two blog-isms that I enjoy

beautiful, blogging 1 Comment »
Since I’ve been reading so many blogs these days, I’ve noticed a couple of things that I really like, and it wouldn’t surprise me if I use (read: STEAL) them occasionally.

I love the way jo(e) uses pseudonyms for all the people and places in her life. I wanted to show a good example of what I’m talking about, and as if she’d read my mind, there were a whole bunch of great examples in her newest entry:

“It’s not time for spring break yet, but I am taking mine a bit early. My suitcase is packed. I’m off to a conference, held this year in City Burned to the Ground During the Civil War. In class, I gave my students a project to work on while I was gone and told them I was heading to Warm Southern City.

Of course, they all had to chime in with interesting facts about City at the Beginning of the Alphabet. One of my landscape architects told me that the city is famous for being an urban heat island that generates a permanent low pressure system, sort of like a torture chamber for someone who gets migraines. Another student claims there is some kind of whole museum dedicated to Famous Soft Drink filled with caffeine and sugar. A biology student told me cheerfully that the newest tourist trap in the city is a huge building where intelligent mammals who have both language and sonar are trapped in tanks of water and forced to perform tricks for a human audience.

I think they are just jealous that I am going someplace warmer, leaving behind the snowbanks and icy roads and winds that blow snow into every crevice of clothing.”

And I love the way Luke gives pseudonyms to the women in his life, e.g. TeaGirl, CherryCherry, and now my friend ‘Fiji.’

“Which yeah makes it a little strange for a first date I suppose, meeting in Fiji for 6 days. But I’ve talked to Fiji (or “Adam” as TeaGirl jokingly called her in an applear reference) over email and the phone enough times that it really doesn’t feel like a first date in a lot of ways. And – as several of you have pointed out – it’s not like this is the first time I’m flying somewhere to meet someone (see also: Austin and NYC).”

I don’t really have a ‘point’ to this post, I just noticed these things and wanted to highlight them and share them with you. What can I say? I like to share the things I appreciate.

And now I’m going to ask you for a favor in return. What are some of your favorite blogs?

a response letter from the universe

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I read something today in which the author wrote, “What did I do to the universe to make it want so badly to f**k me in the ass?”

Which got me thinking. What is the universe likely to say in response?

* * * * * * * *

Dear Individual,

I usually don’t take the time to write letters such as this (mostly because I’m infinitely large and have no opposable thumbs), but one of my lackeys recently forwarded your message to me, and it sounded like you could use a comforting word or two from me. I admit that I like you, and your posterior. A lot. But not that much. And hey, I’ll be the first to admit that I likes me the buggery just as much as the next universe does, but let’s be realistic here. I just don’t have time to give that level of attention to each individual one of my citizens. Not to mention the fact that a star–let alone a galaxy, let ALONE an entire universe such as myself–is vastly bigger than a single human anus, so suffice it to say that even if I did want to do that to you, I’d be simultaneously doing it to every other being and planet and star inside me. And to myself too, if you think about it. Which really isn’t my thing.

So rest assured that you’re off the hook, at least as far as buggery and I are concerned. I can’t speak for all those other universes or ’string theories’ or whatever. You may wish to take up any further concerns you may have with them.

Please feel free to contact me at any time, but in all fairness, you really shouldn’t expect another response. Thank you.
Much love and peace out,
The Universe

lovely spam, wonderful spam

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How much do I love spam?

Apparently I love it very much, because I’m posting this message. This week I’ve gotten two e-mails with subject lines that stood out from all the rest.

“Add inches to your johnson effortlessly!”

and

“Fatten up your trousersnake.”

‘Fatten up your trousersnake?’ Who would say a thing like that? This kind of thing seems to be purely an e-mail phenomenon. I’m trying to imagine a scenario involving a door-to-door salesman using that as his pitch, or a paperboy back in the 1920’s holding a newspaper aloft and shouting, “EX-tree, EX-tree! Read all about it! Add inches to your johnson effortlessly!”

