Not Dealing In Quarters.

Courtyard. Look a little different since I took this picture. We have moved some things around. Tried to block out the oppressive sun.

Another sale! Table of wares.

This washing machine (or one very much like it) has been in every single garage sale we have had. Over the years the price has plummeted inversely proportional to the rate of inflation or something. I'm surprised someone hasn't just scooped up this latest machine.

Everyone talks about this machine, and their memories of getting their hands stuck in the ringer. It really does get tarsome. My mailman bought the box of jars on the right which I thought was weak since I only wanted one jar. One single jar, and it was snatched out from under me before I could say "Wait!" That is the trick with garage saleing, however, if you see something you want you need to grab it. Because these people are vultures.

The whole street was full of garage sales. I picked up some books on the Royal Family. All from the same lady. Fresh! But nothing else really screamed out for me. Spent hardly no time at Pride since I was at this stupid office assisting someone with their nervous breakdown. It was odious.

Not sure if you saw the Yankees sweep the Mets, but I did off and on, and I think I'm going to have to go back on my original assessment of Chompers (Mark Texeira). Slightly go back. He may not be entirely unfortunate. Deliberations regarding Nick Swisher are ongoing and heated.

What Does Your Box Say?

So I totally got one of these calls last night:

"Hello?"
"Will?"
"Hello? "
"Will?"
"Oh no, You have the wrong number"
"Oh..."
"But I'm avail" -click-

A little rude since I was only trying to lighten the mood, and he was the one that had just been dissed, but an even freakier thing happened to me yesterday. I was walking by this ladies cubicle and I noticed an Ann Coulter book on her desk sitting next to an empty can of Diet Coke (gross). I don't remember what it was called, but it was probaly Stick or Blood. I just stood there stunned. Luckily I was the only one in the office so I could stand there long enough and confirm that I wasn't hallucinating.

Pony confirmed that she had seen it as well, and I thought, how long could it possibly take this lady to read that shit. Can't have many words in it. "I - am - a - dumb - bitch" written over and over again, I mean how long could it possibly take?

It has to be a cry for something. "I am contrarian! Pay attention to me!" We have a lot of people like that in Seattle. I mean once they pop their anti-depressant there is just no looking back.

I get emails from this lady all the time. From now on they go into a folder that I've labeled "Who Cares." I can't possibly bill a client for reading her words. There's probably a law against it. I'm sure I'm right. But then she's sure she's right as well, and it all just gets me confused and think about Shrodinger's cat so like I said, those emails are placed in an area where they can do the least damage.

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Pride Weekend up here in Seattle and I plan on getting some like there's no tomorrow!

Precise Control.

I missed yesterday's game against the Braves, but apparently Jimmy Carter was there, Joe Girardi made a spectacle of himself and the girls finally found their "punches". I just gave up on that movie Twilight and sent it back. I may have to drop the Netflix for a while. There is just too much baseball and Bones on and these movies just sit around and do nothing. When I speak to other people they are generally in the same position. They would rather watch hulu because they think that's the best shit out there, but it isn't, and I'm not going to say what is because the last time I told anyone that (Compadre) it was so ripped down 3 days later. Long live free media! Compadre did send me some hulu links the other night and they just kept me is stitches. Howling. And I felt really bad for the people that live downstairs, but when I started exploring the rest of their site I just ended up on one of my old sites watching a BBC Horizon documentary. I wonder if my job is eating my soul. The lady I work with that screams at people through the phone totally tattled on this notary public that was watching craigslist. I thought that was lame because damn straight if they don't have work for me I'm gonna be looking for someone that does. Or at least a new Chesterfield sofa. Something I find intolerably difficult to find.

A Pointed Discussion Followed.

Some lamentable sports writer described the Yankees as "punchless" during last night's inter-league game against the Braves. I'm sorry but when you strand 11 men on base that can be called many things, but "punchless" does not come to mind. Libelous swine. Maybe their punches were not all in the right places or in the right order, but they were there, and the evidence shows it. Just a frustrating evening all around.

