You Anything" to me without breaking character once.

I want to see for myself Japanese gardens in Japan that surpass those Dr. Tono designed for Portland back in 1961.

I want to leave my children a complete family tree of all three branches of my lineage (Eades - maternal, Nielsen - genetic paternal, Naze - adopted) and as many stories from their lives as I can get.

On a Summer day, I want to stand on the peak of Mount Hood (elevation 12,000 feet -- the 2nd most climbed major peak in the world) with my sons.

I'd like our family to picnic with Wendy's family on a scenic Australian beach. Vegemite sandwiches, Hahn Premium Lager, and maybe some of the canned goods left over from her Y2K stash. Afterwards, her husband brings out his cello. A battle ensues in which Wendy is unable to prevent him from performing a very fast, abbreviated version of something that sounds like Silent Night. Later she and I muddle through Pleyel duets. High hilarity ensues. It will happen. You have been warned.

But more than anything, I want to hold one healthy, happy baby in my arms in the Spring.


p.s. IT'S A GIRL!!! We're ecstatic. The best Christmas present possible. Cathy came running up the stairs bawling, but somehow I knew that they were joyful tears. I met her in the hallway and we held each other tight. It's the exact same spot where we met each other the night of the earthquake (4.2, I believe) in '92.

p.p.s. Speaking of baby girls, days of naze officially welcomes Schuyler Rummel-Hudson to our world. It is Life in all it's splendor, tragedy and glory. And to Life we say Yes.

p.p.p.s. I am going to be either a) one smug bastard or b) one sorry puppy on January 1. A gallon of distilled water, a presto log, and a few cans of soup aren't going to get us far if it all shuts down...

p.p.p.p.s. Greetings to my new comrades on the new days notification list. I know that the 4th level of postscript is exactly what you were looking for when you signed up...










previously on days of naze :

sf part 4 - denouement
sf part 3 - fray3
sf part 2 - walkabout
sf part 1 - no rice-a-roni
threading the needle
hating life
what i learned on the web
the play's the thing
saving star wars - episode I
vegas, baby!
turned away at the church of elvis
dear mark
a night on the town
a lesson in humility
the longest mile
he plays one on t.v.
shat upon
geek of the weak
pre-game stupid
my affair with a greek woman 
brain baker
occupational hazard
i blame them
brilliant mistake
pleasure victim 
the stupid rules 
driven to distraction 
my corner of the planet 
spawn apologist 
interview with a madman 
an introduction 

what have you done for me lately? new praise for naze

May you never be more active than  
when you are doing nothing.  


They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.

-Carl W. Buehner

in the feedbag:

they say: Rose City - 7th most polite city in America, thank you very much.

quote: David (listening to the blues on our car stereo): "I like that yelling song."

cd: Lucinda Williams "Sweet Old World" - Lucy's a wild woman with that crazy yodel thing on "Hot Blood" - whoo - just makes me shiver thinking about it!; Marshall Crenshaw "#447" - really not too bad. One of my birthday gifts to Cathy.

book: The Memoirs of Cleopatra - A Novel (like, you have to put that in there for all the tweebs who didn't know that she didn't actually write the damn thing...).

t.v.: White Christmas - starring Danny Kaye, Bing Crosby, and Rosemary Clooney. I got sucked into this thing by the song and dance numbers. Had no idea what the title of the flick was until the closing number. This movie had nothing to do with Christmas, but I'm not complaining. Really a very pleasant little flick and just the tonic for a steady diet of gritty drama.

vcr: The Castle (A-) - the protagonist reminds me so much of how my Grandma Eades made me feel about her home...

sheet music: Overture to the Opera "Der Freischutz" by Carl Maria von Weber. Just got the music for my annual alumni gig with the Portland Youth Philharmonic. Four pages of Molto vivace. Ulp.


   stupid    strung out   naze   brush   soul food 


e-mail   reasons why 2001 is the true beginning of the new millenium

christopher naze

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