"and then Methodman informed me of some flatulence in the elevator. true story."

The year is up and you know what that means internet? No it's not time for me to settle up with my ho's by slapping them, though my pimp hand has seen better days. It's time for a year end blarg! Read enough of those yet? You have? Well then you should just go outside before reading on because that's what this is all about. Like Bowie, my 2007 was full of a bunch of ch-ch-ch-changes, and instead of doing a typical year end post I've decided to do a top 10 list of the best things that happened to me this year. I tend to focus on the negative aspects of life both here on this digital sprawl and in the physical, so I've decided to give you something optimistic. David would want me to do it this way.

10: I saw Andrew Bird at the Showbox way back in May, and it was the best show I have ever been to. I had seen him before at Chopsuey but this one was awesome. I do regret hitting on my date though, but I think she forgave me.

9: I had a kick ass 25th birthday, and a blog to prove it.

8: Discovering Page France as one of my all time favorite bands, gets this spot easily.

7: You might think that losing your semi-cool job in the middle of year a low point, but it wasn't. Looking back I hated that job, and it's forced me to reconsider everything. So, losing my job as a high school sports/corporate videographer was fucking great and if I could go back to the day I was "let go" I would high five my bosses, kiss their wives, and steal a few more stacks of blank CD's before I left.

6: On a similar note, I got another job soon after, and I love it. Parking cars doesn't carry the prestige that being in Grad school does, but at least I get to go to shows and get hammered off my ass when I want to.

5: My trip to Tahoe with Dantron and Steve was fantastic. I can't wait for the next time I get a half gallon of cheap whiskey dumped on me.

4: The Internet. Thank you again for being there, you're my rock. Also possibly my roll.

3: Rediscovering the fun in arts'n'crafts. More on that soon.

2: Moving out of the "Looney Bin". Could have been number one but I want to say something special there.

1: VOLTRON! You guys are the best thing that happened to me this year, and probably in awhile. Thank you for letting me in to your home, thank you for being such good friends, and putting up with my weird self. Mr. Proper, congratulations on your new job, and thank you for all the cool shit you've shown me from music to hypothetical situations. TQoG, I realize that I am an asshole a lot of the time (especially to Assy-Face) but you are in my top 3 smartest people that I know, and I love to geek out on things with you. I couldn't have picked two better people to live with, let alone be friends with. Also, Ballard still kind of rocks.

Honorable Mentions:

The Neighbors (Marge & Nick Burns): You guys are way too cool to even be alive, it's crazy that you still are.

Sonicboom Records: Please give me free CD's for this endorsement.

Your Mom: For being hot as balls.

Inga, Alec, and Henry: You are a constant source of amusement, don't ever change.

Everyone have a happy New Year, to those of you I didn't hang out with that much in 2007, remember that '08 is the year of "New Beginnings". So now we can totally hang out!

Take it away Bowie!

you will never be as good as your brother. never

The shitty thing is, I have all of these jokes pre-written in my head but when it comes down to actually writing one of these things I forget half of them. So here is a joke that should have been in the last post. On the cover of that DVD one of the pull quotes read "Better than both the Matrix sequels combined!" and I thought to myself "That's not saying much because a single episode of According To Jim is better than those failed abortions of cinema." In your fucking face with a can of mace, Wachowski bros!

Mr. Proper and I went to a show last weekend at Neumo's, and like times past, hilarity ensued. We are planning another simul-blog about it but that takes a lot of coordination. So in lieu of that I have decided to hit you with a Baroque Blog instead, please to enjoy my dearest nets.

Galoshes, pretty girls are wearing them, and strangely enough I am still attracted to them. For the first time in my brief history as a women's fashion critic I am actually liking a new trend. No, this is not some sort of new fetishistic thing for me, though I do get a slight tingly sensation when I see women in Mary Janes. It rained here for like three days straight and in one day I saw about 10 different but equally attractive females wear galoshes. Functional and fashionable, keep up the good work ladies!

Nintendo continues to impress me. The Wii, while being graphically inferior to it's direct next gen rivals, is still selling like hot cakes, and next to impossible to find. But the real story is the Nintendo DS. This little dual-screened wonder has reawakened my love for videogames and reminds me of the days of yore, when I would sit for hours in my basement room playing Final Fantasy, Yoshi's Island, and Barbie Horse Adventure on my SNES. Though to be honest I was really let down by Zelda: Phantom Hourglass. The control scheme was a lot of the story was alright but the fact that I kept having to go back through the same fucking dungeon to do the same fucking puzzles was nauseating, and has subsequently kept me from finishing the game. Where as another game I bought, which actually isn't a game at all it's a guitar "simulator". Which turns my little hand-held into a working guitar. It's fun, and a great use of the hardware.