I find that I'm eating at McShit more and more. It's really the only place open this early, and I'm quite a fan of their flattened potato matter. Quite yummy with some catsup. Although I'm disappointed with them because they do not offer the catsup, you have to ask like a homeless person. And, they don't provide napkins. They just assume because you are eating at their McShit you must be a pig. A slobbering, malfed pig that shovels food into their face and washes themselves "with a rag on a stick" to borrow an expression. More frustrations. It's funny becuase if someone actually came up to me and whined about their experiences at McShit I would seriously slap them across the face before screaming at them "IT FUCKING SERVES YOU RIGHT PIG!" I'd then look for some mud to throw at them.

I can already tell this is going to be a delightful day.

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FYI - If something is described in any way shape or form as "American workwear" I am so moving on. Got your Red Wings yet bra!?!

When The Heart Stops.

So I quite nearly kicked an inanimate object this morning. A door to be precise. Luckily I gathered myself before the offending object was knocked off it's hinges, but such is the danger that comes from a morning filled with cat vomit, insane bus drivers (and passengers) and once again being locked out of my mother fucking office.

You see we have these badges which we have to "swipe" to get in and out of our office. It's absolutely absurd to watch on a daily basis. Sometimes someone almost gets bashed in the head by a door while they bend down to swipe their card. In theory it is so they can monitor our comings and goings, and control access generally, but in reality this company does not have the resources to compile that data, and barring a subpoena, they would never want to. Additionally, the data that is compiled is invariably false. For instance, I was not in the office all night long. I was at home. Watching a movie called Twilight. Getting really bored and disenchanted. Wondered why so many people have a problem with language. Tried to find some animal rescue that would adopt this vomit sack of a cat of mine. Any takers? And I'm not surprised I was locked out the office but sometimes I just wish they would have the courage of their conviction and do it forevers.
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The fish tacos at RBT are not that bad despite the initial feeling of nausea. I think it didn't help that I carried them 10 blocks home and they were luke warm and everything. But that doesn't annoy me nearly as much as being locked out of the office twice in as many weeks over an amorphous and insincere security policy. That is some kind of whack that someone is going to have to explain to me.

I Misinterpreted The Signage.

So I found me a little bite of LA right here in the heart of Capitol Hill. I was doing some Sunday morning thrifting before the Farmers Market freak show when I was shot with a sensation of hunger, also some muscle queer let loose one of the most toxic farts I have ever right square in the middle of the housewares department so I was set to be leaving when I noticed Rancho Bravo Tacos around the corner from Value Village. You may remember where the KFC used to be, but a vacant building has been for the 2 intervening years since RBT moved in.

I walked in and I was the only one there, which is fine, everyone was speaking Spanish which is as it should be. Spartan, clean, small menu. I noticed most things had a vegetarian option which is so not like El Gran Burrito on Santa Monica and Vermont where you actually have to explain the concept of "meatless" before getting into the vegetarian part of the whole enchilada. Anyway, kinda made me miss my old shit hole for a second. Vegetarian burrito and soda for $5.00 was good enough, but the hot sauce is what I could not believe. Little thimble like containers of various salsas I immediately put my paws on the ones that looked like the crud at King Taco and Wow! I was impressed! You could wrap a turd in a tortilla and it would be divine with that hot sauce. That is how Compadre described King Taco hot sauce, and I can't wait to let him try their al pastor tacos so he can tell me whether this place really is fly, or just poseurs with some gumption, and a fine hot sauce recipe. Because you can only tell so much with rice and beans, but it is all really a delivery mechanism for the hot sauce.

I was all ready to try their fish tacos (cause I roll that way) but whereas I started out the sole diner the place was now mad packed with all sorts of people including that fucker that let rip the hideous fart in the middle of Value Village. No thank you! I packed up my gear and I left, but I'm going to be grabbing me a couple of tacos on my way home from work you can be sure.

