It Was Always You.

Last night I think I fell in love with a Hawaiian boy. Which is odd in that I don't even know how to spell Hawaiian boy. I fell asleep just fine, but then I woke up with this strange feeling that I had been dreaming about Hawaiian boy all night long. Oh christ his name is Chris and he dated a suicide girl for years until he realized they were dirty dirty girls. Now he is purported to screw anything that moves, and I'm thinking I've got arms.

Last night we all had a Velvet Pony which is nothing more than a shot of Royal Crown followed by a shot of pickle juice. EWWWWWWWW! I knew it was trouble, but Hawaiian boy/Chris convinced me it was my responsibility. The things I do in the name of love.

It is also my sad duty to announce that John Woo's House of the Jade Pagoda will be closing it's doors after 63 years. August 31st is what the notice says. All the games of gin, and shots of whiskey (this was before Texas Hold'em was the new spelling-bee). All the times Dolly blared from the jukebox. The conflux of memory and emotion is a little overwhelming. All I can say is that we are going one last time tomorrow night and I am bringing my camera. There will be a digital record of the House of the Jade Pagoda, and I am going to do some unspeakable things to Hawaiian boy/Chris. Oh you mark my words.

The Yankees game was rained out last night. i'm not sure if this means double header or what. Moose is still on the DL, and the remainder of the Yankees pitching staff has left me feeling a little cold lately. But i'm sure they try their best.

Holla out to Pony who has finally found what she was looking for. It's amazing when you think, no compromises, and you actually get what you want.

Some impetuous thing asked if woolfphase could include more captions with the photos. In the case of House of the Jade Pagoda it may be inevitable, however, everything you know is exactly what you were meant to know. Otherwise you would know it already.

I think Liza Minelli is trapped inside my door knob.

There is just something innately precious about having your own fragrance. Like when and where does that conversation even begin? Over potato salad? Are these capers? I've noticed that one market we are lacking sufficient penetration is in the area of men's grooming. Oh this really is delicious.

One thing is for certain. Today I'm gonna make a potato salad and try to stop asking all frumpy women if they are avon ladies.

Today is a Kyle XY marathon on The Family Channel so I'm going to be juggling a lot in the vicinity of my television, but if you work or something, and you just can't make the Kyle XY marathon do check this out.

Oh never mind. The evil people at NBC have sent a nasty-gram to youtube and the SNL skit containing an adorable Derek has been removed. Boo boo boo boo frackin triple boo!!!

Division Of Ground.

You would think that without the benefit of Los Angeles public transportation and semi-organized prostitution I would run out of stories to tell. Not the case. The local merchants on 15th Avenue have a knack for keeping me on my toes.

This morning was ss lovely I just had to get out and run errands. I went to pick up my jeans from the tailor. I had asked them to take up the cuff 2 inches, but to keep the original cuff. Needless to say they did not keep the original cuff, and they gave me my jeans as stiff as a board. They starched my jeans. Why would they do this? When I handed her a twenty she asked me if I had six cents change. I was like bitch, it's taking all the happy power I can muster to not rip your effing lips off.

Then it was off to Victrola for some coffee beans and a tall drip. The lady at the counter who had no kind of voice for customer service did manage to talk me into buying something I never wanted. That's talent.

Yesterday Anonymous D took me to a Farmer's Market. Pony could tell D stories about how I really only tolerate the idea of egalitarianism, and even at that I fail half the time. What I'm getting at is that I don't talk to people. I certainly don't talk to people that make a living smearing goat=shit over turnips.

Speaking of turnips. Derek has made a new entry in his journal where he discusses this long travel stretch that I was fortunate enough to be a part of. Click here to read about it. He was also good enough to answer some of his fan mail. Click here to read.

And since we're on the subject, who does this little girl the she is? David Wright dove into the stands to catch a fly-ball and made such a fuss over the whole incident. Please. I'm sorry David. You're cute, but it's been done. Click here to watch the shameless display.

And The Point Was Lost On Me.

