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.

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.

in other news

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.

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.