Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Small Fortunes (and an even smaller misfortune)




Dan and I have been working for the last few years, lackadaisically, on a project we called "101 fortunettes."

We started collaborating on art when we were dating, and after we broke up, we had our first show, at the Hopvine in Capitol Hill.

I hope you'll join us - we'll be celebrating Dan's birthday and our cute little art at Hooverville, 1721 1st Ave S, Seattle, on NOVEMBER 25th at 6pm.
There will be snacks. And lots of love to go 'round.

So - when we were counting up what we had done, what we had left, how many frames we had, etc, we came up 6 frames short. Not too shabby for a three-year unorganized project, neh? So I went to Ikea to pick up 6 more Raket frames. Guess what? Raket frames were taken off the market. Why? Because Raket frames are dangerous. (I cut my hands countless times framing the first 65 fortunettes, then I learned how to wear preventative bandaids.)

So we are scrounging around our houses - it's just sort of unthinkable that those last six frames could run us $30 - they are on eBay- as they were originally $1.99 for three.

If any one reading this has any 4"x6" Ikea Raket frames, i'll totally give you a free fortunette.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

It only took four years...

I have finally become the gentry. All of my neighbors are moving out, apparently convinced that the housing market is at its peak, and now is the time to realize dreams of quarter-millionaire-itude.

Like, all the neighbors.

I doubt I've scared them off - except for the duplex, I've got seniority in this end of my block.

I have lived, in my home, here, in south park Seattle, for longer than I've ever lived anywhere. Which is neither a great feat nor a particularly shabby one. Pretty mediocre feat, actually. I've lived other places for 3andahalf years, I've lived here for 4andamonth years.

But I feel like it's time to move, because I've now *and will continue to* live(d) here for longer than I've lived anywhere else.

I'm interested to see how that time-schedule manifests itself. I don't think that I've gotten off track, but I have been really having the wander-jizz in my dreams. I've been having a recurring dream that i am roadtripping in italy with either my mom or scott or dad (they being the three most important people in my life) and I come to a town, which is renown for its exquisite and completely unique cooking style/ I enter the town and it is like driving through stucco hallways and white wrought-iron gates.

I eat, with my companion, and it is always super succulent tentacle-d things, blue grains, churning fruitcocktails - really worth whatever it is i KNOW i gotta go through, and then the exits start closing while my companion and I are discussing the tip, or something equally nonessential. The exits close, sometimes we have the opportunity to escape some other way, but I always end up in the servant-class, thinking, "Why - why didn't I just look for excitement someother way??!!!?"

And that's the moral of the story. I am scared of finding excitement in the routine. After years and years and years (26 or so) of looking for the next novelty - I have to seek the bliss that comes from constancy. and it's harder than I would have imagined.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

why not every day?

I can only imagine that Halloween was a slightly different cultural phenomenon when Jello Biafra sang about it on the 1982 Dead Kennedy's record (Plastic Surgery Disasters, which is scarily NOT first on the google results). If Halloween were every day, the number of sluts in the nation would octuple. Coverage in the news media has focused on how slutty Halloween costumes are. Some recent articles I've read have made a point that Halloween is time to let your "inner bad girl" out.

I have often been a fan of the slutty costume. Not every year (I've gone as a mechanic - NOT a sexy mechanic - and an acid casualty) but often. This year, I definitely rocked the slut.


I went as Raggedy Annie Sprinkle. I brought titprints to hand out, though mine didn't turn our nearly as well as hers. Perhaps I can chalk that up to experience (being a first-time-tit-printer and all). Scott went as Raggedy Anton LaVey. (shown here with Chris Farley)

Saturday was the annual Compound Halloween party - So Much Fun!
I hope that some of the eighty-million people who took my picture will email them to me.

By Tuesday, I was not up to rockin' that dress again. I felt grateful to whatever laws of physics I bent and didn't want to press my luck. (I somehow managed not to have a nip-slip for the 10 hours i was out wearing that dress, thank you physics) So Scott & I dressed up as goths and went to Capitol Hill. Not a tremendous stretch. but a costume, none the less. Then I put on Dan's groucho glasses.

The weather was cooperative this year - no rain to speak of until after all good children should be home anyway.

I'm totally sick of people now, though. I am planning on hermiting-up until November 25th, when I will see all you at Hooverville.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

to all my libra loves

You are the women who keep me balanced. thank you for being so awesome and everything.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Best Vacation EVAH!

