As this is the first post to what hopefully won't be another one of my shit blogs that looks like it was done by a middle schooler, there is a lot riding on it. I could just go ahead and scrap all my standards and bitch about whatever happened today (Market St. Pub, you're lucky I'm straying from the ranting approach), I could play up to Portland blog snobbery by reviewing the most obscure track or collection of short stories I can find lying around, or I could post one of the more compelling intro paragraphs that I've written for my paper.

Instead I've decided to simply stick with what's been on my mind a lot the last few days: the tragedy aboard ABN AMRO 2 in the Volvo Ocean Race early Thursday morning, 1300 miles West of Land's End, England. The loss of Hans Horrevoets brought what has always been my daydream crashing back to reality. The grandeur of dying at the hand of an angry sea is dwarved when considering the reality that the world will go on without me, and that may not be for the best.

The child in that picture is Hans Horrevoets's daughter. His wife is pregnant with their second child whom he affectionately called "bump". This photo captures everything that I'm beginning to realize about the death that I thought I wanted.

Goodbye to the man whose absence has shown me the importance of presence.

Hans Horrevoets
1974-2006