Don’t read the paragraph about Bernard Malamud’s The Natural unless you want to be spoiled for both the book and the movie.
A hearty hello to July after a very eventful weekend!
First off, the wedding was beautiful. Fortune was smiling because despite repeated warnings and forecasts of rain, it ended up being a perfectly sunny day. Both bride and groom were gorgeously attired and everything went off without a hitch (other than the emcee of the reception forgetting his notes for the evening). Many photos were taken, especially at Queen Elizabeth Park after the ceremony, but all of mine were taken on 35mm (alas, forgot to grab my digicam on the way out the door) so there’s nothing I can post right now.
This was only the second wedding I’ve attended as a guest, and the first Chinese-style one. B. tells me that the games during the reception were pretty tame, which was probably best for all concerned. Anyways, it was a lot of fun.
Okay, enough gushing about things like marriage! I’ll put that subject aside so that I can wax eloquent about Ruby Beach, the destination of Sunday’s road trip. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the most ethereally beautiful place on earth; I’ve been there maybe a dozen times and it’s never looked the same twice. Yesterday was no exception, though at first it appeared that we’d be disappointed.
When we arrived at Port Angeles, it had already been rainy and gray for a couple hours. The man at the Olympic National Park Visitor Center told us that Hurricane Ridge was fogged over and that the weather around the park was pretty uniformly blah. This dampened our moods somewhat but we continued our way around the peninsula.
About twenty miles west of Lake Crescent (also a place of much beauty), clouds began giving way to sunlight. When we reached the beach the sky was mostly blue with some nice cloud formations and no sign of rain at all, so we hunkered down to prepare for what proved to be an excellent sunset. Someday I’ll get around to making a serious web-presentation of my photos from Ruby Beach over the years, after I figure out which ones will make the cut.
Anyways, there’s the weekend in a (larger than I expected) nutshell. Relevant stats: 12 courses. 5 balloons popped. 700 miles driven. 3 DVDs purchased (0 legit). 0 car breakins. 0 lost passports. Lots of happy folks. Cheers!
More Emmy-related bad news for Buffy fans: a snafu by the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences caused the musical episode Once More (with Feeling) to be left off the ballots. Sigh. Maybe next year?
It’s four nights later, and I’ve run out of distractions. It’s just me and my computer here in bed (ah, wireless networking); I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep. It doesn’t help that some idiot down the street has decided that he doesn’t need to wait until tomorrow to start setting off the arsenal.
Long distance relationships are just awful. Hello, one night, two nights, airport, good-bye, see you in a month and a half. After that, week upon week spent trying to forget, or maybe to remember; whether playing scrabble late into the night, or clutching some piece of well-worn cloth as I sleep, hoping to conjure a ghost. I’ve gotten pretty good at distracting myself. I lose myself in my friends, or in late-night websurfing, or by forcing myself to stay awake in front of the television into the late hours of the night. It’s easy to let someone else think for me.
I’m too tired for that now. That deep, cool ache of the bone that normally creeps into my body at the crack of dawn is already here; lack of sleep and too much activity have seen to that. And so I’m here under the covers trying to imagine that I don’t have to deal with this until August.
There are moments that sustain me. A face, half-obscured behind a jumble of bodies but instantly recognizable, emerging from the jetway. Warm breath on my cheek. The quiet moments of introspection, when nobody knows I’m looking.
But tonight, it’s cold, and I’m tired, and I can’t fall asleep. Tomorrow, Vancouver, which in theory should be nice and distracting. From here, though, it seems like a hundred years away.
I’m better now. Less maudlin. Much sleep and a hard-working space heater have made me ready to tackle life’s adventures (or at least protect my credentials from grubby Canadian burglars).
Idiots down the street are still setting off fireworks. Becoming afraid for the cedar shake roofing.
Found out yesterday from a friend that my first ex either is getting or has gotten married (in Seattle, no less). Happy to note that I had no emotional reaction to this whatsoever. I am the very picture of well-adjusted mental health!
In other news, there seems to be something going on at Mt. Hood; might want to postpone that climbing expedition.