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RBT I gather started out as a roach coach in Wallingford (which independently blows my mind), but has now opened this semi-permanent guerrilla location. As you can imagine the Yelp reviews of the original taco cart are hilarious. Everyone professes some preternatural knowledge of taco carts, and cheap Mexican food, but by and large the only negative and one-starry reviews are from self-professed So-Cal ex-pats that frankly remember their local taco carts as being a little better than they actually were. I remember the one that used to park on Grand right in the front of the Wells Fargo Center. Yeah at 6:00am I would have a hankering for a breakfast burrito, but at lunch I had no problem walking right past that mess for La Salsa and paying 3 times as much. And that's another issue I have, they do not have La Salsa up here. Or Fred Segal.

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I don't want to leave a bad review and maybe I'm too biased because I grew up in L.A. aka Mexico Jr. but this place has struck out 3 times with me. The only reason I gave it a second star is because it's open late. Might as well have turned it into another bathhouse, I have a feeling people would have been better fed. As I count the days until I move out of Seattle I wonder to myself: Will Seattle ever get a clue??? - This guy is just a dick, and needs to find his way back to Rancho Cucamonga STAT. Although we could use another bathhouse he is right about that.

I Hope To God We're Alone.

Far too exhausted to blog properly. Someone sent an email a half hour after I left last night telling us it was "shorts day" at work today. Not that it would have made any difference. Absolutely raining kittens outside this morning. The bus driver was wearing shorts, but the sole purpose of me coming into work this early has evaporated since the website I'm suppose to be monitoring is "down" or some such nonsense. I may go forage for office supplies or something. Volunteered to come in tomorrow morning because I'm an idiot. And apparently a morning person.

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Fancy clothes for fancy boys, at a price, no penny pinching allowed here. Straight outta GQ, yo! – Mel. R. from San Francisco

Too easy.

Doing Things In The Prescribed Manner.

I'm waking up so early these days that I no longer trust myself with a razor in the morning. The consequence is that I'm walking around the office with a bit of stubble, and some of the ingratiating carbies rub their chins in my presence, and I feel like rubbing my crotch right back at them, but something from Law School grabs me and signals the inappropriateness alarm. Sometimes you forget how hobbling education can be.

This homie at my work was walking around with an oxygen mask on. Strapped to his back with some back-packy thing. Just going about his business. Trying to be subtle. All I had to do was plan to be around the nosiest person in my office whenever she decided she couldn't take the suspense any longer, break down and ask him what was up. I was successful in a sense, but ultimately realized how anti-climactic being nosy can be.

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Derek is out of his games with a sore ankle which has to be frustrating, but hey get this, I really have to do this. After yesterday's fussy little spew about Yelpers I have to confess one of my favorite pastimes when things are slow in the office. I love reading Yelp reviews. Mostly the reviews where people are mad and feeling all one starry. And especially when they get all disappointed over something really trivial. Like brunch. But the best part is when they couch their opinion in a profession of worldliness and sophistication. It's seriously priceless so I'm gonna start posting some of the gems I find here. Starting now.

"Listen, I'm not a 3 year old. I can handle complex flavor." – Reese H. from Seattle

He will not be patronized by his Thai Restaurants, and is relieved there is finally [emphasis added] a website where he can express this.

Forgetton Images To Which We Cling.

"I hear what you are saying, and I myself have also read that on Yelp."

I mean seriously. Sometimes a discussion over where to have a bite to eat is akin to discussing Continental Philosophy. And I'm not entirely convinced cuisine was ever intended to be so byzantine. Especially casual cuisine. The opinions people hold, and the places from which they originate, and all this in relation to the individual's independently non-existent skill in the kitchen renders me speechless sometimes. Breathlessly amused, but speechless.

Like when someone cuts in front of you in the queue and says nothing. Tell me again how flavorless you find your food. And your trip to Thailand (with an $800 pocket money budget) you had a lot of good food did you? The best I see? Quite the epicurean sage you are. Well how silly of me to feel satisfaction with this $7 bowl of noodles. I feel quite chastened in the shadow of your culinary acumen. Utterly useless with a fork or chop stick I find myself. I do not think I have the courage to face another meal without first receiving your express approval of its merits.