My summer has been taken up with work. Lots of it. Work coming out of my ears. Work up to my eyeballs and past my jugular.
Summer ended, luckily for me, and it was finally time for vacation. Jones & I packed up the civic and hit the road...
Blissful stoneydriving with my bestest friend, we hit Gorst and feel lost. without panicking, we turn around, only to remember we were going the right way to begin with. Lots of goofy talking, somehow there is always so much to catch up on; even though we spend our whole lives together, we always are talking.
Through Gorst to Sequim. Washington has the best place names. Sequim, for those of you readers who've never been there, if there are any of you, is pronounced "SkWim" rather than "see-kwim" as it might seem. We passed the sequim gym, where we giggled and listened to spank rock; we passed the sequim lanes, smaller than the garage; we couldn't pass the sequim nature trail, which lead us past Kitchen-Dick Road.

Crossing Kitchen-Dick Road, we searched for the ocean. We arrived at a de-scalable bluff, and finished our americanos. We decided we could live in Sequim, if it came down to it.
From Sequim to Port Angeles is a short geographical distance, but miles and miles mentally from Seattle. By the time we hit the hilarity of Sequim, WA, we had lost our urban tensions. Years and their ascended trouble-lines were floating outside of the care-able planes, and things were all superlative. {Aside: I had driven from seattle to port angeles a week before, and the same effect was felt. also, i knew what was coming up on the roads.)
There was a small winery on the left, and we decided to stop, it being 3pm monday and all, it was totally wine-time.

The bartendress was 2.3 sheets to the wind and was Very Generous in her pours. One wine (a Syrah) was so so so so better than the rest, it was way a steal for $25 - we bought 2. And i loved a particular sweet-ish chardonnay that we could chill and take up to our campsite. So we got that too. And then Jones got another glass of the awesome Syrah and we sat and watched the road go by and daydreamed about having a winery and an onsen and then set off, dreamy and sated, to find a campsite.

Camp found and staked, Hurricane Ridge visited and scared, we were well on our ways to relaxation. Delicious motherfuckign food, dark darkness, Night fell, we forgot to get enough firewood, we were soggy and sleepy and slept poorly; there were owls too many and too loud for that.

The next morning, we debated how early nor late it might or might not be. No decisions were made. Breakfast was delectable.

We chose to hike a mountain. It was hard. We smoked and fucked in the national forest.

Back to camp, enough firewood for the night. The mountains echoed "jones" and we ate a delicious crab bisque from cups. The next morning, we were almost ready to leave; almost forgotten about our regular selves, not ever forgetting about our lovely kittens nor our hot shower; dreams of bears turned out to be just dreams. We drove to Sol Duc hotsprings. Past the unbelievably magic Lake Crescent, over the hills and on the other side, we arrived at the lodge. Sulfur and delicious. A deer fed on the lawn of our cottage.
We soaked, and talked, and ate and did adult recreational things. The next day, after pretty much doing all those things again, we took what would be my first legal trip to a casino. We chose Seven Cedars Casino, in beautiful, Lucky Sequim, and I proceeded to lose money. Not Jones, though. He lost a little, won a little, then found his lovely lady slot machine, which was a penny slot called USA FOREVER or something stupid like that, and proceeded to win close to $600US.

We called it a good vacation and came home richer, not only in experience but in dollar value too.

All photos can be viewed HERE.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

art show

Hey all in seattle -
i'm having a quick little art show at Jalisco Mexican restaurant in South Park tonight as part of the South Park Arts Walk.
More about the organization can be found here.
Most of the art I'm showing can be found here.
XoXoX

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Nasty Pussy

Friday night, 15th of September 2006. End of Summer, Seattle-style. The Freaks are out, in full force. A house party first, which turns out to be lame. Skeet-daddle to the Decibel festival, where I am psyched to go to Neumo's / Bad Juju to see the only friend-from-grade-school-who-I've-ever-caught-up-with-in-my-later-life's band, Telefon Tel Aviv. The show was awesome. The sound got kinda muddy towards the end, but it was really good bassy noise and flashing lights and pretty people. Who knew there were all those glitchcore fans in Seattle!
Loose some pals to drunken horniness. DT & I walk back to the lame house party, where Jones has ended up. Jones is definitively 1.85 sheets to the wind, and DT and I are both hungry. It's 12.55 and in seattle, that means that there is no Good Merkin Food to be got. (1am is the late-night cut off for Merkin restaurants with ranges in addition to deep fryers.) So we decide to go to Sea Garden.