In other news, today is “support indie musicians” day for me, probably spurred on by the soundtrack selection from Wednesday. Ordered the latest albums by Wendy Ip , Jenny Choi and Noam Weinstein. The first two are folks whose CDs I’ve had for awhile (in fact, in heavy rotation in the last week after I dug up my non-classical CDs from bedlam), and the last is one that Francis (himself a fantastic singer/songwriter, check him out) brought to my attention earlier today. Excellent stuff.
One final note: Rest in peace, Teddy Ballgame.
Celebrate the nation’s birthday by going over the border and spending lots of cash! That’s the order of the week here in n(e) land.
The main event, of course, was dinner at Tojo’s, which is an occasion always worth writing about. Tojo’s features an omakase meal option, which is a “chef’s choice” six- or seven-course feast that has never been the same twice for me. mpd had only just discovered the restaurant in the last month and had never done omakase, so our mission was clear. Even A. (usually wanting a mix of tried-and-true with the new) succumbed to it after hearing about the daily special, a twice-a-year bluefin tuna steak in a plum sauce.
Needless to say, the tuna dish (pictured somewhat abstractly in today’s bullet image) was tear-inducingly sublime. Other excellent dishes included a smoked tuna-and-salmon salad with dungeness crab, lobster and sliced geoduck with a mustard dressing; braised sablefish over mixed vegetables; tuna tataki, the old standby; and more. The final dish was a green tea ice cream with mixed berries that killed our plans to go to La Casa Gelato (198 flavors!) after dinner.
Earlier, we ducked into a comic book store (for me, the first time in years), as A. and mpd attempted to suck me back into a world that had me in its thrall back in the late 80s. I can’t tell you how lost I felt in there; I’m not sure I recognized a single book that was on the current single-issues racks. Lots of very cool and pretty indie stuff to be sure, but the only thing I ended up walking out with was a copy of Watchmen, only fifteen years late. Childhood anti-DC bias, you know.
Alas, a long delay at the border caused us to miss most of the Seattle area fireworks, though we saw a few go up in the air in both Mount Vernon and Everett. Anyways, we were all exhausted, so it was all for the best.
Didn’t get today off, but that’s par for the course where I work. At least things are slow, the weather is nice, the temperature is low and my spirits are high. Heck, any time I can go to Canada and not get anything stolen or lost is a pick-me-up!
Here’s a hint: if you go into Taco Bell and loudly proclaim, “Give me le package totale,” expect to be stared at as if you’ve just grown three heads. You know you’re in trouble when you have to start explaining a restaurant’s ad campaign to an employee of said restaurant. Just a word of advice from someone who’s been there.
It may not have been an auspicious start to the evening, but we needn’t have worried.
Tonight’s movie was Minority Report, which featured more gotta-gitme-summadat moments than any other film I’ve seen since, um, The Talented Mr. Ripley. Clairvoyant guardian angels? Gimme. Tron-light-cycle-edition Lexus? Baby. Sick sticks? Yes, please. And the computer user interfaces! Brings to mind those Apple “vision of the future” videos that we used to drool over back when we thought that the good guys would beat the forces of evil merely by being on the side of right. Ah, well. Anyways, pretty pretty. Weak ending, but hey, it’s Spielberg.
After the film, the three of us (my companions being newly burgundy-tressed lish and kakumei of Canadia West) went to Sunset Bowl in Ballard for some late-night bowling. Which really means: singing and drinking.
We bowled three games in all. lish won two of three, but I had the highest (still admittedly low) game score of the night. Gloat gloat gloaty gloat. Big fat gloat. And so we end the night on a high note.
Ok, incoherence. Time to rest the engines.
Fun & games at Dolce Vita in Queen Anne. Met some fascinating new people, reunited with the regular gang, and enjoyed some tasty gelato, donuts and panini. lish made her debut and proved that she has as warped a creative sense as any. Also, everyone should remember to wish Jim a happy birthday on Tuesday.
[note: for those who wanted it, here’s a link to a mirror of Chris Coutts’ Tales for the l33t: Romeo+Juliet]
It’s a little strange when you learn that two people you’ve known since college (but have had only sparse contact with in the time intervening) have not only been going out for seven years, but just got engaged! This is what I found out when I went to a “Welcome to Seattle” party tonight that ended up being an impromptu engagement celebration. Congratulations, Angela and Roan!