Yelp is why I prefer to dine alone.

All For The Very Best.

I have a confession. I have now become a dedicated Farmers Marketer. Which is to say that it will take something extraordinary for me to miss another Capitol Hill Farmers Market. One of our vendors is simply the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on. Perhaps a bit too traditionally Chicano in his features, but oh how I sing into his eyes as he hands me my bag of red beans, or peanuts, or asparagus, or just about anything. Anything. And it's all organic. I can not imagine a Sunday morning passing without that man selling something that I'm interested in buying.

Still there was still, and will inevitably always be some awkwardness when you are in such a large cluster of humanity. After leaving the market with my bag of beans and cat nip I was hijacked by one of those sidewalk petition solicitors. A small Irish boy with a clip board needed my signature for some such thing about how elections are held on the local level. I asked for clarification, and he spouted off some catch phrases: "More representative" "It's a publicity show as it is" "Change is good.", etc. The type of half formed platitudes that make up even grass roots democracy in this country. I signed his silly little petition in any case. I had to get back to something anyway.

Well, there is some tension at work, and I need to spend the remaining moments of peace and quiet practicing my serenely disinterested expression which I find to be my greatest defense in a place like this.

Put That Down.

The Normandy garage sale was a real gas as soon as I stopped fretting about all the people and just relaxed. I managed to unload the monstrous armoire that has been looming in the basement since last years' garage sale, and a bunch of other junk that no longer has a function.

There were of course the usual suspects. One man was so upset that my friend would not go down from a dollar to 50 cents on vintage Hardy Boy books. He made a right spectacle of himself booming as he lumbered back to his car "I GUESS SOME PEOPLE JUST DON'T WANT TO GET RID OF THEIR JUNK!" He had this tantrum in front of his children who were following him (embarrassed) back to their mini-van. It took a while for my jaw to become un-dropped at that scene, and I had to brace myself for the coming day. Because that happened 30 minutes after I stepped outside.

Some withered looking thing in a BlackbirdxUnholy Matrimony tee (you know the ugly Ballard ones you're always shocked to see someone wearing) was really keen on my National Trust Guidebook, but I told her I was just reading it, and it wasn't for sale. "Oh, it was the only thing I was interested in." I thought this was odd and rude seeing how she hadn't even looked at any of the other stuff, but she shops at Blackbird so rudeness and looking tragic are sorta her food and drink.

Got into a somewhat detailed conversation with a lady that bought a Reiss shirt from me, but then it hit me that she was a lesbian, drives a Subaru, and basically liked the shirt because of the color. She was sweet, and rents a parking spot in our garage.

From then on it was just an endless stream of tweaker, dog walker, and annoying social misfit. Everyone remembers their grandmother having one of these, and of course they remember cutting themselves as a child on one of those. One stratospherically detached human being asked if my friend was a "collector" whilst standing in an assemblage of some 80 pieces of vintage Pyrex. I just nodded my head and hoped he was sterile. My jaw may have just stayed permanently unhinged all day long I wouldn't know. But is was a lot of fun. So many cute dogs! So many cute boys! So many cute boys with maddeningly unattractive girlfriends. I can't wait for the next one!

It Has Nothing To Do With Imagination

Alright so the Red Sox are seriously starting to get me down. I'm not sure if even a Friday morning trip to the Country Life newstand is going to snap me out of this funk. I'm kidding of course. The Yankees got swept by the Red Sox, and that's just life. Although the sky cried, it in no way diminishes their adorableness.

There doesn't appear to be a way out of the garage sale tomorrow. No rain anyway. Think I may take a ferry ride to some disjointed part of the peninsula or some such nonsense on Sunday, but I think I could be easily talked out of it.

