Famous In The Smallest Of Circles.

This weekend involved a baseball game and two independent feedings at Taco Time because if I haven't said it enough in the last few weeks I am fucking worth it. 

Despite my best efforts in scheduling my baseball spectating away from the Safeco Field kids appreciation day I ended up selecting tickets next to some desperate hipster and his spastic kid whom could not sit through 3 hours of what was an unquestionable blow-out by the Tribe. The guy had the kid wearing a Sub-Pop baseball hat and thought that it would be cool, but the kid was not having it, and I could not blame him. It is not the first time this summer that I had to sit next to breeders thinking their replicants would behave themselves sitting through what is obviously an adult activity. But please, allow me to slow down for you and get out of your way as you wheel your byproduct of unsatisfying sexual intercourse and domestic resentment down the sidewalk because it's all about you and the ever-creeping low-grade depression.

Yesterday was a lovely day and I just couldn't stay away from the bookstore. It was completely empty when I entered, but it would not stay that way. One by one people came in, and unsurprisingly, and despite the wide variety of books on offer, the books they were invariably interested in were located awkwardly close to the one section I was perusing.  

One gentleman came in with his female roommate because it became immediately apparent from his accent and the effort he spent cruising me that they rarely if ever have sex. It was also apparent that he never goes anywhere alone or in any way where it may seem awkward for him to be talking out-loud about how well read he is.

"Hey, do we have a copy of The Conservative Mind?"

"What?"

"The Conservative Mind by Russell Kirk. Do we have a copy of that?"

"Um. I don't think so.."

"Oh gee. It is nine dollars."

"That's not bad."

"Yeah it is!"

"I mean it isn't bad for a piece of political theory."

This is the shit I have to sit through at the bookstore. High volume smarty pants posturing of some convenience rent sharing couple who sold all their college textbooks a few years ago to buy weed, but now that they have a little scratch saved away they are looking for a way to claw back their erudition and easily impress anyone unfortunate enough to come over to their place for drinks who stand anywhere near the centrally positioned bookcase packed with scarcely worn obscure literature.

I'm sure you've read Godel Escher Bach, but if you haven't you are already diminished in my eyes so do yourself a favor and take this copy that has been underlined by someone else.

I just can't. I grab my copy of Nancy Mitford and help the cashier count my change before taking in the rest of the Market misfortunes. Then I read and plan my trip back to LA and wait expectantly for Flight something something something.

The Last Few Moments We Remember.

There are so many memories every where I turn. A trip to the grocery store can end in a panic attack and tears. Not mine, but a panic attack and tears nonetheless.

On the way into work this morning I finally realized how indulgent I am with people. I am constantly pretending to be interested in them and what they say and their opinions, and if they are attorneys and they know little to nothing on a subject then their opinions are usually quite strong. This morning I took stock of how exhausting it can be to constantly seem interested in what other people are saying. The ride into work was a monotonous litany of details about neighbors, co-breeders, dog-walkers, elementary school parents and the weather. Eventually the conversation turned to Donald Trump tweets and I very nearly thought I was going to jump out of a moving Subaru. In the end I simply stopped feigning interest and the person eventually realized the dreariness of the sound of  their own voice and sheepishly commented on their diatribe, "I guess it isn't very interesting."

People's self-awareness can surprise even themselves if you give them the opportunity to listen to themselves.

At the office it becomes a cluster bomb of a bunch of shit I normally do not have to deal with. Like ever. What and when I can wear whatever the hell I want and it was just a few short weeks ago I was living in the lap of I don't have to give a shit because I don't even have to leave my parents house to start raking in the paper hand money. I gave it all up to be inconvenienced by a group of people who have seriously taken advantage of my generosity and over-played their hand and somehow think I will remind them of this oversight. I will not. I will get in a train or plane to LA and I will not think twice. All things fall apart, and don't look back in anger.

We Coalesce In Order To Decide.