The last time Jones & I were at Sea Garden, we eavesdropped like hungry-ear-compys on a conversation being had at the table next to us. It was some sort of off-hour first date, we were there around 12.30, and the couple was a Wedgewood-type naturalist / ecofreak man with a very FOB Asian lady. The man was trying to explain psychedelic mushrooms to his companion. Unfortunately, the details elude me, now that it's 8 months or so later, but it went something like this:
She: "OOh, this has mushrooms in it! I love mushrooms!"
He: "I like mushrooms too. I especially like the mushrooms that allow you to talk to spirits!"
She: "Spirits? What do you mean? Like television?"
He: "There are some mushrooms that let you see *inside* things. Like the spirits in the plants and animals."
She: "I want some! Let's see if they have any here!"
He: "You can't really buy them."
She: "So you have to find them? Do they grow here?"
He: "No, you buy them, but it's sort of underground."
She: "No, no no, you can't have a black market for mushrooms! I am sure they have them at Uwajimaya."
This time, we were seated next to a table of very obnoxious asian kids. They were all about taking calls and meeting people and doing deals of some sort, loudly, but un-funnily.

We started our stoner feast with an order of fried scallops with pepper. They were fucking awesome, and we ate them so fast that no photos were taken. Slightly sated, we had the presence of mind to order some additional dishes.
me: OOh, i want tofu with crab!
jones: OK but-
me: OOh, and I want shrimp vermicelli hot pot! And pea vine with garlic! And ...
DT: And I want Wonton.
Jones: Let's get some pork. You [DT] & I can split it, there will be enough food. What do you think?
me: OK with me.
jones: OOh, let's get steamed pork with salted fish! that has everything delicious! Fish, salt, pork! I will love it! Yah Yah Yah!
DT: sounds good to me too! Let's get that!


We ordered the tofu with crab, the vermicelli hot pot, the wonton soup without incident. However, we should have known something was amiss when the waiter was extremely reluctant to believe that Jones really did want to order the steamed pork with salted fish.

Our dishes arrived in the haphazard and inscrutable way that only Chinese restaurants can manage to work out. We were delighted by the crab & tofu, though it might have appeared to the uninitiated to be a gelatinous mess superheated to a near-liquid viscosity. The tofu itself was a perfect silky squishy firm, the crab pieces succulent claws. The wontons were "fluffy and plump," the broth slightly spicy and buttery. The vermicelli hot pot was fucking NUCLEAR hot (heat-hot) - it arrived at the table boiling and steaming; hissing a little bit, too.

We all were really enjoying the feast we had, and I believe both Jones & DT were psyched to try some other odd-ass delicacy from the Sea Garden.
...

A smell approaches our table. I feel a sort of proustian nostalgia come over me, but when the dish lands on the table, all i can say is "that smells like pussy you don't want to eat." And it did. It smelled just like a pussy that was frequently available to eat, and only 1 time did i act on that availability. The memories that smell brought were strong, but not as strong as the smell itself. Pungent, meaty, and very sour fishiness.

DT took a bite, and said "EWW. Pbttbttbtt." and shuddered, before launching into a short monologue about the very short list of Foods he Doesn't Like, which had just gained a new entry. Jones, who does, in fact, like Century Eggs, and loves pork products like many people like, say, oxygen, won't let the smell nor DT's review stop him from trying it. Though later, he says that his stomach was doing flip flops and he brought the chopsticks to his mouth Against His Better Judgement, at the time, he made a wonderful impression of someone enjoying what he was doing to himself. He took the first bite, not without a grimace, but without trepidation. And the second. And the third. And then the facade fell.


The photo shown above does no justice to the actual dish it's presenting. But as is evident, there is pork floating in some sort of pussy juice. and Jones ate pretty much all of what's missing from the dish.

So please, go to Sea Garden. It's a great late-night restaurant on 7th & Weller. But for the love of all that is good & holy in the world, avoid the steamed pork with salted fish. You may be lucky enough to have never had a girlfriend with that sort of snatch-stench, but save yourself from finding out what you've missed all this time.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

i like television


It's weird to say, but i do. Only animation. Somehow watching actual people do actual things is less (believable? entertaining? watchable?) fun to me than watching animated characters do actual things.

It all started with a milkshake. A milkshake who said things like "you have the computer, look it up" and " I will...redden their buttocks." and "Teeth are for gay people." I loathed that milkshake. I especially loathed how the milkshake would suddenly posses my fiance, at inappropriate times of the early morning, or when we were being serious, or making out or in the throes of power tool usage.