So get this, The Pet Shop boys are playing at the Moore Theater in Seattle on September 20th. Not sure if I will still be here, but if I am I will be all about that business. From what I remember the Moore is a pretty fresh place for a show, and centrally located if not as close to my place as the Paramount. Cause we're shameless.

Fussy Is Finished.

The Red Sox are hateful end quote.

Otherwise Devoid Of Intent.

Sometimes I have to wonder what the actual function of email is. Is it really necessary? Does it ever really serve as anything other than a communicating agent for an otherwise insular personality disorder? All I know is that it is Wednesday morning, and email happens to be my least favorite thing in the world.

I work with some people that prefer to communicate via spreadsheet. Intelli-jerks is what some might call them. Or douche bags. Desperately infantile alpha cunts has a nice ring to it. The text (or body of the email as they say) is devoid of any thought save this, "see attachment". Upon opening the attachment you find disjointed words, sentence fragments, and other unseemly assemblages of language presented in a way that could best be described as haphazard, but are otherwise asserted in a manner which conveys both confidence in their content, and disdain for you apparent inability to understand the inner workings of the sender's mental breakdown. I seriously do not know where the hell these people come from, but if I said a subdivision in Auburn I would probably not be far off.
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So the girls lost to those hateful bosox again, and it seems that they just can't keep their nerves about them anytime they see Red. Although it probably didn't help that David Ortiz acted like he was God's gift to hitting, and made a spectacle of himself after a solid and undiluted season of suck. That is the one thing that escapes most Red Sox fans, and the one thing that makes them so insufferable. They have a notoriously short term memory when it comes to their long and forever undiminished history of sucking.

Tanks On The Horizon.

There were so many homos during last night's game against so and so I started to lose count. Dizzying really. Andy did a great job although he gave up three, and just about had a nervous breakdown on the mound. Derek scored the "game is officially over" homo, and I just had to let everyone know. Well the guy downstairs probably knows. I stayed up a little later than I should have to watch a nice Bones rerun, and I can tell you Booth is no loser. If you watched it you understand.

But I still managed to drag my ass into work at an objectionable hour. Alerted some one somewhere about the recent court filings, attached the pertinent pdfs yet no one seems willing to update my frackin website. Typical. I did manage to make myself some coffee even though I was more than willing to pay someone I could not find a place within 200 yards open. Ass. My hand was bleeding this morning, and I don't remember getting into a fight, but as I was waiting for my bus I tried some casual hand gestures to off center the homeless nit wearing tartan, and I got blood on my shirt. More ass.

My friend just sent me this link to these shirts which I'm now obsessed with. Actually I'm more obsessed with the name Femke De Vries, like the Mentat in Dune or something I just can't stop saying it wherever I go. I'm actually quite likely to break out into some Dune dialog right in the middle of the conference room blissfully unaware of what is going on as I blankly express that "what can be done has been done." People underestimate the impact of a proper name, branding, etc.

I hope to God that the coffee I just tried to make is ready and did not explode all over. It did. I just checked. That's triple ass.

I'm Trying To Focus.

Well the garage sale never happened. A savage change in the weather, and myself being completely wiped out and all informed the decision to postpone the garage sale for a week. For the best really since over the weekend I found so much more stuff I wanted to get rid of. Like two chef's knives. I really don't need 3 do I?

Wandered down to the freak show (Farmers Market) yesterday and scored some duck eggs I'm going to cook up with some asparagus. Completely fell into dream heaven lust with one particular Mexican farmer who is just so flippin' hot I wanted to push him over. Bought the asparagus from him. Had a minor triumph in the kitchen when I cooked some scallops with a nice cucumber relish. The issues of Country Life are actually paying for themselves.