Speaking of music here is what is in heavy rotation on my iPod.

1: Scout Niblett- This Fool Can Die Now
2: Destroyer - Streethawk: A Seduction
3: The Cinematic Orchestra - Ma Fleur
4: Celebration - The Modern Tribe
5: Arthur & Yu - In Camera

I'm not going to take the time to hyperlink them shits internet, so you're on your own. Also, here is what I'm going to submit to KEXP for the Top 5 albums of 2007.

1: The New Pornographer - Challengers
2: Andrew Bird - Armchair Apochrypha
3: The Cave Singers - Invitation Songs
4: Datarock - Datarock Datarock
5: Shout Out Louds - Howl Howl Gaff Gaff

So Evel Knievel died last week. As with many boys born between the years 1965 and 1985 he was a hero, but I had forgotten about him over the years because...well...who gives a shit about someone jumping over some crap when you have the internet and it's staggering amount of free porn? Anyway, the reason why he was such a hero to me was because he attempted and failed to jump across the Snake River, which is a river that runs near my hometown, a place I have many fond memories of. Wikipedia kind of paints him as an evil *cough* bastard towards the end of his life and career, but the boy in me still thinks he's pretty cool. So here's to you Mr. Knievel, may you be forever jumping over those Grand Canyons in the sky.

Let's end this one on a high note.

damn, i wish i'd met her at peace time

Last Saturday after work I decided to stop by the video store to pick up a movie. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, nothing worth watching is out right now and anything that is probably sucks, I'm looking at you Transformers. I started with the new releases, but again found nothing, until this came in to view. Something about this cover told me I had to rent it. It looked like just another Japanese sci-fi action flick from the back, and I didn't really feel like thinking so I picked it up and brought it to the counter. Both of the helpful dorks at the counter told me that I'm "going to love it." and that they have been waiting "for over two months, for this to get here." Like I said, they were dorks. After I exchanged a few awkward high-fives with those dudes, I headed home, took Assy-face (Voltron's dog) out to pee, lit a few candles and fired up the Daewoo DVD player.

Holy shit.

5 minutes into it I realized what had drawn me to this movie. It was a live action re-make of an Anime OVA that I haven't seen in close to 15 years. Suddenly, I was that pimply face tween dork all over again, transported back to one of the most strange times in my life. A time between my oblivious carefree childhood, my adolescence and drawn out puberty. It was a time where I wanted to continue to be a boy, but forces beyond my control were driving me to become the man-boy I am today. I'd like to ask you to jump into my little time machine internet, as I whisk you away to the age of my own tragic innocence.

Imagine a boy, five feet tall (maybe), and 80 lbs soaking wet (definitely). He is probably the goofiest bipedal thing you can think of. Wildly curly hair, and eyebrows to big for his face. His teeth are crooked, and they will eventually take 3 years to correct. Clothing is not much of concern to him because he probably wears the same pair of jeans and the same shirt everyday, until his mother tears it from his body, and he must figure something else out. His chief concerns at the moment are cartoons, comics, video games, and Marvel cards. School, music, women, he cares for these not. He has a large group of friends but only a few of them share his true interests. This boy is me, age 12.

Like I said; Cashhern is actually a remake of an anime movie known here in the west as Casshan: Robot Hunter, and when I was 12 this was one of the first memorable experiences I had with anime. It's cannon is so ingrained in my memory that I still quote it from time to time. Cashhern was middling at best, and painfully overdone at worst. But that's not the point of this post, the point of this post is to show you a long dead version of myself, but a version who most inspired who and what I am today, and the person who I am closer to now than any of my other iterations.

It must have been the summer between 5th grade and middle school. It was a great summer indeed as I recall. There was the community pool in the day time, the BMX track, and the empty campus of the university that we ruled over for 3 months a year. Then, at night, there were the sleepovers. This is when the majority of the dorkery went on. We would play videogames into the early hours of the morning. "Magic: The Gathering" was slowly becoming the next D&D of my generation and we were on top of that as well, and of course there was the Sci-fi channel, which would show anime movies late at night. Casshan was just one amongst many.