Then something changed for me. I started to love the milkshake. I found myself possessed of this same desire to say "I am the Leader! Make us a pool, from the Sky!" and "Come up to room for drink, nude be me!" My self esteem didn't plummet. Nothing came out of my nose inappropriately. Somehow, I didn't feel stupider.

Coming to terms with my love of the milkshake allowed me to move on to other, harder animation. I started watching Drawn Together, and singing ripoff disney songs to myself. Then I discovered the joy of lying in bed, watching cartoons from adult swim. And that has improved everything. Everything.

I'm fully 'onna change my name to Nathan Explosion and drive the Kennedy assasination-mobile. Or I want to, anyway.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

as per my better judgement


I have deleted the post wherein i bitch about my nameless client. Contact me via email if'n you didn't get to read it and you want to.

In the mean time, here is a photo of me trying on wedding dresses.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

homeolithic era

The unified age of humans. Wholistic.
Coming soon to a January near you.

Friday, July 14, 2006

what if?

Tho I hate hate hate playing the "what if..." game, I have to wonder, if our country had a president more people could respect, would we still see the proliferation of totally ridiculous computer-edited video & audio clips of their words?
I can imagine a Bill Clinton cover of Cause I got High or Al Gore singing We are the Robots...

Here is GW's cover of Sunday Bloody Sunday. Then I also found a State of the Union Address, which I believe is a video / no soundtrack version of the excellent Cloud Cult mixup. (it's track 14, if you want to check it.)

Do you think the internet will be as cruel to our next Prez? Or do we just have to wait & see how much of a fuckup he will be?

Thursday, July 13, 2006

maxin & relaxin...

... After a grueling and stupid car ride on monday, your heroes arrived in Whistler, British Columbia, to a sunny, breezy evening and a luxury hotel. A quick shower later, we were enjoying gin & vodka fizzies along with swell smoked salmon and delicious clams on the veranda...
A great start to a lovely vacation. Upon return to our hotel, your heroes had possibly the Worst Meal Ever at a Luxury Hotel. If there was a category to place a vote in, I would surely link it here.

Worst Meal Ever at a Luxury Hotel
The Westin Whistler boasts of the "mastery" and "award winning"-ness of its restaurant, and Executive Chef Hans Stierli. The first thing I said upon reading the menu was, "wow, someone ought to come in here and give this menu a valium or something" because of how All Over the place it was. Every dish had like 15 ingredients that didn't go together at all. BUT my lovely mother really wanted to try it, and we said, OK, lovely mother, this is your vacation too! So our first course was an asian salad, which came with a cup of hot & sour soup. My mother had a cucumber / crab gaspacho with a caesar salad. My father had a crab cake thing (Dungeness Crab Brandade with Thai basil-infused sweet corn broth). Let us never mention either of those dishes in the same breath again. The caesar was passable, the cucumber gaspacho was like eating a green-apple dumdum sucker in a melon suspension. Our asian salad was ok, too overdressed, but OK. The "hot & sour soup" was actually ONLY hot and sour. SOOO Sour, SOOO salty, and very spicy. They didn't lie at all about that one. It was a cup (more like 2/3 cup) of soup, and it was Hot and Sour.
Mistakenly, we had ordered a second course. My lovely parents wisely cut their losses, and moved on to the dessert menu.
Secondi: "Crispy Skate Wing with Crab Cake Roll, farmers' vegetable bundle on saffron sauce with organic orange reduction" (valium, I say!)
There is almost no way I can describe this fiasco. Scott says "reprehensible. It was a fucking crime." I said "EWWW."

It's best if we never talk about that again.

spa-de-oh-do-dee
refreshed, well fucked, well slept, we decided to explore the town of whistler. It is a lovely village, with the MOST COURTEOUS service-industry personnel ever. Again, if there were a voting category for that...
we had beer. we hiked. we talked. we never found Lost Lake.

we retired to our room, not quite exhausted, but mos def worn out. I decided to go have a hot rock massage.
I ran into my parents, who took that picture of me waiting for my massage. It's the only photo we got on this trip that was worthwhile.

I came back from my massage to find Scott exhausted, under the covers. I roused him and we went for coctails & dinner, and we got back to the room around 11. I had started feeling pretty ill by this point, and Scott had been feeling pretty bad since after the hike.


We had a pretty rough nite of illness and stress, punctuated only by Mos Def's terrifying accent in 16 Blocks. The next morning, we awoke to the need to check out Canadia's vaunted healthcare system for ourselves.