One last thing: B. has scary teacher’s exams coming up on Saturday, and is really stressed out. Everyone please send lucky thoughts! They’ll be appreciated.
- sometimes the face the world sees is a cross to bear
- other people are doing the exact same thing as you
- just when you think something’s finished, it bites back
- even the floor needs to be punished sometimes
- when you want something exactly right, ask clearly
- a happy ending is not always a good ending
- standing in the corner is not the same as being in the room
Another Seattle Times article, this one about two of Seattle’s best-known celebrity chefs and an oddball show they’re pitching to the Food Network called Spy Chefs. Tom Douglas and Thierry Rautureau going Mozart on the world of haute cuisine! Yay!
Says the Times:
Scary, or fun? Can’t wait to find out.
Today as I turned onto the expressway, on the way to work, I saw something that I’d never seen before: cirrus clouds in a high, blue sky, shimmering in rainbow colors. The effect reminded me of moire interference on a badly-tuned television; I had to take off my sunglasses to convince myself that there wasn’t anything wrong with them. Somehow the sight made very happy, and made a nice to start an otherwise ordinary Wednesday.
Of course, moments later I was kicking myself mentally for forgetting that my camera was under the passenger seat. I half-considered pulling to the side of the entrance ramp to make a go at it, but decided that getting a ticket was an easy way to put a damper on the day. Oh well, no bullet image this time, folks.
Yesterday I discovered that Francis has been keeping a livejournal. Everyone has a livejournal these days! Crazy!
Some media notes:
I have to say that I enjoyed Men in Black II. Some of this may have to do with the fact that I found the first film disappointing; the difference here being that I went into the original with high expectations and was let down, whereas I had absolutely no expectations going into this one. In retrospect, they’re probably pretty much the same film. It wasn’t exactly a great movie, but on the other hand I’m not sure it deserves the trashing it’s getting from pretty much ever corner.
Much better was Soderbergh’s remake of Ocean’s Eleven. Incredibly entertaining, with sharp dialogue and a nice, complicated heist. The way I see it, it’s a kind of spiritual successor to the underrated and mostly-unseen Out of Sight, only without the cynicism. Makes for good escapist fantasy. Incidentally, movies like this remind me just how few quality ensemble movies get high profile releases these days, so bonus points from me for this one.
The mower-gnome visited the house again yesterday. One morning I’m thinking, “wow, this lawn could really use a mow,” and then POW, when I return home everything is neatly cut. Mek didn’t do it. I certainly didn’t. No note, no phone call, no nothing. This is the second time I can recall this happening, and I’m still highly confused. Whoever you are, mower-gnome, thanks, but you’re freaking me out.
Speaking of lawncare, I now own two edgers. The tale of how this happened is an epic of stupidity so huge that it would take twenty bloggers just to tell it. Honestly.
In other news, Harrison Ford has the worst Russian accent ever. It may even rival Orson Welles’ Scottish “brogue” from The Lady From Shanghai.
Meet “enigma.” “enigma” spent most of the weekend touring some of our nation’s finest airplanes and backwater airports, thanks to the good people at Southwest Airlines. Fortunately, he spent the rest of that time in Seattle, enjoying the weather (mostly through windows) and hanging out with me and freesia. “enigma” had Krispy Kreme, Fatburger, California Pizza Kitchen, and McDonald’s. “enigma” bought used CDs. “enigma” watched DVDs — several of them. Hopefully “enigma” had fun.
What enigma managed not to do was anything that was even remotely characteristic of or unique to Seattle. This is mostly my fault, but that’s what next time is for.
Edged the lawn on Saturday morning.
Note to self: Edge the lawn more often. Clearing out overgrowth with a manual edger is both tedious and arduous.
Note to self 2: Find mysterious mower-gnome. Suggest switch to edging as a helpful hobby, as far as samaritan lawn-maintenance work goes.