This is still one of the happiest times of my life, and I look back on it fondly because of how innocent and foolish I was. "Cool" was just a word that you used to describe things that had meaning to you. However, when the summer ended and 6th grade began, "cool" took on a whole different meaning. Cool became something to be sought after, and being into videogames and other dork stuff, was so "un-cool" that you were made to be an outcast if you liked those things. Those things being anything that the cool kids didn't like. So, being the desperate loser that I was, I abandoned the things I truly loved, and started liking the things that everyone who was cool liked. This meant ridding myself of all the friends that were into the same shit as I was in to, something I regret everyday. In other words, I sold out. I still secretly loved all that geeky stuff but for years, I never admitted it openly to anyone, which tore me apart. Until we got the internet, and I found a lot of people just like myself, while playing text based games, but that is for another time.

Years later I would be vindicated. Somehow, during my time in high school, it became cool to be into video games, and this became a common bond amongst many people within my clique. Not only within my clique but also all over the U.S. It seemed as though almost overnight that people decided that it was OK to be into dorky stuff. The shitty thing is that I spent almost 5 years hiding my true self from people/friends who accept me now for what I am: An introverted, ego maniacal, dork face, who talks to the internet.

I miss how happy I was then, but at the same time, if I hadn't been put through the social ringer that I was put through, I probably wouldn't have grown in to the person I am now. Would I do it all over again, armed with the 25 years of knowledge I have now? Absolutely, but would it really make a difference? My 12 year old self and my 25 year old self are exactly the same. We are both comfortable with who we are and we aren't going to hold shit back. Though if I could give some advice to my 12 year old self now I would say:

"Listen here bro, you are going to be harrier than anything you can even imagine. Dad? That dude doesn't have shit on you, talk to Mom today, I'm sure there are some treatments ready for kids your age."

a pacific northwest bitch gets shown to her room

I wish I had come up with this joke a before I posted that last blog but, the title of that last one should have probably been "So I was talking with some ladies on the internet..."; and other ways to make people laugh unintentionally. That would have been hilarious. Onward!

So I think it's time to update a few of you on my current situation in life. No! I haven't beaten Final Fantasy XII yet, and I don't think it's ever going to happen so stop asking. About two months ago I was cut from my semi-lucrative, semi-professional career as a production manager for a small production house in Pioneer Square. I enjoyed a good, but tenuous run there, and when the company fell on hard times financially I was 'let go'. Do not weep for me though, I am still freelancing for them, and I couldn't be happier to have been let go. I was filming and editing high school sports for fuck's sake.

So now I'm a valet, for one of the few valeted hotels here in the city, and to be honest I am having a lot more fun than I have in almost two years. That isn't to say there aren't some downsides. For one, I hate driving. I fucking hate it. It's not that I am a bad driver, I am actually quite good, but it's the rest of the assholes who drive that make me hate it. However, over the last few weeks I have developed what can probably only be described as "stunt driving skillz". I'm working on being able to drive on just two wheels at the moment, but I'm starting to get tired of being tasered by the police every time I try and resist arrest. Then there is the tourist factor, and most of you know how much I hate tourists. Yet, I endure this hate, teeth clenched in a perpetual smile, and continue to fuel the myth about how it "is always raining here, gosh!" which is something you hear everyday here even if you don't work at a hotel.

Why I am having so much fun then? Aside from getting to 'stunt' some pretty sweet rides? For the tips my dear internet, its for the tips. Much like strippers I get tipped quite often in 1 dollar bills, but unlike strippers I get to drive the expensive cars they often perform fellatio in, so theres another plus, I don't have to give anybody head. In the 'high-end' hotel business people will give you money for doing very mundane and everyday things. For instance, about two weeks ago a nice gentleman who may or may not have been intoxicated gave me a 20 dollar bill for simply holding open the door of the cab he was entering. I long for the days when money means that little to me.

While tips are cool and everything, there is something that I find truly fascinating about driving other peoples cars. It's like walking into a complete strangers house for the first time, only it's scaled down considerably, and those most pertinent information about this individual is immediately available. Let's start with what kind of car they drive. People who drive Mercedes-Benz's are often lack taste, and bought the vehicle because they also lack imagination but have money to spend. These same people rarely (if ever) have music playing in their car, a true mark of a dilettante. BMW, Audi, and VW drivers appear to be a bit more grounded than the Benz people. Their cars tend to be a bit more dirty, and their musical tastes seem to range, though, I have yet to find one that doesn't listen to something that hasn't been on the Top 40 for over the last thirty years. Let's move on though, because I could talk about the musical habits of these people forever.