It was cheap, it was effective, Scott was diagnosed with streptococcal bacteria infection, aka strep throat. It is an extremely contagious disease, and my throat was feeling pretty icky. I've never had it before (hah! until now!) so I didn't know how all y'all felt when you were complaining of having strep. I blew off your complaints of how bad you felt. I really apologize. And I love Canadian cough drops. They have a way more effective numbing agent. And Canadian child-proof caps are simple to open.

I love you, Canadia! Please get better chefs.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

revisionist history

It was all whirlwind, heat & flash...
I was in Rome for the first ever flash-neurosurgery event.
He was giving a symposium at the Facism in Food conference.
we didn't look back.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

It was an awesome weekend. So awesome that I couldn't talk about it till now.

Scott's birthday party was phenomenal - everyone dressed up & behaved well, and ate good food and really rocked out the cheer. Daniel's Flickr set is here, my Flickr set is here. It was a kissyface party.


Update, in response to CMC's comment. We had a full dinner, we cooked for about 50 people. There were leftovers. Grilled veggies, 2 kinds of BBQ chicken (one traditional BBQ sauce, the other in a kaffir lime & champagne white BBQ sauce), non-traditional kimchee (more like spicy coleslaw than fermented napa leaves), peruvian-style potato salad, plain corn, crab-infused corn and white bean pate... NO cake, though. It was an oversight on my part. The fools who RSVP'd but didn't come are sad.

Next up - Junk Poker!

Thursday, May 11, 2006

days are indeed, getting longer, as they are annually wont to do

Spring is sproinging, as more prolific interscribes have said before me, and the concordant schedule shift is strange. Getting up 15 minutes later every day, eating dinner later & later every night, it is just strange to feel the rhythyms of the seasons in my chemically-tweaked body.

I have been having weird issues with fertility lately, i am not sure to what degree they are seasonal and to what degree they are chemical. As many women do, often not totally voluntarily, i take a tri-phasic birth control pill, and boy howdy does it fuck me up sometimes.

Everything has become incredibly busy. I sort of feel like free time is a thing of the past, but i remember that Every Year, I feel this way, and Every Year, it mellows out.

Monday, March 20, 2006

a partial listing of things I've found in my yard, either buried or partially so

  1. a plastic tyrannosaurus rex, approx. 4" long
  2. used tires, three (3)
  3. the head of a hammer
  4. a plastic scarecrow, approx. 7" tall
  5. large metal ring, approx. 20" diameter
  6. "afro-style" hair pick, blue
  7. "afro-style" hair pick, purple
  8. nokia cell phone battery, indeterminate model number
  9. rib bones, apparently from a pig, approx. 4
  10. saw blade, half-a-circle-shaped, approx. 24" diameter
  11. doll head with blinky eyes
  12. bricks, assorted sizes, approx. 8
  13. half a digimon
  14. frisbee, traditional shape, orange
  15. frisbee, traditional shape, blue
  16. frisbee, super flyer, purple
  17. high quality cinder block
  18. Steel Reserve bottles, labels still identifiable, approx. 30
  19. Steel Reserve cans, printing identifiable, approx. 15
  20. Olde English 40-oz malt liquor bottle, unopened
  21. golf balls, approx. 3

Friday, March 10, 2006

No More Work!

The Kittens have taken over my inbox.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

24hours @ 24hr Fitness (Westwood)

1am:
Dead. Silenced TVs and a few high school students who are being Teh Bad by sneaking outta the house, OOOH, to Go to The Gym.
most popular iPod Playlist: Raw Trax (featuring System of a Down & Tool)

6.30am-8.30am:
The early morning rush. Prime time for young office sprites to rush thru 20 minutes of cardio, then a quick interval of freeweights, then back home in time to shower & catch the bus downtown. Sometimes they get jammed up waiting for the machines & they have to drive to work. The injustice!
most popular iPod Playlist: Early Morning Getup Jamz! (featuring Kylie Minogue & the Pixies)

9am-11am:
Soccer Moms & Freelance morning-people. They sometimes come in groups of 3 or 4, after they have done their cardio, they often can be found sitting on the floor of the nautilus machine-area critiquing each other on anything from how to do the right cobra pose to why they'd never wear those sneakers if they were you. The single folk are often on their cell phones talking tech, but casually mentioning "Oh, I'm at the gym. Those noises in the background, they're cause I'm at the GYM." Like no one believed them when they said they belonged to a gym.
most popular iPod Playlist: Early Morning Workout Jamz! (featuring Fischerspooner & the Pixies)

11am-2pm:
Geriatric time! This is the most likely time slot to see people walking on treadmills (at a speed of one mile per hour) who get off only to grab a walker. Also - most likely to see men in sansabelt pants and women with hushpuppies. *Best time to use nautilus machines for as long as you want to!
most popular iPod Playlist: Whatever you're listening to. The old folks don't have iPods. The things on their arms are heart monitors.