Things are slowly getting back to normal in the Emerald City, and yes that building most certainly looks like a penis. After 3 of the coldest days in recorded history the Yankees are going to Anaheim and the weather now could not be better. In many ways the final game of the Yankees series blurred as Anonymous D and I discovered that while together we function as a freak magnet. This time it was a gentleman who claimed to work at Safeco field and had a weird way of moving his head. All the time.

I think maybe it would have been easier if I hadn't rocked the Yankees gear steady. But I had to. You had to be there. But people did notice, and explanations had to be made. By Anonymous D, not by me. I don't speak to people.



Anonymous D insisted on bringing the cursed opera glasses. Needless to say the warm-up and batting practice was a frenzy of upturned asses, and some dude spanking Jorge that again made me feel used and cheap, and is perhaps my only lingering regret for not bringiing my camera.

I did figure out what Derek is doing when he wipes the dirt with his shoes. Those are footprints he is wiping away. And they disturb him, and they must go. Now every time he finishes wiping away the footprints of the base-run that never should have been I will say in my best freaky lady from Poltergeist voice: "This path is clear." Fade Lights. It's my small gift to the game. The game that has given nothing, but taken a great deal. Like my dignity.



Our seats were in secion 344, and we did not stay there long. I found the people in this section incredibly rude. One person screamed off the strikes in a mean snarling tone. And of course a giantess would have to sit next to me. I tolerated her mushy aura up to point. Once they hoisted a vat of garlic fries onto her ample lap looking thing I had to scoot, and scoot we did. Down to section 134 which is where i should have been all along, and where I shall always insist on being this point hence. Right behind my girls is where I belong.

Although RoRo was still down with the flu they did bring him in as a pinch hitter in the top of the ninth with two outs. The crowd went wild, and for the first time during the entire series I actually acted like a barbarian. I screamed. I howled, and yes I was entertained. End Scene.

Discreet Digital Projection.

Yesterday, our date with the Yankees began with a run-in with a delightfully rotund gypsy boy. We met him on third avenue waiting for a bus to Safeco Field. It started with How do you get to safeco? Do you have tickets? I have extra tickets. He actually wanted to upgrade us to worse bleacher seats.

Once at the field for warm-up and batting practice, I know I said yesterday that it felt like watching animals in a zoo, and it was magnified when they started doing their stretches and exercises. I mean please. But then Anonymous D said they really were doing it for us because there are ample places underneath the stadium to do batting practice and warm-ups. Well I have to admit that when Jonny was sitting with his legs spread just eyeing the audience I felt a little used, but when he lifted his legs up and stretched them behind his head I just felt abused. But in a good way. The woman next to me just lost her shit when she saw Jonny. I kinda laughed as I was focusing my camera on Mike Mussina who would not sit the frack still.

Our seats were much nicer than we thought and we had the most time. I ate a plate of nachos that was larger than my head. Some nice man asked me if I thought Derek lived up to all the hype, and I said in my most serious voice that I most certainly think he did.

I also watched a man that interfered with a fair ball get ejected. the really sad part was that his wife and kids had to leave with him. Tsk tsk.

Tonight I have decided that I am going to be a complete purist. No camera, or opera glasses, or mobile phone or anything that will get in my way of enjoying the game. This is the last Yankees game I will be attending in person, but I will do my best to offer highlights of all their games as they are broadcast to a tiny little corner screen on my mac. Talk about the way the game was meant to be watched. Jonny's ass is too too many shades of fine. It's best enjoyed minimized and digitized.

Where is the Arrow Of Athena?

Here are a couple more pics from last night's game that aren't totally unfortunate. I think I am getting the hang of my camera and the pics from tonight should be loads better.

As Long As It Sounds Resonable.

They should have sent a poet. Me and my Canon could not possibly do the experience justice. From the moment I stepped down toward the field and could see RoRo and Cano playing fetch I knew I was feeling something I wouldn't feel for a very long time. Like Flashdance with a nice fabric softner. At first I felt perverse. Like I was looking at animals in a zoo, but then I all went and got swept up in it.

Needless to say the first 30 or so photos weren't very good. Whether my camera was acting funny or I was shaking myself silly is anyone's guess. I really spent most of the game glued to a set of opera glasses. Some people made nasty comments about my shudderbuggery, but like I give a fig.