“GODDAMMIT MOM, I ASKED YOU TO TIVO CRANK YANKERS.” Learn this useful phrase and more at the rotten dot com Big Book of Sign Language.
Geek cred meets 80’s nostalgia!
When I was young and my only computer was an Apple ][, I got ahold of an insanely interesting game called Alter Ego. Essentially a vignette-based “life simulator,” it came in both male and female versions and let you play out a virtual life as someone else, from birth to death. To date, I still think that these games were the most unique, most compelling computer games I’ve ever played. It makes me think I probably would have become a big RPG geek if I hadn’t become such an introvert.
Anyways, some surfing today revealed a web-based version of the game, which started out as a direct port but apparently has now had all sorts of new vignettes added into it. Additionally, there’s a Yahoo! group that has the DOS versions of the original games to download. Very cool.
Last night, I…
… had an awkward conversation with mom about my first period.
… was kidnapped, tortured and killed while still a young boy.
… married a very nice man named Giles and had a son, Kerry.
… failed to sell my killer recipe to MegaFoodCorp.
… french-kissed a future supermodel.
… drooled onto the annoying neighbor’s shirt.
… was the only one who took my clothes off to go skinnydipping.
… found my lingerie modeling career to be over before it began.
… had an affair with a lonely dry cleaning clerk.
… died peacefully, in my sleep.
What happened to you?
eXistenZ is PAUSED!
Tidbits from the recent past, in no particular order (chronological or otherwise):
Another mostly-full box of Krispy Kremes bites the dust. This is the fourth box in a row that I’ve bought (usually, for the benefit of hungry visitors) from which I haven’t eaten a single donut before its demise.
For a while I was on that bandwagon of worshipful transplants who lamented the lack of donut shops in the Puget Sound (Before KK’s arrival, there was only the void created by the transformation of the last Winchell’s in the area into a Jamba Juice several years ago), but no amount of sugar or fat could overcome the simple fact (long buried) that I really don’t like donuts. I haven’t ever liked donuts! I remember that now! What a revelation — one I’ll have to keep in mind for the future. (Oh, and I like Jamba Juice, too!)
Many (Mr. S, I’m talking about you here! :) have called The Royal Tenenbaums overrated; freed of the burden of hype at the time of its release, I’m glad to say that I found it appealing. Part of the reason might be that its particular brand of randomness in tune with that of my own brain. And it’s just so endearing! Okay, okay, that’s probably what people took issue with, or its unabashedly fairy-tale-like story. I usually tend to find that stuff a bonus, when done well. Very much my kind of flick.
Slut-rags and bitch-whores
Sometimes it’s good to recognize that pounding your head against a huge rock is only going to result in one thing getting broken (hint: not the rock). A couple rounds of late-night Trivial Pursuit at patrickt’s with some interesting folks really prevented a near-total work-related meltdown. molly, ZZ, sonjet, lish and others, most meeting for the first time, kept the evening entertaining. Plus I got free paperbacks too!
Can you say “Smurfs” in four different languages? I knew you could. That was a trick question.
A tip: if it’s supposed to look like a cow but looks more like a cat, try glueing on some horns. Should work like a charm. On a related note: how exactly would a duck use a typewriter?
Just for emphasis…
Believe in love! Substitute three parts sugar for one part love, if that’s easier to wrap your mind around.
Tomorrow night, I leave for Boston, so next time I write, it will be in the company of lovely people and (hopefully) big steaming bowls of clam chowder. See you on the Red Line!
before I run off to catch my flight to Boston, of the definite link-farm variety:
In Boston now (more properly, Cambridge), about to collapse from exhaustion. At least it’s not 90 degrees outside. I heard yesterday was pretty horrible.
First off, I should mention:
Francis Kim is performing at the Kendall Cafe at 8 p.m. this Sunday! Also playing will be Annie Lin. There will be a $5 cover charge. If you happen to be in the Boston area (and reading this), you should check it out; it’ll be great!