2pm-4.30pm:
High schoolers! Freelance people! A whole lotta elderly Asians! The most unattractive hippie in the world! It's really a grab bag in this time slot. Everyone is wearing headphones, most are jogging. Some of the older Asian women seem to time their cardio to their favorite soap operas, and if you're on one of the prime machines for whatever soap it is, they will stand behind you, grunting and tapping their foot on the butt end of your elliptical trainer until you relent, and give the Asian women what they want. Damn, they're persuasive, and annoying! The most unattractive hippie in the world jogs, and he jogs fast. He gets very sweaty very quickly, and you can see the moisture dripping off his skinnyass calves onto the treadmill. It's revolting to watch his ponytail get less and less voluminous, his fannypack bouncing all the while. Ick!
most popular iPod Playlist: TIE--Freelancers: My Milkshake Mix (featuring both Kelis & the Postal Service). High Schoolers: Crunk Jamz 2000!

5pm-7.30pm:
Don't go to the gym now, chirren! The loudspeakers are on HIGH VOLUME. The sounds of Van Halen & the perky front desk people reminding you that there is a 20 minute limit on any equipment will interrupt any happy times you've got on your iPod. Every business person, every bartender who hasn't gone in to work yet, every one who doesn't have a flexible schedule is at the gym now. It sucks ass. Avoid it at all costs!

8pm-9.30pm:
This is when the seriously obese people are at the gym. To taunt them, all the networks on the televisions seem to only play fast food commercials interspersed with happy fat people having fun. To taunt the seriously obese people in a different way, the seriously underweight people are also fond of going to the gym at this time, so they can work off their salads. The floor is shaky from the combined weight & enthusiasm.
most popular iPod Playlist: Get Skinny! (featuring y'all ready for this (aka NBA Theme Song) and Madonna's Music)

10pm-12.30am:
Large groups of young people, of both genders and all races, go to the gym because, in Seattle, there is nothing else to do until you're 21. Best time to get chatty with underage, but legal, asian hotties! And their friends! They like to sit on the machines and talk to boys. They don't wear iPods, but they do talk on cell phones. And they are very courteous & get out of the way if you actually DO want to work out, but, like, why would you do that, when there's a hot asian chick smiling at you? They are Teh Silly! And they like to run around! And pretend they don't know what they're doing, so the boys can come & show them how to Really Do a Sit Up. Highly Recommended time slot for going to 24hr Fitness, Westwood!
most popular iPod Playlist: Girl Power! (Featuring Peaches, Gwen Stefani & Missy Elliot)

Thursday, March 02, 2006

getting older, one day at a time

I have very recently (day-before-yesterday) gotten older. Not in the sense that we each age momentarily (by the time this is posted, i will have aged significantly, as i am a slow-poster) but in the sense that when i am taking a survey or filling out a form, i will now be part of the 28-36 demographic and not the 21-27.
To commemorate this once-in-a-lifetime occasion, Scott Jones & I went to one of my favorite places in the world, cannon beach oregon. In the summertime, cannon beach is chock-a-block with families, children recreating all over my personal space. In the wintertime, cannon beach the town seems to be under construction, and cannon beach the beach seems to have maybe 10 people on it at a time, about 4 of whom appear to be uptight and gay, one of whom will have at least 3 dogs, one of whom will be old and angry, and the rest will be young couples trying to get a good deal on the hotels in the area. We definitely got a good deal.
The beach was stunning. Waves crashing against haystack rock, starfish & seagulls everywhere, standing at the edge of the pacific with my favorite person - I couldn't have asked for a better birthday. Good wine, amazing food, and SO MUCH LAUGHING. I can't tell you everything we laughed at, but my stomach still hurts.

Thank you Scott Jones, and thank you Cannon Beach. Y'all are awesome.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Stupid Stupid Seahawks

A very long time ago, the stranger ran a series of "stupid stupid" things. Today I feel that about the seahawks. It is beautifully sunny outside, i want to kill the blackberries - but I have to watch the ospreys kick the asses of the industrialists. And i will enjoy it.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Counting on all my fingers and toes

Currently, the Defense Department says it is spending about $4.5 billion a month on the conflict in Iraq, or about $100,000 per minute.
That is MIND BOGGLING to me. One hundred thousand dollars per MINUTE. Think about it. that's $1666.67 per second. In every second of every day, the government could fly me round trip to New Zealand. Every ten seconds - it could pay for a Civic Hybrid. Every minute - a house, or a college education.
I know those are maybe not universal examples, but - one second. It takes about one second to type "one second" - is that worth $1667 dollars to anyone out there?