My days have become a sad melange of pretending I am occupied with something important, absenting myself from the office when I think it will be least noticed, and looking at pictures of Rugby players on the internet. Ross Ford is my current highland favorite not that anyone in this place would have any interest in that. I suffer in solitude. Everyone I speak to is all about "their matter" and "their dispute" and it is all I can do to hide my complete and total disinterest let alone feign any interest whatsoever. This is what happens when you "do a favor for a friend". It always ends up costing you more in the end.

So I cling to my lunchtime and morning time snack options which are relentlessly superior to anything in downtown Los Angeles, and as for Century City it scarcely even warrants mentioning that sad place. It is all I have to hold on to. I had impeccably presented tofu and kanpyo rolls yesterday which I ate at my desk followed by some vindaloo I had made the night previously. Today I think I am going to opt for a bahn mi bowl and a trip to TJ Maxx because if I haven't made it clear already I have absolutely fuck all to be getting on with here and I may need a scented candle to get me through another evening of Canadian television.

I am looking forward to my trip back to Los Angeles and even though it is only to get papped by the DMV I will try to find a reason to stay there or go back to Idaho or anything to get away from these up-talking vocal fry desperation heaps in Patagonia. And streaky blond highlights. I swear to fucking Christ if you get me started on the streaky blond fucking highlights that assault my visual field every single moment of the day I simply will not stop. I can make you forget everything important and dear in your life the moment I start in on shitty color jobs.

Stages Of Remembrance We Left For You.

I did the morning commute by myself this morning which meant I had plenty of time to spare. Life is amazing when you aren't spending it waiting for other people to pull their shit together.

 Although somewhat unlike the clickety clackety barge to the westside, the clickety clackety barge to Ballard and back is a mournful assemblage of judgmental stares, sexual frustration and technical jackets and bags. I try to find a place in the back corner so I have a good vantage, but I invariably find whatever I am reading more interesting than whatever collection of humanity decides to join me for our joyless ride into work.

The rain is doing something to me, and by something I mean pissing me off. I really thought the weather in Seattle would stay nice long enough for me to go back to Los Angeles and retrieve some winter rain gear. I really thought I would have a couple charming weeks of pacific northwest sun to look forward to, but it seems that life is content to do nothing more than disappoint me.

Rather than retreat back to Los Angeles immediately, however, I am planning on attending a baseball game this weekend with a dear friend, and when I say dear friend I mean someone who pretends to like me to acquaintances and on social media, but secretly despises me and resents every single thing about me. I will drink in their ill-feeling and malevolence along with America's past time and allow it to nourish and strengthen me.

I'm turning down work in Los Angeles left right and sideways just to stay up here get wet, be underpaid and be hated, and although I think she may have had a bit too much to drink last night I think I was given the green light to scoot myself back to La La Land. I have an appointment with the DMV on the 29th for reasons I'd rather not get into so it may all work out in the end. I still have to see Anonymous Dan, I would like to go to Vancouver, but I've made it this far without visiting so it may have to be another some other time.

We Are Saving Everything For The Everyday.

I'm in Seattle doing the Seattle thing, and Seattle is as Seattle normally is, annoying. I walk down the street to get coffee and I am the only person not walking some kind of dog. I smile at someone and they don't smile back. In the coffee shop the place is thronged with middle-aged white people trying to contain their replicants and failing. I notice on the menu something called an "espresso flight" and decide right there that that must be a thing now. I order my coffee and the man behind the counter asks me what kind of espresso I want.

"We serve three different kinds. Do you have a preference?"
I look at the menu, the three varietals, then peruse the cafe and the hectic scene that abounds.
"No. Does anyone here have a preference?"
"OK" he says and sets about making my espresso which despite the pretension and the hassle is miles better than anything on offer in LA, and not as nearly as expensive. Well maybe just as expensive.

The Ballard Farmers Market was another crush of entitled white people in North Face with dogs. We meander, we dodge, there are SUV sized strollers one has to jump out of the way of and it is not unlike the Hollywood Farmers Market in the sense of industrial licensed prams. But it was all good and a fun day.

The new job is kind of everything I thought it would be. Back-biting, gossip and fake smiles. It all works. Walking from the parking lot to the office with Pony every morning is nice. I wouldn't even notice when guys are cruising me unless she notices for me because I'm just so clueless with that shit. I guess her favorite barista with enormous arms and tats was all into my look yesterday and she kind of took issue since she would have rather had his attentions. In a way it is better when you don't notice because then there is nothing you can really do to mess it up.

