I’m Not Really The Type To Flinch.

Pony has left the office and who’s to say what I’m going to do on my breaks now!?! Trips to the toy store seem a bit more drear and Jimmy John excursions are out the door. I mean I suppose I could continue to vent, but deep down I know she’s not interested, and I would hate to be a boor. So I guess that’s what this is for.

Some simpering carbie (the same one who asked if my Free City hoodie was some Nordstrom brand knock-off) comes up to me and is all “Oh-Em-Gee and Double-You Tee Eff she’s leaving?” and the look that explodes across my face is indescribable, but it’s a reflex whenever anyone starts spouting off in emota-twit. I try to concentrate on my work (which is considerable) but eventually advise the mono-sylabic babbler that she should find Pony and discuss. Details are always better in the first person don’t you find? My workplace has otherwise devolved into a demented three dimensional obstacle course filled with people in Huskies jerseys and boots yes boots.

Expecting company for the holiday, and my arms are aching from packing 70 pounds of groceries back from the shopping mart. I’m not sure where all this stuff and these people are going to fit, but I’m excited to find out. Rockin’ the chaos and all.

Harvest Festival non-stop yo!

Life Tastes Better In Conspiracy.

The weekend was packed full of lame as I contemplated the constant yo-yo ride of bouncing back and forth between Seattle and LA.

Compadre and I went for a walk to Taco Time on Saturday. Bitter cold with only slivers of sunlight. The promise of crisp bean burritos and mexi tots keeping us moving. We get there and the parking lot is eerily empty. We cautiously walk up to the glass doors to read the notice which advises us that this Taco Time location (one I have frequented for over 10 years) is closed and that we are welcome to try the next nearest Taco Time located square in the middle of the ghetto. This is quite beyond puddles. This has me seriously contemplating a move. I mean even if I were to go to the ghetto to eat there are a lot better places than Taco Time. They haves a Taco Bell!

I mean I understand the fine dining, seafood, and food snobs in Seattle put Los Angeles to shame. That and they actually stand in line for Intelligentsia coffee on Sunset?? But where is the King Taco? The El Pollo Loco? The Del Taco? The La Salsa? The Best Fish Tacos in Ensanadas? The Machos Tacos? That place on wheels that used to park in front of my office? Where where where? I mean Rancho Bravo Taco is fine I suppose, but the last time I ordered a vegetarian burrito it came bursting with shredded carrots and what I shudder to think might be baby bok choy. Seriously. This may call for a reassesment of the circumstances.

Not Entirely Convinced.

There is always that warning about allowing your reach to exceed your grasp. I keep saying it over and over out loud while at work in the hope that someone will overhear and perhaps act accordingly. Maybe then a rhinoceros will play a tuba.

Deal With People Who Are At War With Us.

Harris Tweed.

I was reading one of the weekly rags and it had a nice article on Harris Tweed. Did you know that in order to carry the name Harris Tweed it must be spun at home by one of the natives of the Outer Hebrides? It's true. Or at least according to this article it's true. Currently there are only 130 part time weavers. This is down from 800 in the 1980s. It was a physical rag so there is no link, but more info is at their site.

Maybe it's the blustery wet weather, but this appeals to me right now. I've been trying to pick up a nice Harris Tweed jacket at the thrift store, but it's always just slightly off. Too slouchy, too tight, or a nice fit, but not too jazzed with the fabric. I'll keep looking. And if you live anywhere north of Sunset you may want to as well.

I Imagine Life In A Fishtank.

The Queen's Speech

Lopsided Images Of Forever.

Derek is filling up his free time by acting in a film. With Marky Mark. And I am otherwise rendered speechless. Perhaps a little nauseous. Maybe it's just morning sickness.

Heritage brand anyone?

Hold Still While I Consume You.

Morrissey's most recent b-side compilation Swords dropped recently, and I was able to see a few lingering copies in the record shops this weekend. If you happened to pick up Years of Refusal a few months back and were a bit underwhelmed, then I don't mind telling you that this makes for a much more enjoyable listen. Low key and self assured.

The compilation consists of b-sides from his three albums from 2004 to present. I'm a bit of a completist and had most of the album already so I just downloaded the three tracks I was missing and created a playlist of the album. Is that cheating? Is that cheap? I'll be buying a physical copy later next month for someone's stocking stuffer so I don't feel too bad about my penny pinchings.

I broke down and bought an iphone over the weeekend, and I seriously should not have made such a fuss. I brought in reams of documentation detailing my call and texting history over the past three months. Prepared to defend myself in the event they tried to upsell me I was, but it was so easy and the guy was so nice. And the documentation wasn't all for naught. It was so extensive they were able to "port" my old service instantaneously and I walked out of the shop with a new fully operational phone! Delicious!

There Was Never Any Real Hope.

If you've never bookended one of your days with a nice long cuddle with a kitty then I cannot express to you what you're missing. In a way I feel sorry for people with dogs. I also feel something a good deal stronger when I see doodles on the sidewalk.

Although dogs are scandalously precious, there is always the smell, and the drool, and the simpering neediness that oozes out of their every pore. No replacement for a purring furry poof ball rubbing up and down the length of your body as you lie in bed. Staring at the moon. Knowing full well you don't have to take the animal for a walk in the rain so it can relieve itself and eat some other canine's fecal matter, you lie there realizing you can just drift off to sleep like this. And you do. Dreams of dismembered bodies and viscera fill your restful mind, blazing fires tearing through shopping centers. Panic, cries of pain and despair. Large brick storage building collapsing onto pedestrians below. Only a handful are able to get out of the way, and those that do are eventually swallowed up by debris and glass. Crushed to death. Lying under tons of rubble in pain as the life slowly drains from their compressed bodies.