And here goes a totally vanilla recap, mostly due to the fact that I’m very tired right now:
I really, really dislike redeye flights! No matter how much sleep you get on the airplane, it’s as if you didn’t get an ounce of rest when you wake up. Then, when you arrive in the morning, you pretty much have to try and survive the entire day awake, otherwise your internal clock will be hopelessly hosed. Worse when you have to make a connection on the way; did a mental inventory on the flight to Washington-Dulles and realized that even though I’ve flown some 40,000 miles, I haven’t actually had a connecting flight since the Egypt trip (November 2000).
Anyways, landed on time (early in fact) at Boston and got picked up by the wonder twins. We navigated through the busy streets of the city, spent some idle time in the Copley area, and then had an excellent breakfast at Johnny’s Luncheonette (between Harvard and Central Squares). How, during four years of living in this city, did I never know this place existed? I mean, it’s right next door to Second Coming Records. Guess it probably has something to do with needing to be up for breakfast in order to eat breakfast. I had what essentially boiled down to a smoked salmon omelette on home fries. Yum!
Slept most of the afternoon away (so much for keeping the bod running smoothly), watched most of the pilot for Monk (enjoyed thoroughly), as well as a good chunk of Absolute Power (far less thrilling, and I’d seen it before). On the other hand, while I slept, fink watched my DVD of Being John Malkovich, so it was kind of appropriate (and a funny coincidence) that “that jewel thief movie” had been on the very same day.
Met fink’s roommates, J. and K., and the five of us went to eat dinner at Jae’s in Inman Square (“Eat at Jae’s and live forever!”). Another place that I never managed to go while living here. It was pretty tasty… don’t know if it lives up to the hype though.
There’s your day in a nutshell. Not sure what tomorrow holds; would like to meet up with some friends in the area, but don’t know how likely that will be, seeing as how I haven’t actually managed to contact anyone yet. Perhaps a trek around the square for old time’s sake.
Right now, though, a moment of silence for the late, great, Brew Moon. Home of the tastiest root beer I’ve ever tasted. Rest in peace.
(this is mostly due to Francis, who is sleeping in the next room in front of the film My Sassy girl)
Sat in on a real live recording session today, where I witnessed the boys banging out a rocking version of “Polish.” They seem to have a lot of fun playing together, and it shows in the music that emerged.
The odds-man sez: the show tomorrow will be awesome.
Japanese cuisine and Viking lore collided today when two sushi-laden ships dueled it out on the high seas in a battle for marine supremacy.
The venue: Hana Sushi in Cambridge.
Points learned and reinforced include:
- toro by any color is still tasty.
- observe gut feelings w.r.t. imitation crab nigiri.
- mayonnaise can be ignored, given enough mental preparation.
- freya is building up a massive stockpile of warrior seed somewhere.
- when in doubt, it’s still probably canada dry.
- what hits did boston have? no one knows!
I’m sure there’s more, but it’s been buried in a pleasant food coma.
In the war of watch styles, I win.
In the war of watch handedness, I lose.
Confused? Yeah. I’ll lay off now.
In other news…
There’s no such thing as a “safe” trip to a CD store. Today the toll was dear; I am now the owner of (a) a used copy of Eva Cassidy’s Songbird (obligatory backlog-clearer on the recommendations list), (b) 69 Love Songs by the Magnetic Fields (obligatory MP3 retirement plan candidate), and (c) Norah Jones’ Come Away With Me (obligatory bandwagon pick-of-the-month club featured selection).
Set One rocked. The space was way too hot. Drummer R. read Robert Frost during the tuning break. Bassist C. avoided embarassment by finding the venue before the show started. “If You Push Me,” “Polish,” “Essence,” all standouts. The band worked like a well-oiled machine. Sixteen-year-old groupies were forced to remain outside, no fkim for them.
Set Two rocked. The space was cooler. No broken G-string would dare dampen the festivities. One candle, that’s your maturity. Nova Scotia is a regular curfew breaker. The west coast will soon bear witness to this, with amazing value-added content! Book today.
Set Three was unexpected. Spooky, moody, bluesy, funky. Both were there, but it was definitely a solo act. The bald mystique paid off this time, at least where bass guitar is concerned. Unfortunately, circumstances dictated an early leave, and the intense craving to own a CD must for now go unsated. It’s not that I missed it, it’s that you can’t buy what doesn’t exist.