For the most part everyone was quite gracious. I mostly gasped or shrieked at only the foulest of comments. Some people next to us were mercilous towards Jonny and his new hair. I have to note that the ringleader of this assault had a goatee. Enough. Best of all, I saw me some real live skankees. Click here if you are unclear what a skankee is.

I gained a very ineresting insight into some of players' various quirks. For instance, Derek has this way after an unfortunate play of scratching things out with his shoe. No shit. She actually crosses stuff out in the dirt, or smooths stuff over, combs the sand, whatever. It happens.


Everyone was indecent towards RoRo for some reason that I'll never understand which doesn't mean the people sitting behind me didn't discuss the issue for neigh an hour, it just means I still don't understand. RoRo hit a homer and put those booers in their place. To be honest though, I was a complete wreck. I think I will be better tomorrow, and hopefully so will the Yanks. They lost by the way. 6-5 on a walk off homer in the bottom of the 9th or something like that. But that really doesn't matter. What matters is that I was there. I ate greasy food, and had surprsingly good beer. Alaskan Amber and Full Sail on tap.

And I was sneered at by some boy in the lew. Not smeared. Sneared. I was sneared at. And I'm not sure what his prob was, but all I can say is that no I am not going to pee in front of a room of 20 onlookers. I am more than happy to wait for the 8 year old to finish in the stall thank you.

I'm Exploring My Emotional Depth.

Well The moment we have all dreamed of is at hand. Tonight is the first game of the Mariners Yankees series, and lemme tell you I'm all kinds of beside myself. I've been up since 5:00 am downing Lemon tea and agonizing over outfits. i've no idea what to wear. I think I have decided on a Raf Simons tote because it is in the Yankees color scheme and because it says "derange everything". Maybe I need a better decision calculus. And I'm really not sure what i think of piping right about now.

Anonymous Dan and I now fear that our seats may not be very good. I can't remember what I was thinking about when I got them, however I do recall thinking "Ooh. Bleachers. That Sounds Hardcore." Now I'm thinking it may just be dangerous. I'm gonna bring oodles of cash and try to buy better seats outside the stadium. Also it might be nice to have a few seats in order to take in the game from several vantages.

My friend sent me a too too generous Derek baseball card. Anonymous Dan thinks I should try and get it signed, but that's just a scene I don't think I wanna be a part of. He also knows where they stay and thinks we should "stalk" them, but there it is again, the scene that just screams protective order. And while we are on the subject, my mail-man, who I remember leaving in perfect mental health has all of a sudden fallen completely off his rocker. I'm not quite sure but yesterday I think we were talking about vaginas. At least he was. I was talking about tassled tie-backs. So wrong no matter what the color.

I have an appointment with Liana at 12:30. She's gonna do my hair for tonight. I've also been quite busy with my new camera. I'll bring it with me tonight and take some pics. I'm babbling I know. I'm so fucking excited I could just pee!!!!

Forward Looking Deja Vu.

It was just a little mix-up. RoRo called the ball. Derek called the ball. Neither of them caught it. I just watched the the footage. And oh yes, the thouroughly unpleasant hacks on Sportscenter replayed it over and over. And over again. Worstest of all, they charged Derek with an error for impeding Alex's catch.

Now I don't want to blame RoRo cuz based on the footage it was obviously the Sun's fault. Burning all bright and in their eyes like that, but I just don't see how Derek could have impeded RoRo when Derek was behind him and RoRo never saw Derek. I know errors are totally subjective, but I just don't see an error here. Like I said, they both tried to catch the ball, and neither of them did. Cest La Vie. I don't think the umpires need to lower themselves to petty name-calling.

To take my mind off this fiasco, my parents are taking me to Sun Valley for some shopping, cuz there are a few nooks and crannies in the Po Yack that can still hold stuff. Tomorrow I start my journey back to Seattle with a night spent in Boise. The next time I see Idaho it will be covered in snow, and the Yankees would have won the world series, and the umpire that charged Derek with an error will be shoveling off my parents drive.

Good Day Sirs.

Pontiac Dreams In Movement.

