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October 31, 2001

blogmeet, seattle style

I had (almost) never met another blogger, and then suddenly, like a deluge they were upon me. They were a damn personable set of people. Even in giving each other shit they were pretty kind.

Funny that a San Fransisco weblogger was the glue that pulled us all together. I can honestly say that Jish is a truly charming guy, and I can see why everyone turns up when he comes into town. His tinyblog codename is: JishyJishFromJishport.

I also got to meet the SNoT crew, Erin and Shawn. Shawn distinguished himself by offering to pay for every last drop of water we drank. In addition, when I told him about another (cheaper, more parking-friendly) place we could drink, asked me if I knew it's coordinates so he could find it on his GPS. His tinyblog codename is: MrGenerousity, and Erin's is either: MaximumBoots or her alternate codename is: MaximumCleavage.

One pleasant surprise was Nina of Geegaw.com, who was a very quietly charming young lady. I can honestly say that, upon meeting her, I understand her cryptic little blog much better. She is quite a cryptic girl. Her tinyblog codename is: GaramondItalic.

The other two dans and assorted other sweet, dorky boys delighted me with their signature brand of amazing Seattle hip geekiness. Let's just say there were a lot of digital cameras there that night. And not just the boys, I guess I should say.

Bitchquick, Asshole, and usr/bin/punkin/ were apparently not able to make it, and were missed. Quite a gaggle of cute girls whose blogs I had never heard of were there as well, and I look forward to checking out their online writings. Of them, Rebecca's tinyblog codename is FoxyGlasses.

The tiny linklove page has now been updated to include all the new folks I met, and I now believe it to be quite a complete list of Seattle bloggers. If you're into that kind of thing.

October 29, 2001

investigation of the masquerade

On Saturday I went to my first round of Halloween parties, dressed up as Jesus. I have long hair and a beard, and look sort of like the iconographic Jesus, so all I have to do really is wrap a sheet around myself and put a crown of thorns on my head. I also handed out little Jesus Saves cards to everyone.

It was a whirlwind night, and frankly, I can't believe I woke up without a hangover. Hydrate, kids, it's really the key!

However, it was merely the warm-up for wednesday's Consolidated Works party: Investigation of the Masquerade.

My costume is TOP SECRET (I can't go as Jesus again!). I am going with my sister, and the asshole. And I can't wait.

October 26, 2001

BBQ Porn

I went over to a friend's new house, and he had such a beutiful kitchen. All spacious and white and sky blue.

Then I got confused by a picture he had on his fridge. It was a picture of a huge stainless steel BBQ. Roasting on spits were 4 full chickens, and countless steaks and chops on every inch of its many surfaces. It was an obscene BBQ.

"What's up with this picture?" I said.

"Oh that," he said, "it's barbeque porn."

October 25, 2001

christ, you don't know the meaning of heartbreak, buddy

Some writing that inspired me in the last 24 hours:

Well it takes weights off hips, bust, thighs, chin, midriff,
Gives you dandruff, and it finds you a job, it is a job
And it strips the phone company free take ten for five exchange,
And it gives you denture breath
And you know it's a friend, and it's a companion
And it gets rid of your traveler's checks
It's new, it's improved, it's old-fashioned
Well it takes care of business, never needs winding,
Never needs winding, never needs winding
Gets rid of blackheads, the heartbreak of psoriasis,
Christ, you don't know the meaning of heartbreak, buddy,
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon
'Cause it's effective, it's defective, it creates household odors,
It disinfects, it sanitizes for your protection
It gives you an erection, it wins the election
Why put up with painful corns any longer?

"I hate you," she said to me one afternoon. Her English was flawless. "I really, really hate you." Call me sensitive, but I couldn't help but take it personally.

Tomorrow you'll see what you've broken and torn tonight,
thrashing in the dark. Inside you
there's an artist you don't know about.
He's not interested in how things look different in moonlight.

If you niether dwell, percieve, nor stray from the ultimate,
Then you are the holy practitioner, the torch which illumines darkness.

October 24, 2001


Leave now, or you'll never get anything done today.