The Kendall Band plays again!
K.C., I can’t believe it’s been eight years. You looked great. I’m sorry Maurice couldn’t make it; send Francisco my wishes. Sorry for never calling.
Apparently Boston is infested by a large number of defective Eva Cassidy CDs, because earlier today I exchanged one for another. Unless high-pitched electronic noise is an intentional part of the recording (my intuition and sound samples from online retailers would indicate otherwise), annoyance will continue.
Two hours and counting…
O how I shall long for a bed and a pillow! Alas, airport to airport to office is my fate. See you on the other side.
Terse style = late night. Poor foresight = no bullet images before Seattle.
- H F 10 40 JL 0(F) | mfmkkk
- Ce F 18 00 J 25 ||| mfmkjkkk??
- D S 13 20 D 16 || mmkk
- Co S 17 05 EB 8 ||- mfmkkk
- D S 19 40 HS 30 ||| vjrnimrcbdkkkkdm
- D S 11 00 CP 10 || lrmfmrcppykkkl??
- H S 18 30 PP 0(J) ||| vmmkjpkkc?
I’m sorry I didn’t get ahold of you. I realized when I got to Boston that I had neither your e-mail address or your phone number. AIM was monopolized by others so even if you had been on chances still wouldn’t have been good. I dropped the ball on this one, sorry. :(
This is what I woke up to this morning.
Poor bear. I guess he had a worse night than I did.
More recent events, freed from chronological constraints.
Visit linh’s journal for some HOT NEKKID LIVE FOOTAGE of FKB performing at the Kendall Cafe last Sunday. What? You don’t want to see that? What if I said I was lying about the nudity? Well, sure, your dinner’s already ruined, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see the video. So go download it already!
For those worried about Maurice, I’ve been assured that it was all a misunderstanding and definitely “not what it looked like.” Needless to say I’ll be keeping close tabs on things for awhile.
There’s always something, part I
I sliced my thumb open. With a bowling ball.
Okay, okay, if you’ve ever seen me “bowl,” you might think that this wasn’t much of a surprise. Seriously, it always looks and sounds a lot worse than it feels. My theory on this one is that it was a moisturizing issue. You know, dry skin breaking due to sudden stress and all that jazz. Anyway, just a little blood and not much pain; it happened early and didn’t prevent me from eventually bowling well on my last game.
Actual sign at the alley:
Crazy bowling night was just one of a series of celebratory fetes in honor of visiting celebrities nenie and rog, in town simultaneously by coincidence and brought together by conspiracy (having never met before the previous night’s dinner at JaK’s in Issaquah). To add to this sheer spice, Stacy came all the way up from Portland! Festivities were planned by lish and a veritable who’s who of Seattle’s theater-blog community turned up as well: sonjet, sgnp, SafetyCowboy, benlau, ZZZ. Also, other folks whose names I can’t remember (terrible with names, sorry!) but all of whom somehow had the initials J. and D. No evening’s complete without J.D., after all.
There’s always something, part II
I left my cell phone on a table at a BBQ restaurant.
You’d forget worldly things like cell phones too, if you’d just had as orgasmically good a meal as Jones BBQ’s beef brisket sandwich, potato salad and collard greens, down in the Central District. Am no expert on the south, but have it on good authority that this was damn fine eatin’ (and tastebuds don’t lie).
Mark this one up as nenie’s last Seattle hurrah; he, lish, and their friend Andrew (whose wise words led us to this mecca) met me there, where we spent some time devouring good eats and talking about, well, Andrew, who without a doubt was the most interesting person off all I met last week.
Get this, he works as a private investigator. How cool is that? He drives an olive-green Chevelle that has its own dedicated soundtrack. If tales are to be believed, he once made a tidy profit as a beverage distributor despite having no warehouse space and no distribution mechanism. Also, how many people do you know who stole cable tv and had it result in a job offer from the cable company? And I’m only scratching the surface here!
As for misplacing the cell, that story’s not so interesting. The gang convinced me to follow them up to a bar in Capitol Hill, and like a fool I lost them at Broadway & Madison. Lo and behold, when I tried to call them, no phone. In a mild panic, I drove back down to Jones, and luckily it was still sitting on the table (fortunately, we’d been eating outside, because the restaurant was long closed!).