Yesterday I was shopping with my mom. She was trying on some jeans, and she complained that they were the wrong fit. I examined the situation and decided another size in another cut might just be necessary. So I hussled over to the denim aisle and found a size and cut that I thought would just yell age-appropriate edgy. As I approached the dressing rooms I was actually addressed by this dowdy sac of a woman who I'm sure was named Barb, and she said she would have to take the jeans to my mother.

"I'm sorry they're young girls in there. I'll have to take those. Mothers get nervous."

"Right..."

I'm not sure what offended me more. Barb assuming I was a heterosexual, or her suggesting I could be a sexual predator. Actually I do know. But I really feel good for the parents who can relax knowing there's an impenetrable gooey buffer between their daughters first-day-of-school outfit debacle, and my handing my mother a properly fitting pair of jeans. Actually, I think the whole world just smells safer when I'm standing safely in the middle of Junior Miss Sportswear. What in GOD's name is Junior Miss Sportswear? And while we are on the subject do you really need a belt if your pants fit.

I'm not sure it matters though. She kept mumbling those words to herself. "They're very young very young, young girls in there. I'll take those, mothers nervous, very young, young young and nervous."

Barb suffers from what I like to call a fever of the nerves.

I'm Sure They Were Canadian.

Well I think I forgot to mention my Po-Yack. The Po-Yack is a 2006 Pontiac Grand Prix that the rental agency believes I requested:

"Um, is that a Hyundai?"
"No, it's a Grand Prix."
"A Grand What?"
"Grand Prix, Pontiac, it's a midsize."
"I don't think I wanted a mid-size se-sedan."
"You didn't want the Grand Prix?"
"Do I look like I want a Grand Whatnow?"

The guy gave me a 10% discount so I had to be pretty nice about the whole mess.

Anyway, my Po-Yack and I have had all sorts of adventures that probably only Pony with respect to Monte would understand.

The dashboard is a sea of auburn red glow that, despite my sincere efforts, I have been unable to deactivate. The exterior color is neither green, blue, nor gray, but can look like any given the lighting. A chameleon she is. The lines say sports-sedan, but the girth echoes touring sedan. There's a spoiler. I really really hate her.

I want to get a bumper-sticker or a t-shirt that says "Jesus Is Driving the Po-Yack, I'm just a passenger."

That may be all there is to say about anything as unfortunate as the Po-Yack. But what really breaks my roux is that I could have bought another Peugeot (you remember the Peugeot) for what I am throwing down on Po-Yack. Sometimes the world just makes no sense. No sense tall.

Just Walk Away Rene.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

I have indeed been negligent with my postings. You see I have been in Idaho for the past few days and it is all kinds of mind-scramble here. My parents have dial-up. Dial-Up?!?!??!? So it actually takes me close to a half hour to send an email, and I have been working on this post for the better part of an hour.

The good news is that I have oodles and oodles of data to upload once I return to Seattle. The bad news is that I have a new phone-number and it is just so hard for me to remember what it is. Most of you have received the new number via email, and please don't mention it cuz it only took me 45 minutes to do that.

As for Idaho I am eagerly counting the mullets. I am up to 37, not including 2 super-mega mullets that can't even be considered hair. I went to the Royal Crown where there was all manner of who knows what. $3 cocktails can you believe it. I bought a new lamp, and some new nesting tables, and I am on the bubble about this other table, but I think I'm just gonna go fer it. I've got a storage unit and I know how to use it.

Again I am really sorry for not keeping everyone up to date about my goings on, but it's Idaho. I really don't know what to say. Woke up had some coffee, walked around the yard, got dressed, went to Wal-Mart where I bought a hat for my friend, and the cashier had a really hard time counting. Went to Hastings where the cashier tried to impress me with all the books made into movies he has actually read. I know my eyes are brown, but actually they are a shade of who gives a fuck? Deseret Industries for some vintage Benetton with some flava, antique shop, and a quick visit to the grocery store where I asked where they kept their veggie ground round and tofu dogs. The gooey eyed battering-ram of a woman asked me if it was for me or my dog. She was way way too retarded to mean it as an insult.

More to come on the Idaho show.