Case in point: Campbell's Chunky.

You Would Do It To Them If They Did It To You.

It is quietly creeping back to me why I was being so obsequious to those women at Starbucks. The three "independent" coffee houses I have to traipse by in order to enjoy the pleasure of being shat on by a millennial with a personality disorder occupy a nuanced spectrum of specializing in serving shitty coffee with attitude, specializing in serving expensive shitty coffee with more attitude, to I really wouldn't know since they don't open until 11:00 and you can actually get away with that shit in LA.

Today I had the pleasure of being handed what amounted to a $7.00 cup of iced coffee and when I asked for extra ice you would have thought I asked her what she thought her eyebrows were all about because if yoga has taught her anything it is that she is a princess inside and out.

So I knew what I was doing. Walking those extra three blocks for some extra cost savings and additional if more subtle abuse. I walked back to my place with my $7.00 coffee without a lid and still not enough ice because at that price anything that might be the slightest convenience to the customer is seen as a needless pain in the ass to the proprietor.

And shit is about to get next level up in Seattle because they take that pouty hoity-toity batty eyed service industry cos play business seriously up there I mean they have classes on it at SCCC1. alongside Surveys in the Symbolism of Alice in Chains.

So I haven't packed, but I bought my ticket. First class and changeable if not refundable. Because if I am going to do this I will not suffer a single moment of discomfort or displeasure in the process. The joyous, self-indulgent and relentlessly hedonistic trajectory of my life will continue as before without the slightest pause or interruption.

The other somewhat more leisurely option was taking the train all the way up the coast and whereas in the past I could literally get on board with such a romantic notion those were the days when I had entire seasons of Game of Thrones to get through and even though the food and wine tastings are complimentary I just didn't know if I could survive being force fed bad food and wine for 34 hours.

A decision had to be made, it had to be made at 2:00 a.m., and the decision was made. But is changeable if not refundable.
________________________________________________________
1. Seattle Central Community College - Where hipster burnouts go to try and reignite their academic lives and possibly learn how to knit and make sushi

You Should Try It At Least Once This Week.

The local Starbucks is finding new and surprising ways to disappoint me. Actually, I probably shouldn't give them that much credit. This was an old tried and true method of pissing off the customer employed by a fresh set of "staff". "The customer" in this instance is myself, the one customer that most coffee shops that know their shit jizz over (which is why I get six shots on my birthday on the house at no fewer than 4 places) because I arrive at the same time, I order the same thing which is easier than shit to make, and I tip disproportionately high for the level of difficulty my drink entails. It couldn't be simpler. Make life easy on this guy because he makes life easy on us. I don't even take their straws since someone once said they caused wrinkles and I no longer have a cat that plays with them.

So to have this bitch, slide my easy ass drink over so she can get through some of the extra foam soy non-fat extra-room bullshits just about had my skin crawling. I flat out told her I knew what she was doing, and she wouldn't be seeing me, my easy ass drink, or my tips any ever again so she can just enjoy the shit storm tourist clouds that come wafting in there every 12 minutes every time an unfortunate group of short wearing strap encrusted crabs scurries up the escalator of the Metro station across the street, mistaking it for the real interesting one at Hollywood and Vine one stop further north. The one with all the stars on the sidewalk, the big record store and like one of the few Hamburger Shack's west of Buffalo and shit. That is that bitches future for as long as she can hold on to her senses and I will have no part of it.

My come apart didn't end there at the pickup counter. On the way out of the shop I took a handful and I mean a monstrous mound of Starbucks napkins and I left the store and chucked them in the nearest bin I could find. I was quite obviously out of my senses at this point since they were perfectly good napkins and I had already made my escape, and talk about throwing the bathwater out with the baby, but I could never have carried that many napkins three blocks so I'm not even going to cling to that.