The smell of some of these cars...oh god the smells! I get into some of these cars and think to myself (between gag reflexes) "They actually drive around in this shitty funk all the time?" I was in a car two days ago that I had to roll all the windows down in, and they were manual windows. It smelled like the person had washed their dog with foot sweat and then locked that poor animal in the car, which was parked in the middle of a Wal-Mart parking lot in Phoenix AZ in July, and then waited for it to die, only to return and throw a bag full of sock eye salmon cut with the putrid stench of Ellensberg, WA right next to that dogs rotting corpse. In other words, it kind of smelled. Anyway, I pull up to the front of the hotel spring from the car dry heaving a little, and start rolling up the windows, all while covering my face with the sleeve of my jacket. The comes out, throws his new dog into the car, hits me with a five and speeds away. I only wish I could have said something to him, but he was Canadian. Which brings me to my final observation.

Canucks are the stingiest fucks on the planet. Europeans, who had never heard of tipping before coming to the U.S. tip better then our neighbors to the north. I shouldn't even call them neighbors, because a neighbor would tip. Their dollar is worth more than ours too! You wouldn't believe how many times I've been stiffed by one of those maple leaf worshiping mofo's. Do me a favor, next time you are in B.C. or Quebec or Saskatchewan, don't leave a tip, it will make up for everything in the grand scheme.

This job is the easiest wage earning position I have ever had, and I wish I had found it when I was 19. For the first time in my life I have no complaints about the job itself, which is a weird feeling, because when I come home and the Queen of Games asks me how my day went, all I can really say is "It went well." Strange. Perhaps I've grown a little wiser, or lost some of that ego I used to so proudly whip about. If anything, I am enjoying how uncomplicated my life is for the time being, and I am happy I've found a new thing to bitch about.

Fuck you, Canada.

whimsical sweaters

What started out as a joke ended up being one of the best weeks I've spent on the internet. About two weeks ago Koniferous, Steve, The Lobbyist, and I got into one of our normal daily email wars, where we send various links to on another, riffing on the state of union, net-neutrality, cats, fat people etc. etc. The thread became very heated after I sent a link to this website. Koniferous quickly replied by saying something along the lines of "I only understand about 1/3 of what you are say in these emails." Steve added "It's something that only internet dorks get." I shot back by saying that I will stop sending nonsense to them when I get a girlfriend, until then the madness will continue. Soon, The Lobbyist and Koniferous both chimed in saying that I would have to get in line behind the both of them on that front, due to the bi-lateral dryspells they seem to be going through. It did not take Steve very long to reply, and thats when my internet life changed.

Steve decided to heed our call for women, by trolling Craigslist personal ads in our respective cities. What was surprising is that he actually took the time to find each of us three separate women that we might be interested in, instead of doing something hilarious like sending us tranny personals or something of that sort. Anyway, after I received my three prospects I decided to take Steve's challenge and roll with it. Here is the email I sent to the first one, she had a questionaire, which I actually found kind of clever in a dumb way.

1. Yes or no: technology should have stopped at the gear.

This is a strange question. One, because where else can it go besides the gear? Are you talking about the software or firmware for said gear? If we didn't have those things then the 'gear' would be completely useless. Secondly, no.


2. What would you do if you ruled the world?

Re-vive the electric car, build a mono-rail out to Ballard that connects to downtown, and get rid of all those damned zombies.

3. What do you think of ayn rand is hot?

Another strange question. I am assuming what you meant to say here was "Do you think Ayn Rand is hot?" or maybe it's rhetorical like, "What do you think of Ayn Rand's hotness?" To which I can only reply, not really, but that's only because I never knew her personally, and I've never read anything that she's written, also because I find people who quote Rand are often pretentious jerks. Sorry, if you are into her, it's just never been my bag.

4. do you like big brown eyes?

Being of that persuasion myself, it's hard not to like them. But I suppose if they are too big, like say, the size of tea-saucers I'd be a little freaked out.

5. do you like going to art walk just to get drunk off free wine?

Actually, that's just a bonus. What I don't like about Art Walk are all of the tourists and hipstery kids hanging about.

6. Are you devilously handsome, cocky, egotistical, brooding but have a heart
a heart of gold?

I am violently handsome, modest, quiet, and introspective with a keen sense of loyalty.

7. Are you metrosexual or androgynous?

Well, I take a shower everyday and keep my nails cut which I hear is something those metrosexuals do. I wear clothes that fit me, but show off my rather skinny frame. So are you talking androgynous like Bowie or "It's Pat" from SNL? I also have a short beard which might exclude me from the androgyny category.