That's Why I Try To Stay Out Of It.

I have to admit. Since I stopped working I have a hard time telling what day it is. Luckily there is usually some helpful person who is more than happy to tell you while they stare at you like you have a Hydra growing out your head.

The last few days I have been traveling and getting settled. I am currently in Boise Idaho where I am staying in a neighborhood that stikes me as oddly similar to Wysteria Lane. You can sorta tell from the pic I took from my bedroom window. It could be me though. After living so long in Little Armenia, home just doesn't feel like home without your local neighborhood crack ho. However, Wysteria is the most deadly flower known to man. I made that up, but it's still quite poisonous. If you don't believe me eat one. Go on I dare you. Colin baby, trust me, they really will make you sick.

The trip to Boise via Southern Washington and Eastern Oregon dulled the mind. Literally, the 65 MPH speed limit in the 250 mile Oregon stretch left me on edge. Even though I was just driving through the entire breadth of Oregon last week, the 65 MPH limit seems more sensible when you're behind the wheel of a 30 ton Raptor.

In tech news, my brother has airport so I can access the internet anywhere in the house. I mean anywhere. I am actually lying in bed right now, not really wanting to get out of bed at the moment. It is amazing. Also I finally got MLB.TV to work on my computer, and my computer is now the Jizaxed Cadillac. Don't Ask.

Yesterday during the Yankees game the announcer said something about my Yankees that just made me lose it: "Ya know they are professional nice guys, but once they put those jockstraps on it all goes out the window." I don't know how I should even comment on that so I won't. I'll let you think about that and get back to you once I have delved deeper into the Idaho Expanse.

Taking A Deep Breath.

My experience at Alamo Rent-a-car defies explanation. Suffice to say I don't like speaking to large slack-jawed impediments, and I certainly don't like speaking to them when they aren't saying anything I want to hear. It was my fault really. I assumed renting a car was going to be as easy as it's always been in the past.

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes this weekend. I tried to enjoy a garage sale, but was mostly annoyed. People touched things, they moved things, the asked questions and tried to dicker. I ate some fantastic vegetarian concoctions at Teapot, Had drinks at Linda's for the first time, and while I was there I took a fancy to a boy. We had on the same jeans, however, he was wearing some unfortunate Prada trainers, and an even more unfortunate shirt. Girl got tow-up and eventually tried to take a swig of Jaegermeister from his Treo. I had no idea, no idea whatsoever, how I was suppose to respond to that. We left.

Went to a new-ish bar called Purr and the hot boy ratio was a little low, however, I did make out with a muy caliente latino. He goes to SU. Happy Birthday to me. Some straight guy we were with thought it would be a good idea to tell the bartender to make him something that would get him "fucked up". Oh sweet Jesus. I tried to keep him near one of the over-stuffed sofas for the rest of the night. Sorta got lost walking home cuz Sea-town is still a little new to me after several drinks, however, I did not mistake my mobile for a coctail or ask the bartender to kill me so I call the night a success.

Gonna check out Kyle XY tonight since I have been 100% pulled into that madness.

I am rockin a ginormous danish modern birthday gift desk and this blogging business is taking on an entirely new professional air. I have drawers to put things in. And surfaces.

Johnny Marr is apparently an official member of Modest Mouse. Click here if you don't believe me.

Everyone should try to stay calm, but Derek injured himself in Friday's game against Baltimore. Click here if you have the strength to read about it.

However, the Yankees are now number one in the AL East and you are just going to have to take my word for that.

It Sounded Like Theme Music From Where I Was Standing.

Sheesh. I really slept in this morning. 8:15 am is what the clock said when I finally got around to heaving my sorry ass out of bed. Last night was my first night in my freshly laundered ultra-thread count sheets, and that may have had something to do with it.

Thank You to everyone that offered their assistance and thoughts regarding my blogging troubles. I opted to download Camino from the people at Mozilla. It apears that both it and Firefox are comparable, but Camino is more tailored towards the mac. And TADA! As you can see there is a lovely picture of Derek demonstrating his inability to get out of the way of a wild pitch. And click here for the link I promised of Derek's promotional photos for Driven. Like how that was italicized. Also, Derek has also been nominated for the Hank Aaron award. I have no idea what this is, but it has to be better than the Willie Mays Award. Click here to read all about it.