Pure, unadulterated evil
Tomorrow I’ll update you on the search for quality lawncare in Seattle. Or, if that doesn’t pan out, I’ll tell you about my days working as a chambermaid in rural France.
Warning: Am about to betray myself as an artistic bottom-feeder.
Austin Powers in Goldmember, the thought of which has been sending shivers down my spine, ended up being tonight’s plan. Guess what? I actually thought it was hilarious, the most nonstop laughing I’ve done in a movie since, hm, My Sassy Girl, probably. Power of expectations, probably, since I had absolutely none. The opening sequence alone is worth the price of admission. Not exactly a masterpiece of cinema, but at least it wasn’t all recycled jokes from the first film like its predecessor was.
At the very least, as far as movies consisting entirely of in-jokes goes, it was more successful than Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back.
Yes. I admit it. Now I’ll go hide under a rock. And please, I implore you, don’t blindly follow me like a lemming on this and then blame me if you hate it. I like Vanilla freaking Coke, for crying out loud.
A couple things I forgot to mention, mostly about how comics eat the soul.
Wasted so much time yesterday due to combined efforts by explodingdog and dan sanderson, as a barrage of mentions forced me to read through the entire run to date of Diesel Sweeties. That’s 471 strips of low-rez, lowbrow goodness.
In addition, I think I’m most of the way through sgnp’s Super Rocket Monkey and Elephants & Giraffes strips. I started reading these on Monday (lish’s fault) and actually met sgnp at Tuesday (bowling night). Inspired, wacky, and autobiographical (he also has a livejournal, so you can see how things match up between life & comic).
Final notes (not comics related), where I catch up on friends’ blogs that I’ve recently (i.e. in the last week) found but haven’t yet mentioned here: Bob has a blog. Also, Bob has a blog. Tony has a blog. Meredith has a blog. Bertie has a blog. Robin has a blog. Rachel has a blog. Linh has a blog. Read, and learn.
#27. Chopin Vodka Krispy Shot ~ smooth and satisfying, the complementary tastes of a fine vodka and a warm Krispy Kreme Original Glazed combine to form a “symphony for the tastebuds” (The Village Voice) ~ $10
#28. Glenlivet 12-yr Krispy Shot ~ sharp and sophisticated, for the adventurous diner. In the sixteenth century, Dutch noblemen would enjoy scotch and dough-nuts as a nightcap. Now you can too! ~ $12
Stupd laptop eyboard! thn that the column of eys contangng the letter after h the one after j the number after 7 and the comma has fnally gone aput. t’s about tme ‘d be sendng the thng bac to dell but then ‘d be wthout a computer for sx wees. Maybe t’s tme to buy a new machne (mac?)… but for now guess ‘ll just hoo up an external eyboard.
(keyboard behaving for now, but you’re not off the hook yet, Dell)
I know this has made the internet rounds of late, but I figure if something sucks away a few hours of my life I should at least share the love. True Porn Clerk Stories chronicles the real-life adventures, in all their mundanity and bizareness, of a video store employee in my hometown of Chicago. Enjoy. Or at least be happy that it’s not your job.
Letters never sent.
The problem with being the “one who always plans things” is that somehow I still get blamed even when someone else does the planning, and things go wrong. Just because it’s natural to assume that I had a hand in it.
Fine, you say. You should at least have prevented it from happening; you were in a position to intercede.
To this I say: Why? Sure, I felt bad about it, but it wasn’t my plan. And why can’t I just go with the flow for once? Look, it’s not like my week hasn’t been any less crappy than anyone else’s. I didn’t have the energy to want to fight or deal with it anymore.
So go ahead. Be as angry as you want about it. Blame me for everything. But you’re not going to ruin the rest of the day or week by guilt-tripping me. Not when it was the only bright fucking spot in an otherwise shitty couple of days. At the very least, don’t single me out. Remember: it wasn’t even my plan.
Argh. Too late. Already ruined.
T minus 2 days twenty-one hours and four minutes.