Actually managed to get some decent sleep last night, and woke up early this morning and listened to some New Order. Found a blue Romeo Gigli shirt I picked up at a thrift store, and paired it with some khakis which is more or less becoming my work uniform. Designer thrift store shirt paired with khakis'. Got to work at an unchristian hour to monitor the GM docket, and surprise, no one has filed anything. Am reading about all the baseball I missed over the weekend. Had a talk with an old friend last night, and during the conversation she kinda casually let it slip that she had started "going back to church", but then had stopped for some inexplicable reason. I think she wanted to meet people or something, and where she lives if you want to meet people you have to go to church. Kinda gets me in the mood for Vicar of Dilby. Yeah, that's gonna hit my queue. I told her I was thinking of moving in the fall, and she said it must be nice to have the freedom of not having a kid and a significant other, and I was like yeah, it sorta rocks. I told her it was also nice to have sex with a bunch of different people who don't even live in the same town, and then I went back to work on my scallops.

That Is No Moon.

So I am pretty sure I screamed as soon as I woke up this morning, but more on that in a moment. Friday morning, and the newsstand is still closed. So as my bus drove me by I was only able to stare longingly at my copy of Country Life encased behind metal doors. Boo! I have no idea when I will be able to pull myself away from this place (I haven't even checked my email) to grab my copy (the one and only copy they order). Still so boo!

Pretty sure I talked to Compadre last night although the medication I'm taking makes it impossible to confirm. The call log on my phone in fact does confirm that I checked my messages at 9:49, and I made a call to Purgatory at 9:51. Remarkable machine. I do remember fragments. Disjointed and somewhat ephemeral. Like most moments. Just there. Sitting about. Minding their own business until you decide you need access to them which is when they invariably decide to become sticky.

Having my garage sale tomorrow. It's a yearly phenomenon product of necessity relating to my penchant for thrifting and such. Lotsa cheap Ikea wares, priceless antiques, and designer gear for the grabbing. More of a chance for me to reach out to the community, and stand in quiet judgment as they paw all over the possessions I no longer want. Best way to spend a fucking Saturday provided you are not at a Yankees game I can assure you. Try it. I dare you.

And about the screaming, I think I may have somehow developed whiplash. Which sucks, but it's inevitable really because I never can believe my own eyes. Always stealing a double take. They can be so tricksy you know. These eyes.

We Are Legion.

I just happened upon a new cache of Derek pics here on the Internet and it is all I can do to contain myself. There is like 9 pages of this stuff, and I am on like page 2 trying not to fall into some valley girl spastic fit right here in the office. I momentarily forgot I was suppose to be monitoring the GM court docket and all, but I think I'm into a rhythm and can ballance the two tasks only one of which seems even remotely pertinent. So far no one has filed anything which is good because if someone interrupts me in this feast of Derek there may be words. Pointed ones.

Their Voices Forever Distant.

Over lunch yesterday Pony and I were contemplating what it means to have like hundreds of friends on Facebook. I believe she said "a friend for every day of the year" or something. Which for some reason got me thinking about accessories. If you can't have a friend for every day of the year, what about some other type of accessory. Like bracelets! Here are some that I think might be appropriate.

Ann Demeulemeester @ 155

Something about this reminds me of October 10th.

Diet Butcher something @250

Evening of November 1st anyone.

Hermes @275

I'd have to say June 3rd.

Products Of Fracture.

An orgy of Bones leftovers was welcome news after a hectic day of banko this and banko that. Spend my day eyes glued to a court docket, Pandora totally effing up my station with way too much House of Love. The culinary selections of the International District are quickly losing their appeal. I long for an extended visit to Uwajimaya, some candy, tea, an assortment of stuff. My friend's work nemesis asked me along to some function, and I had to decline out of loyalty, but also because I thought it sounded boring. Superfluous.

I'm going to be coming to work earlier and earlier to monitor developments in another time zone. The particulars are always vague, but I imagine the details would become a bit clearer if I would just ask, but I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that level of detail in my work. It's sorta like a need to know basis wherein I do not need to know anything about what I'm doing or why. Mere technical proficiency in an arcane and insular process is what is required. I think there is a reason my office is only on the second floor.

Like The Future.

This is bollocks! I have to wake up mega early for this business. Actually save stuff into a folder named mega something. It's all just too vulgar for words, yet they seem to come out nonetheless.