Hydro Games Arcade! via PixelSurgeon

Robot Duck includes the awesome Vampire Boy, via meg

Dark Orbit, I played this game for an entire night once.

sissyfight 2000

rocketsnail games

Ultimate Arcade Inc.



Ninjai! (Highly Recommended!)


lil' pimp

October 23, 2001

ongoing tiny tragedies

Well, my hopes that my workmate Co'ray was not gonna get into crystal meth are looking pretty unfounded.

We went and sat in his car and smoked a bowl this afternoon, before my shift started. "I'm smoking a lot less weed these days," he said, "now that I'm using crystal, too."

"Mmm," I said. I've said everything I'm gonna say about it. He knows how I feel.

"I might be moving to Oregon pretty soon," he says, perhaps in response to the look on my face, "I'll probably quit doing it then."

I just wanted to get out of the car so he couldn't see the look on my face.

October 22, 2001

don't feel too damn much like blogging

And why not? Well, I'm doing a bunch of back-end stuff. For one thing, I'm in the process of converting the tinyblog to the amazingly amazing Movable Type, about to mature into it's second official release.

For another, I'm helping a couple of other people movie their blogs over to MT.

For another, I'm learning how to script in ASP.

And for another, Halloween is coming up and this year just seems like the year to have a super fun time all over the place. All of my friends are taking it very seriously and there's a million and a half parties to go to. (I think I'm going to try and make four of them!)

I think I'm gonna be Jesus, and the guy from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

In addition to my behind-the-scenes work, I also have updated the Linklove page to include a list of Seattle bloggers.

Enough of making only heartbreakingly good blog friends in Australia. It's about time to read some people that I could concievably go have coffee with! So shouts out to Seattle bloggers.

That's enough. I said I didn't feel much like blogging!

October 18, 2001

more after I left the porn stars

As I walked towards the grocery store, mah' man called after me, "Hey, I've had that can opener since Vietnem."

"You know you're gonna see it again."

Chuck puppydogged after me to the grocery store where I went straight for the beans with a touch of maple. Then chocolate milk...they have no whole milk chocolate milk. Who wants low fat chocolate milk for crying out loud?

"Is there something I can put these in, to heat them up?"

The cashier looked vaguely in the direction of the deli.

"Do you have like a styrofoam bowl, or a cup or something I can use?"

The cashier looked annoyed, "There's some cups over there."

"That was really nice of you, to feed that guy," said Chuck as we walked over to the microwave, marvelling at my two dollars worth of generousity. "I really admire that."

It took me so long to get the can open with that army-issue can opener that the security guard came over and asked if everything was OK. A small can of Bush's Baked Beans fits exactly into a tall Seattle's Best Coffee cup. Minutes later I was back out in the night air with a steaming cup.

"You shine," he said, between mouthfuls. "Some people just really bright, an that's you. You don't meet people like that every day."

We had sat down again and Chuck had an arm around me, cradling my ribs. Something was kinda bugging me, and I gently said to Chuck, "That's enough, Chuck, you gotta back off, man." He pulled away and looked a little wounded.

Then it kinda dawned on me. That Chuck and mah' man hadn't ever seen each other before...Chuck had just come over and sat down for no reason. He had shiny new clothes, he was probably not homeless. "What's your story?" I said to him, "What are you doing out here at 4am? I thought you two knew each other."

"I'm just walking around. I just sat down here because I was attracted to you."

For some reason that suddenly made me aware how late (early) it was. I stood and told the two of them that I had to go, and I walked the last few blocks to my car, and drove to my apartment...which I was very grateful to have.

October 17, 2001

after I left the porn stars

It was almost three in the morning now as I walked up Capitol Hill, away from the porn stars, and in the direction of my car. Up John Street I walked, away from the madness of Broadway. 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, and I neared 15th, a semi-major intersection with a bus stop on the side I was walking and a Safeway grocery store across the street.

Normally my hair was in a braid but it had gotten so messy and frizzy because of the rain that I finally let it out and let it do what it would like a big 'fro.

A short black man with glasses was standing near the bus stop, watching me approach, and looked for sure like he was going to get my attention. As I came up to him I started to sing that familiar Public Enemy tune, "I can't do nuttin' for ya man, I can't do nuttin FO ya man!"