8. do you have any brothers or sisters?

I have an older sister, Inga, who is 29 years old, and two younger brothers, Alec and Henry, who are 23 and 17 respectively.

9. do you know what you want and usually get it?

I usually do what I want and get what I want about 50% of the time. Such is life.

10. ( and just for fun) fill in the blanks

Strippers______when_______moon________gin__________in your dreams

breakdance, the waxing, distills, while

I really hope that was satisfactory, and also hope to hear from you soon.

So that kind of kicked things off, and got me to thinking. Why don't I go out and find more of these personals? It's like a whole new game, right? Eventually I decided I would go to Craigslist and find the most interesting/weird ads and reply to them. Partly because it was so damn fun answering some of the ads in bazaar or satirical ways, but mostly it was out of my own morbid curiosity. In the end, after replying to about ten or so I only got three replies back. It probably didn't help that when I would send these women emails, they were as snarky (if not more) than the above. I decided I would have to kick this one up a notch.

I would have to post my own personal, and I did.

It was equal parts love lorn mid-twenties dude, and clever bastard, thanks to Chuck Klosterman. You see, I used one of Klosterman's 23 questions in it, and that was basically what inspired literally twenty different women to email over the following week. Now, I didn't admit right off the bat that I had aped one of his questions, but I was sure that someone would almost immediately call me out, but out of the twenty or so women who emailed me only one saw through my bullshit, and called me out.

After answering the question, most of the ladies would tell me a little about themselves. What kind of music they listen to, where they work, standard boilerplate stuff. Some, unprompted, would send me pictures. Let's get something straight, I NEVER asked for pictures, nor would I ask for pictures. It just seems kind of creepy, and really you never know what you are going to get. I got two pictures from two seperate women that made me want to end this experiment, these were perfect examples why these nets can be kind of scary. There are weird people on them. I won't go into too much detail, let's just say that there was some exposed skin involved, lots of exposed skin.

The best part of this whole thing was how much I learned. We spend so much time emailing and chatting with friends and family, you forget that there are millions of anonymous strangers seeking connection. I finally found the answer to a question that's been bothering me for years; How do people find 'love' on the internet? Not that I fell in love with any of these people I was chatting with but the majority of the responses and the ensuing threads that came after were intriguing to say the least, I would probably want to hang out with them if it wasn't some sort of weird 1 on 1 internet blind date type of situation. I was propositioned several times for meet-ups but decided not to, because of my own hang ups. I like the idea of this new type of 'social revolution' but I prefer the old fashioned way of meeting people. Drunk, and through friends.

The experiment ended almost as quickly as it had begun. I had narrowed it down to three different girls, all of which suddenly lost interest in the whole thing about two days ago simultaneously. What happened? I'm not sure, maybe they discovered this blarge (like one industrious minx did) or maybe they grew tired of my ego maniacal rants. Who knows, the point is, it was worth it and I plan on taking the same strategy to a different website/medium very soon. I kind of enjoyed being fawned over by women. It was just like that brief period in my life when I was 22....

By the way, if have any faith in my powers to select music then take heed. The new Jens Lekmen album, "Night Falls Over Kortedala" is the absolute note! Buy it now, and give me a huge high five later.

i need an editor

I like to think that over the last six years of living here in Seattle, I've developed some sense of personal style. I wear clothes that fit my skinny frame (e.g. "men's small") not to look trendy but to look good. Let's face it, people judge you first by your looks and then if those can keep their attention long enough, by your personality. Sad but true, we are visceral beings by nature, and the first train out of the 'sense station' is the ocular one. We make snap judgments of people based on their appearance and then extrapolate from there on what that person must be about without ever talking to them. I'm told we do this with everyone we see and meet in less than 7 seconds, which a long time ago seemed impossible to me, until I started doing it consciously. In other words; recognizing the fact that I was sizing someone up by what they look like. Which brings me to my pink shirt.

OK, so it's not really pink, but many would categorize it as 'pink'. I like to think of it more as a reddish-white. American Apparel describes the color as "coral", which I think is close but unfortunately I did not get the shirt at American Apparel, I got it at Urban Outfitters. That's right I shop there, I have a dick and you can eat it. They sell some of the best cotton tee's I have ever worn, in a variety of semi-unusual colors, I like to pick up a couple whenever I am in the store. Defensive maneuvering aside, I decided to get the t-shirt in question. When I grabbed it I didn't twice, it was a color that was appealing to my eye, but I should have noticed the first red flag. My Mom, who graciously bought me the shirt along with what I am sure my friends will eventually deem as a "hipster hat", said "So, I'm buying you this hat, and this pink t-shirt?" To which I replied "Actually, you are buying me this cool hat, and also this these t-shirts. Oh, I guess this one is kinda pink, huh? I didn't notice." Seriously, I said that, and I let my Mom buy clothes for me, please see previous line about said dick.