And of course, the word ‘johnson’ always reminds me of the nihilists in the movie The Big Lebowski. They’re the ones who interrupt Our Hero’s bubble bath, ask him repeatedly, “Vere’s the money, Lebowski?” drop a marmot into the tub and say, “Ve vill cut off your JOHNSON.”

What a strange morning. I’ve only been up for twenty minutes, and I’m already thinking about johnsons. I wish I wasn’t, so I’m going to eat, have coffee, and put on some music. I can’t decide what I’m in the mood to listen to. . .Revolting Cocks? Whitesnake? Tool? Big Black? Helmet? Mr. Big?

So many choices. . .


ha ha

three out of four is still pretty decent

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I wouldn’t call it beautiful, but it’s certainly funny, a little sad, and true.

I came across this story yesterday about a guy who heard a woman screaming for help in the apartment upstairs. So he grabs his sword, runs upstairs and bursts into the apartment, only to find a guy sitting alone watching a porno. The police arrive, take him to jail, take his sword, and charge him with a bunch of pretty heavy-duty charges.

I think they should all be dismissed.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s all about intent. He went up there to save a damsel in distress. If it had been a rape, Our Hero would probably be getting knighted right now, instead of becoming a character in an obscure (but still very witty and insightful!) blog halfway across the country.

A toast. . .to James Van Iveren.

He did the right thing–albeit in an unusual way–in a moment when most people would have stuck their heads in the sand. Let’s hope all the charges get dropped.

the supposedly abridged version

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I’ve been trying to compose an entry to describe what this weekend was like, and I have to admit that I’m at a bit of a loss. Instead, I offer you the short version of the story.

Saturday I volunteered to work some overtime, and after that I took a drive up the Columbia Gorge to take pictures, which you’ve seen. On Sunday, Kelly and her roommate moved, and I helped. Her car battery (actually it turned out to be the alternator) died, so her car wouldn’t start and we (with quite a bit of help from her dad, gorblessim) had to figure all that out. Then we went to the Pied Cow and shared an AMAZING brownie boat. (Brownies, vanilla ice cream, and raspberry sauce. Nuff said!) Monday, we continued with the moving, and then we had to make a trip to Kaiser Permanente, which ended up taking two and a half hours (yes, we’re both okay).

And as a hopefully funny aside, here’s what happened later that night and the morning after.

Around 2:00 a.m., Kelly woke herself (and me) up with a coughing fit that consisted of a dry, hacking cough every 10-30 seconds for the next 45 minutes. I kept expecting it to end, but it never did. At some point, the sleep deprivation was setting in on me, and I asked if she needed a glass of water? Some cough syrup? Maybe a pair of socks or a cork? Ha ha. She opted for the water and cough syrup, and actually went right to sleep after the cough syrup. She remembers none of this, by the way. Phew! :)

In the morning, we had to get up extra early since I had to drive her to work (cause of her car battery) and get myself back to MY work by 8:00. At 6:30, I brushed her shoulder and serenaded her with an a capella version of the Ben Folds Five song, “Satan Is My Master.” When this elicited no response, I said, “Okay, but don’t MAKE me try to wake you up by speaking in an Australian accent.” No movement. Insert Australian accent here:
“I hea-ah thet woild kaingaroes have stawted fayd’n Fahstah’s bee-ah to th’ thai-nee bai-bee jao-eys. FAHSTAH’S. Royght in th’ JAOEYS. Bleydin’ trejeday! Beytah get ahp ‘n’ tayke cayeh th’ sit-choo-ai-tion.”

Still nothing. Nobody appreciates this stuff less than Kelly does. :) I laugh and resume my normal voice. “Aw c’MON. . .this is great comedy, and you’re missing it!” Exhales. Rolls over.