Yesterday I started my morning getting my hair did, and I went to my old lady Liana, and much to my surprise she remembered me. As I was sitting in the chair I heard this booming voice behind me in a thick Vietnamese "HEY JEFF WHERE YOU BEEN!" It was very nice and I explained everything specifically why my hair looked so tragic. But not anymore. Not anymore. Now I have a proper asian fade. Incidentally, there was this asian beefcake named George getting his hair cut next to me, and he was all kinds of sex up and down the wall. I think he has the hots for Liana cuz that's the only way to explain him being in a bastion of Seattle gayness. Any gay that knows anyTING has her hair did at Liana's.

I also met up with a dear old friend of mine and we went music shopping at Everyday Music. One of my favorite haunts. There I found something I have been looking all over for. Stephan Mathieu's Sad Mac. Absolutely absorbing. I can't tell you how much I enjoy listening to it. I have already copied William Basinski's Garden Of Brokenness, and one of the longer compositions from Sad Mac onto a CD and hopefully I will get it off in the mail to the winner of last weeks blog contest. Hopefully. I need to go downtown for some birthday shopping and to pick up a new phone. I must be careful though. On the way back from the record store yesterday I saw this man who had driven his Buick right into someone's fence. I felt bad for the little guy. He looked confused, dismanyed, but insured nonetheless. Gotsta Scoot.

Toodles To All.

Sifting Through The Detritus.

Well I am officially out of the loop. Thanks to many of you for bringing to my attention the glorious news of Derek's new fragrance Driven. I am unable to load any of the promotional photos onto my blog cuz my mac and blogger do not seem to be the best of friends. I think I have managed to locate the link with the best pics however, my mac seems unwilling to create links. You would be amazed what my mac can do, and I may very well be amazed one day, however, today I remain a little bummed. Perhaps if I download Mozila.

Today Vivace saves the day. A lovely walk down to Broadway for a large Americano, and they were simply delightful. The man in front of me found his latte a little weak, and they were more than happy to add an additional shot gratis. I have to admit, against my better judgment I think I may like Vivace.

Yesterday I spent over an hour in the thrift store. Their prices were a little outrageous, but I did manage to slink away with a oh so fetching Dirk Bikkembergs jacket for 7 dollars. Rubes.

I also picked up another item I have been eyeing for quite some time, and would never have been able to find in Los Angeles. William Basinski's Garden Of Brokenness. I would really like to italicize some of this, but again my mac doesn't understand Windows APIs or whatever. I have listened to The Garden Of Brokenness (italicized) four times, and it is simply stunning. The soft piano fades in and out, and just when you think the CD has stopped playing you hear soft notes in the background. There is no crescendo, no beginning, and no end, it defies linearity in both context and execution. I tried to sound like a pitchfork reviewer right there. How'd I do? I haven't been able to listen to it on my headphones cuz Milo ate them the night before last, but I hope to do that soon. I really can't wait to listen to it while I am driving over Snoqualmie pass.

Last night I went to the local pub The Canteburry and I was given the secret code for the secret smoking lounge. Since Seattle passed the no smoking law people have to go outside and away from the door 25 feet. They have nice outdoor chairs around the corner, but I was shivering in the frigid Northwest air so they took pity on me. Inside the indoor lounge they have pictures of the smoke cop who I'm told to avoid at all costs. Will Do!

That's all for now. I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but I'll catch it later.

You're Not As Interesting As They Say You Are.

Boo!!! Some things are not as I remember. Lladro now charges me $3.45 for my tripple espresso. The same drink Starbucks charges me $2.05. The lady with the assymetric hair told me she has to charge me extra for the cup. I told her she was silly and sulying my morning with her price taggery. So off to Vcitrola I skipped. I ordered my drink, and it was $2.50, I gave them my money, tipped a dollar, and they started to make it, but I saw how they were making it, and I asked them if they could put it in a plastic cup. They said if they did that they would have to charge me for a latte which is $3.40. Well I never. Seattle's independent coffee houses have somehow conspired to price fix an iced tripple espresso. I am somewhat curious to see how far this treachery extends. Perhaps tomorrow I will try Solstice. A little bit of a walk, but I got time. With respect to those other two coffee houses, I would say they lost my business, but they haven't had it for the last 2 years. Maybe if I were here to support their businesses they wouldn't need to resort to such peevish capitalism.