In other "numbers so stupifyingly large they make my brain want to explode" news - I was doing some research today, and came upon this factoid:
A 16-bit Nova from Data General could be had for as little as $8,000 in 1969.
that works out to $500 PER BIT, in 1969 dollars.* So - in 1969 dollars, my 500 gig** computer would have been worth $2,147,483,648,000,000. 2 QUADRILLION DOLLARS. ***

So - I propose a nice hot shower to wash all those numbers out of my head. Between the government and computers, I feel like an abacus-holding pauper named Chad.****

*The equivalent in 2005 dollars would be roughly $2500 per bit.
**500 GB = 4,294,967,296,000 bits.
***In 2005 dollars, the amount is staggeringly fucking gigantic - $ 5,368,709,120,000,000,000 - 5.5Quintillion dollars.
****No offense intended to anyone named Chad. It has always seemed to me one of those cross-culturally silly words, the way it thuds out of your mouth.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

My subconscious, or "Cannibal! the Musical!"

None of this actually happened. just remember that. It's all a dream.

Pt. 1 - "normal life"
I was getting very stressed out - I was trying to buy an apartment building, a rambling, flat yellow "garden" apartment complex - but there were all sorts of hold ups with the title, and transferring the title to me. The property was unkempt, the alley behind it was filled with dandelions and catgrass and duckweed, while the other alley lots were really beautiful horticultural plots with streams and landscaping rocks. I had plans for that back alley. I never actually got in to see the apartment building that I was going to buy, but I had some plans for that alley.
I went back to the realtor's office - it was not very nearby, in fact, it felt and looked like it was all the way in Olympia - and talked to him about the troubles, and it came out that we were both fans of Peter Greenaway, who had just released a new movie. I went about some other daily-life sort of things; I had scratched my glasses and needed to get them polished, I went to Marshall's and bought some socks, then I went home.

I looked in the paper (yes, a real newspaper, I said at the beginning to remember this is a dream) and found out that Peter Greenaway's new film, The New Sandwich, had just opened at the Columbia City Cinema. I called Tiffany to find out if she wanted to see it with me. She wasn't there.
The paper said the movie was breaking all sorts of ground for Greenaway, both linguistically and stylistically. Its advertisement was an old high-heeled pointy boot, with a sign hung at the top seeming to name the shoe "The New Sandwich." I went to see the movie.

Pt 2 - "The New Sandwich"
As the film opens, there are two plots developing simultaneously. The first focusing on a tortured Frenchman, who is desperately trying to develop a new sandwich before the opening of his shop. The neighborhood containing this pointy-shoe-building is unmistakably Danish. He is speaking French with no subtitles. The second plot begins with a doctor in bloody scrubs doing something unspeakable to a patient who's been bondage-style-roped down. The camera focuses on a patient cowering in the corner, eyes shifty in that "i'm mental" kind of way.
Several of the patients in this hospital have a priviledge which allows them to work together on the docks - either loading chum onto the boats there or gutting the fish as they come off. They have heard of this man who wants to invent a new sandwich - how could that be done? they wonder. Sandwiches are sandwiches, there is no "new sandwich."
The Frenchman is at the market - he has decided that no two sandwiches on the menu can have any of the same ingredients - no two mustards will be alike, no two breads. There will be one chicken sandwich, one pastrami, one roast beef, one salami. They will have entirely different vegetables, every flavor combination will be unique.

Nighttime at the Asylum - the shifty-eyed dock foreman is hatching a plan. They will steal a boat, and they will find out for themselves what in the world a New Sandwich could be.
They steal a Very Tall Boat, and Ron Perlman (who has apparently jumped ship from the river in City of Lost Children) is knocked unconscious as the boat goes under a bridge.

They find the sandwich shop with very little drama, and the proprietor thinks to himself, of course! This is just the kind of outsider thinking that will get me a new sandwich! Ron Perlman is still unconscious on the boat.
And here, it becomes formulaic. The inmates kill the Frenchman and serve him (nearly-raw, thin-sliced with capers and mayonaisse) as the New Sandwich. It is a great success. They don't return to the asylum. Ron Perlman is never seen again. The doctor we saw at the beginning comes in to the sandwich shop, and is, of course, killed and served.