He laughed, and looked disappointed he'd been shot down so quick but still he talked to me. I was lonely from the porn stars and tipsy from the 211 Steel Reserve and he seemed like good company. He was. We stood in the street and talked and sang songs, and he told me why he needed change for the phone.

"Hmf," I said, after a while, "I guess I can do something for you then", and I handed him a couple of quarters, all the cash I had on me.

We went and sat down in the bus shelter and he sang cheesy late seventies sould tunes and I sang early nineties grunge songs and generally kept good cheer.

A strange man approached us. He was ruddy faced and wide eyed and had on some kind of shiny pants...like weatherproof pants...they were so shiny I thought they were wet. For some reason I thought the guy I was talking to must have known this guy because he came over and sat next to me and I asked him what his name was.

His name was Chuck. "I'm really lost," he said. And not much else. He seemed a little dazed, and I assumed he was homeless, too. The other guy and I kept talking, and Chuck sort of gently wrapped his hands around my arm. I didn't mind, I was feeling expansive and bright and happy to be alive, sitting in a bus shelter. Chuck sort of curled up into me a little, resting his head against my chest and hanging on to my upper arm.

Mah' man had asked Chuck if he would get him something to eat and Chuck didn't seem to hear. Finally I said, "Hell, I'll feed you...what do you want?"

He started talking about going to a grocery store halfway around the nieghborhood, even though there was one right across the street. I wanted to know what the hell he was talking about.

Turns out that what he wanted was hot beans. Bush's Baked Beans..."the kind with a touch of maple," he said, with lights in his eyes. But he didn't agree with the night manager at that grocery store, or the other nearby grocery store. He wanted hot beans, and wanted to be able to use his little vietnam-war era can opener and microwave the suckers at the deli.

I told him I'd just go in myself and get him some beans (with a touch of maple) and open them and microwave them and it wouldn't be such a big deal. And some chocolate milk? Yes, and some chocolate milk.

October 16, 2001

pussycat with the porn stars

I had tried to say hi to him, (we'll call him "Winter") a couple of days earlier and he had ignored me. That's why I was surprised that when I walked past him on a seamy Capitol Hill street, outside of Club Seattle, a private "bath house" he said hi to me warmly.

He insisted he hadn't seen me at the party. Said he hadn't seen me in years, and asked how I was doing. I was glad to talk to him, and told him about school and all that. We talked warmly and exchanged cell phone numbers.

I asked how he was doing. "Well, actually..." he said he'd been working a little in the porn industry.

"Like motion pictures?"

"Motion, stills, everything." He went on to say that his girlfriend had just kicked him out and he was kinda scrambling for a place to live.

He told me it was a crazy industry, and that some pretty borderline characters worked in porn. "Yeah," I said, (and it's here that I firmly wedged my foot in my mouth) "you don't really have to have your shit together to work in porn...you just have to be able to get your dick hard."

The conversation ended shortly after that, and we went our seperate ways.

I thought about him all the next day though. Adrift in the world, no place to stay, hanging out at Club Seattle hustling and trying to put something together.

So, the next night I called him and asked him if he needed a safe place to stay that night or something. He said he was okay until the 31st, but was more worried about food and such, and a place to live after Halloween. He asked if I was looking for a roommate. I said definately not, but if he was in a dire situation I was more than willing to let him crash for a few days. Plus, I'd always be happy to feed him.

It seemed like I hadn't entirely ruined things by my callousness the night before. He told me a friend of his had suggested seeing the late night movie at the Egyptian Theater, and wanted to know if I wanted to go. It was late, and I wasn't sure I wanted to do it. He didn't know what the movie was, so I said I was going to check and get back to him.

The movie was the 1965 sex farce What's New Pussycat, which I instantly decided I was going to see in honor of Shauna.

I called him and told him we were on, and met him inside. We went and sat down and instantly started laughing at Peter Sellers' rendition of a sex-obsessed psychotherapist, and his sex-obsessed patient Peter O'Toole, who looked pretty foxy back in the day.