It is not weird to see some heterosexual male strolling down a public street here in Sea-teezy (that's how us Seattlite's refer to Seattle) wearing a pink t-shirt, which may or may not have a screen print of a giant cock on it in purple. Why? Maybe because it's ironic (the penis part, not the pink part, or maybe the pink part too) or perhaps it's because pink is just a fucking color. Yet, the minute you leave the city for somewhere like, I don't know, Renton, you are instantly berated by bucktoothed teenagers, who think that Panic! At the Disco kept them from committing suicide. Well I have news for you teenagers: The color pink is cool, P!ATD is not, and soon your going to realize this and you will probably find yourselves (again!) with one of your dad's ties around your neck attached to the door knob of your bedroom very soon, maybe even after you read this post.

RANTY!

That last part was in reference to what happened tonight while filming a Sounders game. There I was, running some cable before the game kicked off, when I hear from the stands "Only real men wear pink!" Classic. I ignored the comment like a cool dude would, but about an hour later during half-time I was confronted by three teenagers who were at first trying to get on "TV" after not acknowledging them for about 3 minutes one of them piped up "I like your shirt, you look like a girl!" Burn. While I could have picked that statement apart by saying something like "Wow! Your idea of what a girl looks like must be very strange. Are you attracted to women with flat chests and facial hair? Because if you are, you are in for a world of hurt, there aren't many of us out there." Instead I turned to the youth and said "Well, at least I don't sound like a girl." Which is what I actually said, to which he said while on the verge of tears and running away as his friends laughed at him "Panic! At the Disco will make me feel better!" No they won't son, no they won't. That tie you got your dad for Christmas last year is looking pretty good right now, huh?

All puberty and horrible, horrible teenage suicide jokes aside though. I find it funny that when I leave this city I become an entity in style, both negative and positive. While here (within the city) I find that I look like every other male on the street. Skinny, bearded, hooded, and possibly hungover. To be honest, if I could I would dress like a completely insane person, much like my father does now. I would go for a more indy-rock kinda of look and not the hipster-lite that I seem to be in now. I'd wear even tighter pants with wing-tip shoes, huge collared shirts from the seventies. My hair would be cut into one of those mullets that all of the European soccer players seem to be rocking. Wacky scarves would be the main thing I was known for, and I would have a nickname among the rest of the hipsters. Something like; Endangered or Roflmao.

In the end it all goes back to a conversation I was having with Mr. Proper the other day about dress. I was telling him about how I never want to go back to wearing a uniform of any kind, that includes wearing slacks and a nice shirt. When he asked 'why?'

"I am going to ride this 20 something thing, til' it crashes." I'm pretty sure I said that.

wanderlust pt. 1

Internets! Holy crap, I missed you so much! Sorry, I've been on vacation. What been going on? They gave up the search for those miners?! Get out. Lindsey's still in rehab? Wow, I mean wow. Mit Romney for President? Yeah, I could see that happening. Me? Well, I was in New York for a few days, and then I went on a cruise. To where? Bermuda of course, where else would I go? How was it you ask? Ummmm.....let me start with New York.


New York was intoxicating. Definitely the biggest city I've ever been in. Shen Zhen was huge and different, Barcelona as well although it was not much bigger than Seattle. But New York! I mean, I've seen it in movies, TV, and pictures, but to actually be there was something else. It was not at all like I had imagined it. It was something different, exciting, gritty. Full of assholes, just like me, and the hipsters! Oh sweet crunkington, the fuckn' hipsters! They put those kids at Linda's to shame. The sweet confusion that I felt while wandering was something that I haven't felt in a long time. Granted, I spent a lot of my time in tourist areas, and only got but a small taste of what the city must really be like. I went to Broadway; where I saw the awesome Avenue Q, and 'Little Italy' where I spent my time getting ripped off by eastern Europeans, claiming to be Romans or Chinese. Soho, where my brother and I were treated like complete outsiders at a restaurant and ultimately ignored. We went to the Museum of Modern Art, which was fantastic, and my sister and I went to the American Museum of Natural History, or whatever and solely to see the exhibit shown in the last scene of "The Squid and the Whale". The rest of that museum turned about to be really cool.