And I don't really think I am going to need napkins for a while. Pony seems intent on kidnapping me away from all this paid vacation and sniping. She really is going to be sorry if she doesn't wake up and change her mind immediately. Lesser things have ended friendships and she must be running out of crazy friends. Now I have one of the ladies from my dear Century City on the VM enticing me back there with promises of Uber rides and trips through the mall and cremated chicken every Thursday. I really am being torn apart here.

I really hope the ladies in Seattle know what they are getting into by hiring me. I mean I am a little spoiled, but I basically wake up, get stoned, take a shower, get more stoned, walk down to coffee shop to hopefully not have a complete breakdown, come home get stoned, log into my computer, read shit, click on some stuff, watch TV, listen to news, continue to read click, get stoned, read and click, oh and sometimes they want me to come into an office and do this so the situation is a little different.

Wake up, get stoned, take a shower get dressed and stoned again, walk to train or hail Uber, get coffee go to work, read shit click things, come home get stoned, and by "get dressed" I actually mean wear whatever the fuck I want and that includes Raf Simons shirts with graphics that make children cling to their mommy and vintage Benetton sweaters with nonsensical 80's era patches so they may have wanted to have that Face Time interview or maybe not, but I will be calling my lady in our beloved Century City because I miss Bloomingdales and not buying anything at Gelson's.

Don't just wiggle Seattle in my face and call it a party. It's wet, cold, dark and just plain scary. I know Seattle.

With A Regularity That Became Easy To Ignore.

I haven't even started to pack for this nonsense, and who would expect me to. The subject of my expenses hasn't even come up and I suppose I am the one who is going to have to be tactless enough to bring it up. And it's all just a bunch of situation I just don't need in my life right now. Spending the rest of the year in Tilling all because someone decided to have a baby. I can think of far better things to do with my time than that and let's just face it every time I go there it seems like I'm the only one not walking a mother fucking dog. Although Riseholme is beginning to pick up that nasty habit as well. As come the hipsters so come their accessories.

More on that later.

But really. I couldn't get a single thing in this weekend because of the cursed heat. The sex party had to be called off at the last minute, and by last minute I was at the door, I heard a bit of what I was in for, and I just wheeled around my heels and hailed the Uber and in WeHo they are always prompt. And there is wildfire spreading around these parts. Last night I could swear I could smell it so all things being as they are maybe a quick shoot up out of here may not be a bad idea.

I had errands, or rather a single errand to run downtown yesterday so I thought it would be a good idea to cash in my nearly expired birthday reward on my Coffee Bean Rewards app and the ladies inside totally remembered me from the days when I worked downtown on the daily and they hooked me up with no fewer than six shots of expresso over ice. And they knew what they were doing to me. After my errand I decided to pop into the Whole Foods to pick up a few oddments and for some never unsurprising good natured jostling. I also wanted to see if this Amazon buy out is really what everyone was saying, and it wasn't. It wasn't at all. It's still total and complete bullshit.

In Our Expectations Is Where You Shall Lose Yourself.

Dear Pony has made a critical error and the time for our attack has probably long since passed. She was suppose to give us a Facetime interview wherein we were suppose to have three panic attacks over figuring out where to sit and what to wear from the shoulder blade up and then politely decline their generous offer, but she then up and cancelled that and said we were hired lickedy something over text and she didn't give us even the tiniest square upon which to object or negotiate.

Now I am not one to fuss or grouse because that paper hand money is just more paper hand money and the Pacific Northwest is nice and altogether saturated this time of year, but if she has not just gone and painted herself into a not all too uncertain corner I do not know what. Because if there is one thing I just don't do it is people, and if there is one thing I do even less than people then that would have to be people. And this is some cute "client-facing" predicament the kind most people who know me go well beyond their mortal given skills to avoid placing me anywhere near, and Pony has just grabbed that lumbering iceberg with both hands and said "done".

"Done" is something you say somewhat apologetically to a table of people surrounding an overcooked bird, "done" is not the word that should fall effortlessly off your lips after successfully outlining the plans for the downfall of your marriage, your business, and a friendship so carefully nurtured for over 20 years, but it seems to have, and I for one have not even started packing for that nonsense because I have this other low stress side-gig and way more fishing to do before the snow falls which puts no one out.