A few minutes later his friends showed up in true porn-star style. In tight clothes, beautiful mussy hair, and several king cans of 211 Steel Reserve. Two women and a guy, I could only barely make them out by the light of the flickering screen...we were briefly introduced and I was handed a long, cold silver can of the swill, popular with old chronic public inebriates.

I did not open it, but let it cool my nuts until the movie was over, at which time we made our grand exit, where I made the further aquaintance of the guy, known as Yuri, by splitting the malt liquor with him in the men's bathroom. He was in a grand and expansive drunk, speaking eloquently and gesticulating madly and dancing around.

We made it out on the street and I met the two girls, Yuri's girlfriend, Vicki Victory, and the other girl a native Russian speaker, both young, slim, tight, devastatingly pretty in their mussed way. They just projected this energy that said, "bend me over that couch, big boy", but like...not really.

It was after 2am, and there was nowhere to get decent beer anymore, so I tried to choke down some of the truly most repulsive malt liquor I'd ever tasted as we danced down the street like young trouble.

They said they were going to a bookstore. Yuri was wicked trashed, spouting Shakespeare and metaphoric cum on the streets of the randiest nieghborhood in the city. Truly they were going to a bookstore. I had forgotten that Twice Sold Tales was open all night on Saturday nights (books half price after midnight) and we entered in grand style.

Yuri and I staggered through the stacks. He picked up a book and read convincingly from Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. The staff was surprisingly tolerant of us, and I realized that you'd kind of have to be if you worked in a bookstore that was open all night in Capitol Hill.

Finally I had had enough and, without a word, walked out into the delicious fall night towards my car, and my relatively normal little life.

October 14, 2001

the I, Asshole challenge

I did it!

It's sort of Like the Pepsi Challenge...only there's no soda involved...or the comparing of two things...or a corporate entity...and it's actually challenging. Well, ok, it's nothing like the Pepsi Challenge.

You can call it MAME, or the Most Annoying Meme Ever. The challenge is, to write a post of 50+ words, where each and every word is linked. Not only that, but each link has to make magical sense...to you at least.

Asshole's opening entry is impressive to say the least, and not really annoying at all. It's actually kinda ingenious (see the links for "the" and "a"). I know where the annoying part comes in. It's in trying to do one myself. We shall see. GodDAMN that looks like a lot of work.

I did it, but only because I said to Asshole, "Asshole, people like memes. They love 'em. It gives meaning to their pathetic little existances, but there's one thing people do not like, and that's work! Making a meme that requires a lot of work is not likely to be very viral."

She agreed and busted the requirement down to only 50 words instead of the original 100. Whew! Now back to our regularly scheduled posting.

October 11, 2001

quigley down under

I turned to my classmate as we were waiting to get the computer lab unlocked, "What's that Tom Selleck movie where he's a sharpshooter in Australia?"

She looked at me, puzzled....for a moment. Then the light went on, "Quigley Down Under."

Oh yeahhhh! I thought...when the lab was unlocked I looked up its entry on imdb, to see it's sad tagline: "There's a price on his head. A girl on his mind. And a twinkle in his eye."

I'll have to ask Shauna if it's "ozzed up", which is, she tells me, a term for actors in a movie really making themselves say "mate" and "g'day" a lot and really accentuating their accents. When I went to see "the dish", she told me it was ozzed up.

All I remember is Tom Selleck shooting things from really, really far away, which doesn't make for much of an action movie. Oooooh, he can hit a coffee can from 2000 feet! Bring on Van Damme! He's no match for Quigley down under.

October 10, 2001

the deep fryer

One boring summer vacation day, I decided I was going to do some deep frying. I think I had some french fries or something I wanted to start with. I filled a pan with a few inches of oil and made my fries.

Now I had a pan full of oil...what else could I deep fry?

I remember I pretty much tried to deep fry everything in the kitchen. I even tried to crack an egg and deep fry that. It got all bubbly and wierd, but it wasn't too bad if I remember correctly.

I must've sat there in that kitchen for an hour before I finally stopped, because I finally reached my deep frying limit.

I put in a piece of bread...yum, right? Like deep fried toast. I toasted it and let it cool off a little, and then took a hearty bite. A piece of bread is basically like a little sponge. I bit into it and about 4 tasblespoons of canola oil poured down my throat. Oh, how utterly yucky. No more deep frying for me.