In the end, New York was a place I eventually could find myself living in and also a place I want to avoid. In other words; just like Seattle you must find the places that you are most comfortable with and stay there until you are comfortable, then you can move on.

So that portion of my "vacation" ended after 4 short stressful days and we found ourselves meeting up with the other 13 members of my extended family for a 7 day cruise to the isle's of Bermuda. To all of my twenty-something readers/friends heed my advice. DO NOT GO ON A CRUISE IF YOU CAN FLY TO YOUR DESTINATION. Flying is cheaper, faster, and for the most part, you don't have to worry about getting giardia. Which 40 people on my ship contracted, consequently turning the ships staff into a bunch of "hygiene Nazi's". More on that later.

The vessel we were on was called the Norwegian Crown, and was constructed sometime in the late 1980's, and holy shit if it's interior didn't reflect the 80's coke induced aesthetics. Gold and mirrors everywhere, I hate referencing this piece of shit movie but it will give you an idea of what it was like. Imagine Tony Montana's mansion in "Scarface" and you have a pretty good picture. The music that they played everywhere didn't help dispel the eightysness of it all either. It was like the top 40 from '85-'93, but not the real top 40, but some bizarro world top 40 where all the good hits from that decade were replaced by the "Electric Slide" and "Macarena". I shit you not, I heard those two songs several times during our fantastic voyage. I could tell you so much about the food, which was "free"(for a reason) and the on-board entertainment which was also free, but I wish we could have paid for them not to be on the ship, because I would have given up a year's worth of my salary to get back the hour of my life that Adam Ace, the Crazy Comedian, embarrassingly wasted. I could devote an entire post to that poor bastard and his "act" alone. But I won't, because the best part about this cruise were all the people on it, oh and the pink sandy beaches of Bermuda. Totally beautiful, when I marry a rich woman that's where we are going to have our summer home, right next to Catherine Zeta Jones and that old dude she's married to, his name escapes me at the moment though ummm....Catcher's Mitt perhaps? Seriously though, how the fuck did that guy do it?

I have spent years making fun of people with mid-western and southern accents for years. It hasn't just been me though, but our country as whole, where in fact we should be jibing on people from the north east! Comparably, the people in the mid-west have nothing on people from Staten island. From now on when people I hear use the phrase "the dregs of society" I will think of people who were born and raised in New Jersey. The majority of the people on this cruise were from Staten island, Long island, and Newark. It took awhile for me to get over their accents but once I had done that, I was absolutely dumb-founded by their lack of imagination and wit. I realize that sounds very elitist of me, and it is, but these were some of the most tacky and clueless people I have ever had the displeasure of being around. I realized early on that there was no escape, and accepted my fate, thereby allowing me some very good people watching time, I combined this time with many brief conversations that I had with people on my ship and came to these conclusions:

Average Cruising Age: 14-19 and 40-75
Average Weight: Fat
Average idea of a 'good' vacation: Cruise
Average choice of an 'imported' beer: Bud-Light
Average clothing choice even when indoors at public eating areas: back hair or tracksuit

I spoke with one enlightened woman of about 70, who said that this was her 7th(!) cruise, and that every time she finished one she swore she would never do it again. When I asked her why she had embarked on yet another one of these horrible things she said "In the end it makes me happy to see all of these young people have such a good time." Indeed, there were a lot of young people having a good time on this cruise. To be more precise, there was probably a larger teen aged contingent than any other age group aboard, and yes they were definitely having fun. Before entering my room one night I saw a small group huddling around a Nalgene bottle conversing. I paused at my door for a moment, and this is what I overheard:

Teen 1: How much did you put in there?
Teen 2: Well, I filled half with Coke and the other half with vodka!
Teen 3: That's 50%! Skelkin!
Creepy Skinny Guy Fumbling With Key To Lock: Pussies...what the fuck does 'skelkin' mean anyway? What the eff happened to 'rad'?
Teen 1,2,and 3: Get jam-howed, you fram-prizk!
CSGFWKTL: Word.

...and then all hell broke loose, and I started punching teenagers in their acne covered faces. Wacky. No, that really didn't happen, but you can find out what happened next week in part two. I am making this a two parter because this has turned into a really long post and my internets are getting weak. So tune into my final point and analysis. Thanks for reading.

Who loves you?

(...the...)