Incidentally, I always thought that “by the time I’m twenty five, I’ll be married and have a house and kids and all that. And I SURE won’t do all those ridiculous accents anymore.” Well, eleven years later, the accents are still going strong, and all that other stuff is still quite a ways off. And that’s fine with me.

* * * * * * * * * *

P.S. – As promised, here’s the ‘trans-LAI-tion’ for all you ‘am-EER-icans out there:
“I hear that wild kangaroos have started feeding Foster’s beer to their tiny baby joeys. FOSTER’S. Right in their JOEYS. Bleedin’ tragedy! Better get up and take care of the situation.”

OK, All You Dream Interpreters, Vol. III

dreams 1 Comment »

This morning, I had a dream in which I was involved in a sort of Game in which real life happens, and IS happening, all the time. All the characters and I age slightly, in this game. I start out as a junior high kid. Each choice my friends and I make has consequences, or benefits, a short while later. I’m walking along, trying to meet a specific person, but I don’t really know who. Each ‘Section’ of the game seems to have an ethereal ‘loop’ quality to it. Things will happen two or three times, but in minutely different ways, so if I don’t learn what I’m supposed to learn or make friendships I’m supposed to make, a different (incorrect? hard to tell) outcome will occur.

The game starts, and I’m standing in a soccer field, filled with a marching band and a bunch of people milling around. It’s a beautiful sunny day. If I make it past the Marching Band section, and meet the people I’m supposed to meet, I can progress to the Outdoor Market section. If I make it past the Outdoor Market section, I get to the Street Fair section. . Each section is perhaps a hundred yards across, separated by a paved street. But when I’m in each section, I don’t see any of the other sections until I’m ready to move on to the next one.

I walk through the Marching Band, and I meet up with one of my friends. We narrowly miss the opportunity for him to introduce me to a girl he knows, so we wait for a few minutes until the ‘loop’ repeats itself, and she marches back by us again. This time, we match her stride and he introduces me to her, and she steps out of the Marching Band to join us. Her clothes change too, and now instead of a band uniform, she’s wearing jeans and a hoodie. She has very short hair and plastic-framed glasses. She joins me and we walk to the Outdoor Market section of the game together.

We meet up with a handful of a different and slightly older group of my friends, who are unusually tall, athletic and good-looking. We’ve become slightly older ourselves; perhaps early high school age. We sit and join my friends at a table. One of my friends is laughing in a very strange and evil way. In slightly slow motion, the dream’s “camera” zooms in on a gold coin that he’s holding between his left thumb and middle finger. The light reflects off the coin, the camera pulls back, and he uses his right hand to flick it directly into the eye of a girl across the room. I’m horrified by this, but I notice that she doesn’t seem to be hurt in any way, but it seems to make her slightly less attractive somehow. The guy who is talking to her ends his conversation with her, and walks away to talk with someone else instead. I get up to leave, because I’m afraid of the “consequences” this will have for me in the Game if I stay with this particular group of friends. The girl I came with decides to stay. I get up from the table and walk from the Outdoor Market section, through the Street Scene section, and clear over to the Waterfront Park section of the game.

This section looks a little like the RiverPlace Marina. There is a wide, short sidewalk with small circular tables on each side. There’s a grassy area that goes down to a river, and this is one of the boundaries of the Game. I walk down the sidewalk and along the river, sort of looking around, and just before I move back into the Street Scene section another girl joins me. She is slightly taller than me, and she has a similar look to the earlier girl I met previously, with very short hair and glasses, except she’s slightly better-looking and a little bit older—late high school or early college, as am I—and she seems a little bit like a Guide. We silently walk together, side by side, into the Street Scene section of the game.