Now I bake my french fries.

October 9, 2001

it's the sound of silence

it's the sound of silence

silence is the new loud
the war against silence
music born in silence
heroes del silencio
how do you silence the mind?

broken hearted poetry has a home

deborah's poetry of sadness
poetry pasterland of hurt and pain
deep wounds, quiet house
belda's broken heart poetry page
cryssy's ascii art

October 7, 2001


I just took a short nap and had napmares. I don't usually remember my dreams if I sleep a whole night. Almost never. But when I sleep for less than an hour, then the dreams come.

I was driving somewhere...trying to get on I-5. I just remember being really confused and disoriented. I passed a street and two friends in the car with me started saying loudly, "You missed the turn-off, it was right there," and pointing as I passed.

I felt everything slow down and I couldn't think of what to do or how best to turn around and go back. Everything was so heavy and thick. I just pulled over to the side of the road. I was a busy street, and my friends were saying, "What are you doing?" They just seemed very alarmed and afraid.

I couldn't turn my head and something felt wrong about my position...I knew this wasn't a good place to pull over and I could mentally feel that a car could slam into us from the back at any moment. I could imagine how it would feel. It began to dawn on me that I was very drunk, and that the car was very slowly turning in the wrong direction. I thought I had my foot on the brake pedal but now I wasn't sure. My friends were gone.

Again I felt like I was in a strange position...gravity was pulling from the wrong direction. I wondered if I had had my foot on the gas and flipped the car. The police were going to come and all of the terribleness of an motor vehicle accident was going to begin anew.

Then I realized why gravity seemed to be wrong...it was coming from the side, because I was lying down. I was in my bed. I was not really in a car. Relief, of the profoundest kind, but how sad and tired I feel.

October 6, 2001

organ meats

organ meats

I didn't sleep. I was feeling a little weird and off, so I finally went to the grocery store to look for something to make for my lunch today.

I was just looking for a piece of meat to fry, but nothing was good and cheap...everything on sale looked grody. For some reason I picked up a big beef liver and looked at it for a moment. Then I went and looked at chicken, but QFC only has mega-packs of everything and it's hard to get just a little chicken. Then I saw a package of turkey organ meats and it just made my mouth water.

It dawned on my that I had been feeling a little sluggish, and there was probably something in those organ meats that my body was screaming out for. I decided to make an organ meat and root veggie fall soup. I got some turkey neck wierd parts to fill out the flavor of the stock, too.

I browned the necks, chopped onions and the diced organ meats, and put them in the water with chopped yams, parsnips, some squash, and a little S&P and oregano. It wasn't quite full bodied enough so I poured in a can of crushed tomatos...those grilled Muir Glen organic ones.

Even eating a couple of scraps of liver as I browned them was just so damn delicious...sometimes I'll get a craving for greens like that, never organ meats before though. The soup turned out great, and even though I still haven't slept, I just feel mellow and energized.

So this is to encourage you to go shopping and just look at stuff and pick it up and smell it and ask yourself what your body wants. Maybe it wants organ meats. Maybe not.

October 5, 2001



In the slaughterhouse of love, they kill
only the best, none of the weak or deformed.
Don't run away from this dying.
Whoever's not killed for love is dead meat.

- Coleman Barks Translation

October 3, 2001

what you'd look like if you were my right elbow

patched together

Some of you may remember when I broke my right arm, or when I had surgery to put the errant piece of bone back on (or when my sister wrote a little song about it). Here are the fruits of Dr. Thomas' labors, brought to you by the miracles of x-ray photography and good ol' photography.

What you're looking at here is a thin plate that runs along the outside end of the ulna, a long bone screw that holds it on and holds the shaft of the bone together, and four smaller bone screws that hold the plate onto the side of the ulna. If that that's not enough cringe inducing goodness for you, take a look at the following detail:


What you're seeing here, is one of the short bone screws, that goes at a sharp diagonal down into the ulna. The swelling was so much when the doctor did the original surgery, that he didn't realize how close this little screw head would be to the surface. So now, I can feel that little edge of the screw head through my skin. (Which normally is fine until I hit it on something.)