You rouse slightly, shift a little under the covers, hear kitty fling the bedroom door open, and it all starts over again. Much harder to pull yourself away in the morning than it is to drift off in the evening.

An Eternity Like This

Do you ever wonder how much blood on the sidewalk is too much blood? And not necessarily figuratively?

Coffee shop had some tousle haired APC and skinny jean rockin mos making a scene. Had to go on about the joint's Wi-Fi policy (no Wi-Fi on weekends in order to encourage interpersonal relationships or some jive) and people in the Northwest, and not to get them started on people from the Northwest (they come from Utah), and I just thought that it doesn't really get more Northwest than the "almost too audible coffee shop tirade that everyone just has to hear". Some things I keep to myself.

And some things I don't. I rarely read fiction. I think it's kind of like watching television with the sound off. But a couple of friends of mine recommended a rather dreary book so I decided to give it a go, and I was recently reminded of another reason I don't read fiction.

Sitting on the bus, reading my book, headphones firmly in place mind you, vacant and pale goth chick with streaks of jagged colour running through her hair says,

"That's a really good book. Really dark."

I say, "Yes, indeed, a bit florid for my taste perhaps."

"What does that mean? Florid?"

"Do you think your vocabulary and your bangs may impact your literary appreciation?"

Goth chick flips me off and I can see the chipped lavender nail polish, and the tiny bit of spittle coming out the side of her mouth where she is still getting used to a piercing. Cracked lips, craggy oasis on a sea of poorly applied pancake makeup. Complexion of ash. Root vegetables. Naked despair.

Tight Fields Depression.

At exactly 12:34 this morning I was woken by crashing hail against the building. It sounded like the end of the world, and even though I have no actual point of comparison I'm otherwise comfortable with that statement. I walked all around my apartment just to make sure it was all still there. Thankfully I found it easy to go back to sleep, but this morning the hail had turned to rain so now I'm totally rocking the wellies in earnest. Gusts of wet wind quite nearly blew me to the ground as the ape-people tried to knock me over attempting to board the bus.

I arrived at work this morning and I've started to notice that someone or some entity rather tidies my desk at night. In the afternoon I always leave my desk without a care. Make sure there isn't anything confidential, or worse, scandalous lying about and then I jet without a thought. But when I come back it is all so nicely organized and everything seems to be at right angles. I'm hardly annoyed. I only wish I could get the entity to do the same thing for my house. Other than that I'm wondering what one does when someone outs you to the rest of your friends on facebook. One could get nostalgic remembering the days when such things bothered one.

And You'll Never Walk Alone.

Something Entirely Forward.

Got it in my head to listen to Swervedriver this morning and it has been treating me remarkably well. I remember this music constantly bothering me when my brother would insist on playing it, but now it all seems quite natural. Snagged an extra copy of Country Life and am about to trod on down to post it to him. In appreciation of all the music I would never listen to otherwise.

The end is coming sooner than any of us realized. I am in a bit of quandary as to what I will do in the event that there’s the final World Series game on the same night as Bones (Thursday night). I suppose working myself into a state won’t be helpful. But it may just be unavoidable.

And He Thinks I'm Uninspired?

Recession drag anyone? Anyone? No seriously, I mean anyone? How about some Cracker Barrel inspired retail spaces? It's in Ballard... Over that bridge everyone always jumps off of... Yeah, it almost goes without saying that the new retail space in Ballard the Field House rubs me the wrong way. Filled with junk one would ordinarily order from a catalog yet inexplicably has been hyped on every MOR fashion blog, I'm left with the feeling that I'll probably head to Malibu before I pick up anything in a check from a "heritage brand" at this overly-studied self-conscious industry pandering dreck emporium. Just sayin'. You can just pick your own metaphor to describe the tragedy.

The girls were in a fighting mood last night, but it all came just a little too late. The tying run was up in the top of the ninth, but poor Derek hit into a double play that scored one run diminishing the lead slightly, but not enough. The overfed announcer dripped bile when he said that "Derek did not come through this time" or something pointed and offensive. Derek even broke one of his bats which is an odd thing to see. So there is going to be at least one more game this season tomorrow night. They will probably throw a potato peeler at RoRo and call it an inside slider or some nonsense like that, but at least they will be away from those horrid Philly fans. Tender mercies and such.

And Did Those Feet In Ancient Time?

First thing Saturday morning I scuttled down to the newsstand and picked up my copy of Attitude magazine with the amazingly woof woof hot Ben Cohen on the cover. It was well worth braving the early morning chill. If you have the means I highly recommend you pick up a copy.

The rest of the weekend was replete with amazing baseball. I don't know if you are watching the World Series, but if you aren't then you are missing so killer baseball. RoRo got hit by three pitches in two games. I thought there was going to be a tussle. And so did the umpires. They warned both teams. On Saturday night RoRo hit a ball that hit a camera, and after the replay a double became a homo, and still those cretinous Philly fans would not shut up. Andy hit an RBI! Like his 12th career RBI, and quite possibly his first World Series RBI! I really couldn't keep track of everything that was going on, but the girls lead the series 3-1! Next game is tonight at 5:00 Pacific.

Saw the movie Paranormal Activity which I have been wanting to see for ages. It was pretty spooky, but by far the scariest part is when they film the enormous spider in the bathroom. That's just creepy. Makes demonic possession seem like petit point.