As soon as we walk into the new scene, we are in our early to mid-twenties. We see people we know all around us, but this Section of the game feels more oppressive and slightly Orwellian. There are military guards walking around everywhere, and there are many streets down which we are not allowed to walk. It’s also different in that we can see the other Sections. If we look to the left, we can see the sunny soccer field where the Marching Band is walking in the distance. The soccer field morphs into the Outdoor Market, which is next to the Street Scene, and to our right we can see the Park, back the way we entered. Some people we know (two or three of whom I know from college in real life—Pat L. and two or three I wasn’t friends with, but I recognize them) are hanging around on the street corner, dressed like thugs, threatening people. They’re making jokes and speaking crudely, both to other people and to us. One of them is throwing a tire high in the air and letting it roll down the side of a fence, where it rolls back to him. We don’t know if we can trust them or not, so we decide that we can’t. This is all unspoken between the two of us, by the way. We can each sort of tell what the other is thinking, and if we can’t, we can gesture or guide each other through various scenarios.

We are starting to become anxious to leave this Game. We are now in our middle to late twenties, and we are now the same height, interestingly. Our relationship seems to have changed by now as well. It’s slightly unclear if we are merely companions or something more, because we hold hands sometimes as we walk, but we’re anxious and intent on leaving. We walk down one street, and are stopped by guards. We turn back and walk down another street, only to find that it has been blocked by the canal that becomes the River in the Park Section. The bridge between the two Sections is out and we are trapped. We look across to the Park Section and see people–Extras in the Game rather than ‘real’ people–strolling lazily in the sunshine. We turn and see another exit near a railroad crossing and start to run toward it. Two guards, then more and more, yell something to us, the crossing arm starts to lower, the bells start ringing and the red lights start flashing as we approach, but we make it across, moments before a train comes rushing by behind us. We smile, squeeze each other’s hand and breathe a sigh of relief.

We run along the edge of the Street Scene section, clear around to the edge of the Park Section, past a bunch of people who see us but who can no longer reach us. On one side of us is the Game, on the other side is black, empty space. We are unsure what to do. We can’t find an Exit, but we don’t seem to be part of this Game anymore, either.

* * * * *

Very strange and life-like dream, in that each person you’d meet would affect not just you, but lots of other people, and that would affect the choices you would make. But nothing you would do would have an effect right away; it would take a while before you realized if you had made a good decision or not.

The ‘action’ was very slow and deliberate, but I always felt detached from it, at least in the early parts. (Gee, I wonder if that’s a metaphor for my childhood. . .) The later parts, when my female companion and I were trying to leave the Game, were very fast-paced and tense, and it all felt a bit like the Truman Show at the end, where things start happening randomly, just for the sake of stopping us and trying to keep us in the game.

I woke up at 5:15 in the morning, and I instantly went to the computer and started writing this down, to make sure I got the feel of this dream right. It was a very interesting and vivid one.

home sick, but not homesick

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I’ve been an erratic blogger indeed.

Biggest news is that I’ve been home sick (but not homesick) for the third day in a row. Not sure what it is, but it’s been laying me out. Hopefully it’s not AIDS or brain cancer. I’m fairly sure it’s neither–knock wood–because it feels like its hold is finally starting to break. I did give it to Kelly too; what better way to say ‘I love you’? We both spent all of yesterday–day and night–in bed. I was already there, and she left work early, and stayed home today too. Last night, we got up long enough to check our phones and e-mails, and then we watched a cool nature show about bonobos. After that, we watched some episodes of Sealab 2021, and called it a night.

And speaking of Kelly, she and Jamie are moving from downtown Vancouver to one of the cool parts of SE Portland. Yay! They’re signing the lease and getting the keys tonight. Hel-LO, Stumptown and Blue Monk!

I need to clean the kitchen.

UPDATE: Feeling much more like myself. Kitchen cleaned, rose bought, Ali G. episodes watched. Now I’m getting stir crazy, which is always a good sign.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

big results with small things

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I heard an amazing Global Warming statistic on NPR the other night:

“If everyone in America switched from regular incandescent light bulbs to compact fluorescent light bulbs in their homes, it would be the equivalent of taking 100 million cars off the road.”