At some point, Dr. Thomas is going to have to make a tiny inscision, and use what he tells me is basically an allen wrench to unscrew this particular screw and remove it. I so look forward to it.

October 2, 2001

what are you doing today?

What are you doing today? Trolling through blogs? What are you looking for? What do you hope that you will find? Why are you looking for it here? I am flattered, but really...I'm just as fucked up as you are. What are you thinking?!?

All I can say is, whatever it is...I hope you find it. I would give it to you if I had it. I would...I promise.

October 1, 2001

lunch question of the day

My freshman year of high school was actually the most fun year. I made friends with a bunch of Theater seniors, and then they were all gone by my sophomore year. So, for that one year I was sort of cool, and sat with a cool, slutty journalism major that I had a major crush on.

We sat together for lunch, and that year developed some level of geeky noteriety as a lunch table for our bizarre demonstrations with the school's sub-food pizza product, and for our lunch time questions.

They were rather Howard Stern-ish usually, playing on the puerile sexual fascination of our fellow students. One notable question, asked to at least 30 people during the course of a lunch hour, "Would you voluntarily sleep with your opposite-sex parent for a billion dollars?"

Best answer? "Hell yeah! I'd sleep with my mom and my grandmother on national television and do it up all nasty for a billion dollars!"

tragedy on a small scale

These are such confusing, exciting days. School is starting and I have people living at my house for a few days and all of my relationships with people are shifting and I have 18 million projects, most of them fun but not allowing for much sleep, and...hey, is this a run-on sentence?

Anyway, I came here to tell you about something and I'm going to do it!

I work with this 19 year-old sweet lil' punk of a kid who lives with his mom and spends all his money on dope, and expensive audio and computer components. I like him, he's really intelligent and funny, and he's just getting in touch with his feelings so he's still pretty surprised by someone like me who wears his heart firmly buttoned to his sleeve.

When I relieve him at 11pm, we go outside and smoke a cigarette and bullshit. He mostly talks about Star Trek Voyager and Diablo 2, but occaisionally waxes philosophical in his 19 year old way.

That's why I was a little...mmn...disturbed when he asks me out of the blue yesterday if I'd ever done 'crystal'. What he is referring to, for those not in the know, is a really potent Methamphetamine that is really hot these days...in Washington State at least. It might be bigger than heroin. More likely he's just talking about crank, which is the stepped on version of same.

Now, I worry about this kid a little already. He already does quite a fair amount of drinking for a 19-year old, and he listens to Korn, Marilyn Manson, Eminem, and all those voice-of-the-disenfranchised-and-slightly-psychotic-suburbanite bands, and is just pretty directionless. I know, I know...he's basically your average teenager these days.

But now he looks like he's flirting with that crazy-ass jet fuel. He asked me if I wanted to do it with him sometime. (You know, sometimes we go out and smoke a bowl in his tricked-out Toyota.)

I told him I wasn't gonna be into that. I have actually tried it, and I have watched some really cool people just go down. Sores all over their faces and red eyed and pretty much crazy. The bullshit addict lies and the inevitable stealing.

I told him about the 'speed bumps' or just the big red sores that come as the skin begins to break down after a while of being on the shit.

"Nono, he said, crystal doesn't do that. Maybe they were really on heroin," he said.

I told him I knew damn well what they were doing.

"Maybe they were taking some other shit, too."

Who knows, maybe he'll get wise really quick. Or maybe he'll just be another small-scale tragedy in the midst of all the large scale tragedies going on.

u.s. vows to defeat whoever it is we're at war with

"For example, we know that the mastermind has the approximate personality of a terrorist," Gramm said. "Also, he is senseless. New data is emerging all the time."
I know that everyone and their brother already linked to this weeks edition of The Onion, and there is a very good reason. Because it's insanely funny. I love their tagline so much better than CNN's.

It's Holy Fucking Shit: Attack on America. I honestly don't think I could have come up with anything better. The Onion has done a mighty and surpreme job of writing the most inscisive set of articles about the last 2 or 3 weeks, and making it so funny tears came to my eyes.