Greenaway's so predictable with the cannibalism.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

only 15 months to go

We attended our first wedding event today. It was overwhelming. Actually, it wasn't the first, the first was the queen-mother to the rest of them, i.e. the Seattle Wedding Show, where thousands of brides-to-be and hundreds of grooms-to-be jostle for cake and queue endlessly for the rare savory-treat booth.
no, this was a different monster. we went to the lush Stimson-Green manor and were assailed in a very tasteful way by a cacophony of options. Wine, peach bellinis, finger food, dinner, cake, jewelry, weird rednecks, flowers - I really wanted a backwards-talking-midget to come in and complete the Lynchitude of it. Cause I am totally weirded out by this whole prospect of wedding. Not the prospect of being married, mind you, just the idea of a *wedding*. I've been to a scant 2 weddings as an invitee, and another 2 as a photographer, and i've got about as much idea of what I want to do for the reception as I've got about the inner workings of a car. Like, I know what the end result should be (People are happy, they are fed, we are wed :: the car goes, it takes you places) but I don't know how to get there.

This is not the droid that I am looking for in a reception site, however. It was weirdly disjointed, the food wasn't right, though there was an absolutely AWESOME quinoa salad, and the sommelier was kind of a dick. (if we recreate the quinoa salad, i'll post the recipe)
The ceilings were awesome (relief goddesses!), and the bedrooms upstairs were like the number one place to get caught fucking in public. The beds were servicable, the mirrors were EVERYWHERE, and the doors locked. The closets in each of the bedrooms were bigger than my office. The tub in the "men's bedroom" was bigger than my bathroom.

Just a clue to you all - if you're looking for free opulence, attend open houses for wedding receptions. The wine & vodka are free (I think they had beer too)- they want to get your judgment impaired so you don't think the prices are as offensive as they are, and the food is absolutely everywhere, with the catering staff cajoling you to try everything, and try it more than once.
This is going to freak me the fuck out.

Monday, January 16, 2006

in other news

google image result for 'roommate for life'I've got a roommate for life now. Thank goodness we love eachother!

one day, i'll get my camera back


And i'll be able to post charming pictures of sheela joon. until then, here's some old sheila - and keridwyn, whose equally charming self was at the triannual sheela-warming party we had on saturday night. drinks were drunk, titties were shown, and a lovely time was had by most everyone.
Sheela comes to visit just quite often enough, not too much, not too little - every three or four months, her hurricane-force-social-maelstrom touches down and sets in motion a wild chain of events. Sometimes it ends in tears; sometimes it ends in blood. Last time she was in town, her boy Connor ended up at the emergency room. She ended up with a pretty beat up, if not broken, foot. this time, so far, all parties are unscathed, except for some nasty hangovers. We did give her a hardhat to wear around the party. I'd post a picture, if i had one, which as the title suggests, is nigh on impossible at the moment. [Impossible = finding a manual 35mm camera, loading it with film while totally all sheets to the wind, then paying someone to douse said film with completely toxic chemicals in order to see the fruits of my labors.] So, the picture above is from a sheela-warming in November 2004, at the Vomet Tavern, where we sang karaoke with varying degrees of success.
Sheela is a person who i love completely, and think only fond thoughts about, but still have to giggle a little every time we get together. We both are totally lesbians for eachother. I promise to you, She-Jew, that won't change after I get married. Though I know I promised you that I'd never get married, so I'm not sure you'll believe me.

Thanks to everyone who came out on Saturday night, you people are fun, smart, awesome, and can drink like fucking champions.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

impatient monkeys lack luster


june. it's mountainous!

For Xmas this year, i made everyone a calendar, as i do most every year... this one was different, all the months and days had an order to them which followed the accepted gregorian or "standard" method, and the pictures were in color! Feeling rich allowed me to color-copy and bind, rather than the tradition, which is to print in black and white, and pretend that i will have enough time to hand-color every individual calendar, each lovingly and painstakingly done for everyone by me. That never happens.

One of the challenges that I faced was that I used iridescent ink, and that's not easily scanned, nor can it be reproduced on the kinko's laser-jets. The image below was originally pretty fucking sparkly, but has been reduced to a matte lackluster.

Maybe it will be below. I'm an impatient monkey.


lackluster monkey!

there's a lot more real stupidity than artificial intelligence

This is a first draft at something new and different. I don't know what yet, but... different, to be hopeful. A new year, with attendant resolutions, should hopefully bring attendant revolutions.