I gots lots to do today, and I refuse to be side-tracked my some ego-tripping head case attorney. Yes. The interview of which I spoke of yesterday was nothing at all like Flashdance. It was unpleasant.

First: The lady resorted to childish cross examination tactics to elicit responses from me. Something I have absolutely no patience for. So at a certain point when I realized she was playing a big game I would just answer no, I don't know, I couldn't say, or my personal favorite, excuse me?

Second: The lady scoffed at my salary requirements even though it is half what I made last year and less than what I can make temping. She asked me if my salary reflects my prior work. I smiled and looked into her milk fed eyes and said "It's substantially less, but I'm new at this."

Third, and this is by far my favorite, she said that her work focused on high profile celebrity clients. I wouldn't make this shit up. I think I must have looked at her and nodded my head like I would at some crack ho from the projects that tells me her daddy bought her an A6 for her birthday, and then proceeds to go on a long winded and incomprehensible explanation as to why she's thumbing a ride to Rite-Aid.

Fourth, she fancied herself an analytical samurai. After proffering a multiple choice scenario I told her that A & C were so interchangeable and in many instances indistinguishable there is no way that, absent additional information I could seperate the two.

"So you're saying you don't know?"
Again with the silly side-show cross-x antics.

My facial expressions came undone at this point and I was looking at this lady like she was all shades of mental. Undilluted disdain poured freely from every furrow in my brow. And I really have to applaud myself for this. Every time she rephrased my answers, I would shift in my chair and look to my left. You know, over at the invisble jury that only exists in this lady's tortured mind. A little cruel perhaps, but games are only fun when you're not playing by yourself.

And finally, as if that weren't enough, she tried to sell me the job. I have three associates, I don't offer them any clients, and no way to develop a practice, it's a team, I go to court, and at this moment I stopped listening. I literally started playing with a figurine on her desk. "That's curtains bitch!" in courtroom parlance.

The Clarity That Comes From A Dirty Martini Is Blinding

This is the first transmission from my fully armed and operational macbook, and lemme tell ya, the cable guy was hawt. Northwest hawt, but hawt nonetheless. Closely cropped hair, shades of a goatee, native complexion with just a hint of an accent. He sat on the floor and played with his cords and tools, and I sat next to him and put together my new Hol from IKEA. You can sorta see it in the picture. It is the latice-y looking trunk. Milo likes to sit on it and look out the window.

Cable guy was shocked that I would move from Los Angeles, but I told him all of this has happened before and will happen again. He was also surprised to learn that TimeWarner purchased Comcast. He started to frantically make calls trying to confirm my news of his impending lay-off. I think I spoiled the foreplay. Oh well! Another time another place.

Yesterday I returned the Raptor, and it was an experience I want to wait a long time to duplicate. There was a long line and there were only two people working. I suspect these two people had parents who were sibs. I snapped at the General Manager. I'm not sure what her name was, but I'm sure it was Barb. It has to be Barb. She could not accept a 20 dollar bill from the guy next to me because she could not make change. She needed 40 cents, and she was very rude about it. The guy had waited so long for his five boxes, and was ready to slink away with four when I jumped in with the 40 cents. I told Barb she was out of her mind, and she snapped at me "I DON'T HAVE CHANGE!" I don't have to tell you my response, but following it, the entire store went silent, and the appreciative man, who works at Firestone, offered me a free oil change. I don't have a car, but Anonymous Dan can use it.

Recoiling from that encounter I sat in the courtyard and contemplated pruning, but thought to postpone that chore until today. I have a job interview today. I have no idea how or where that came from, but this morning will involve shaving, pressing a shirt, picking out a tie, and all those interview things. I will let you know how it goes. The pruning and the interview.

Toodles.