I called my friend Dantron the other night to wish him a happy 24th. After talking for a little while he mentioned this blarg, and how he has been reading it. I can't say how much it pleases me when I hear one of my friends, who I don't think read this retarded thing ever, do in fact read...it. He had a few qualms with the new format however. For one he is hardly ever mentioned, and two what the fuck happened to the "Barack" blog? "The 'barack' blog," I asked "What the hell is that?" He then went on a diatribe about all of my "big" words and how it was something I used to sometimes write on MySpace. "Ahhhh...you mean 'baroque' blogs." "Yeah, whatever you snarky fuck, I used to love those hate filled rants. What happened to those?" I then promised that I would bring back the Baroque Blog at least once as a gift to him. So here you are Danny, happy birfday.

There are three things that I will probably never stop thinking about, and that will probably never change in order of importance as long as I live, unless I win the lottery, then 2nd and 3rd will become 1st and 2nd and 1st will become third. Money, Women, and Music. Now: Women. I think about women a lot. So much so that I feel oddly gay when I start critiquing their fashion (I did it here). I'm no prize pig myself when it comes to fashion, but it's pretty hard to rip apart a dude who primarily wears jeans and a t-shirt. Anyway, I've dedicated a lot of thought to this and I think it's time that I just come out and say it. STOP WEARING THOSE ENORMOUS SUNGLASSES. You don't look mysterious, you definitely don't look like the gorgeous Audrey Hepburn (admittedly she doesn't look that good here either however, go back and watch Roman Holiday, then try and tell me to tell me she is not a stunner), and men do not find you more attractive because of them. These fucking things cover up one of, if not the most flattering aspects on a woman. At best, you look like an insect. At worst, Paris Hilton. Please stop.

OMG, video games! Fuck the next gen, the Nintendo DS is where it's at. Not only is the Legend of Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass coming out soon but Square Enix is remaking Final Fantasy VI(?) in glorious 2.5D! I piss my pants every time I think about playing these games, which sucks because it means that I am spending a lot of money on laundry these days, and often reeking of urine.

BREAKING: Page France is my new favorite band. Finish this blarge, and go and buy their new album. Also, these two are almost too much to handle, Mr. Proper and I saw them at the Capitol Hill Block Party last week and they rocked it. Kim is way more cute in person and cannot stop smiling.

Apparently I used to end each of these with the latest death of one of my hero's, and then I would write my own obituary for them. (Un)fortunately, no that I think is cool has died, unless you count my friend Kreamy, who should have died the last time I saw him, except the knife that I used was to dull to actually do any damage, fear not though, because I don't make the same mistakes twice.

Baroque Obama in '08

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purge

Blarg purge! You don't even want to know how many blogs I write, the ones that you actually see are just ones that I either stuck with long enough to finish, or felt good enough about to publish. I write about everything, and nothing. Everyday minutiae, condensed into a 5 paragraph digital shout. The main reason I don't publish a lot of these blogs is because I am trying to make this less personal and more about ideas and thoughts. The problem with my MySpace blog was that it was too personal and I used it like a blunt instrument. Here are a few of the post that I didn't finish.

"atm ninja?" I am not sure where I was trying to go with this one, but I am guessing something really cool happened at the bus stop.

I left work at 5:55pm the bus would arrive at the stop outside of Starbucks at 6:07pm, but I would not go straight there. I first had to drop by the ATM so I could pull out some cash to give to my roommate for this months cable bill. As I made strode towards the cash machine, I noticed another man who was clearly making for the same machine I was. There were a lot people downtown because today was the second day of the Mariners season. So I increased my pace and attack angle, and easily caught the guy off guard, deftly removing my wallet from my pocket, flipping it open and inserting my card. I couldn't help but notice in the reflection of the camera's protective screen, how indignant the guy was over the fact that I had so easily overtaken him. Clearly, he was pissed, but little did he know, he was dealing with an ATM ninja. I was in and out of that bitch in less than a 45 seconds. Cash and card in hand. Strolling confidently past the man I had just usurped, I couldn't help but feel pretty bad ass. The faux-hawk and aviators were a plus at that point.

I arrived at my stop with about 3 minutes to spare before the 66 came. 1

"jeff & those gays" I actually have a finished version of this blog waiting to be published, I just thought that the second paragraph was kind of funny.

I liked Jeff Tweedy more when he was getting run over by the wagon, instead of riding it. That is all I am really going to say about the new Wilco album. The first half is pretty good albeit a little jammy and at times it can be pretty schmaltzy even in Tweedy standards. It really just goes to show where drugs can be good for you m'kay.

I've been living in Ballard for approximately 3 weeks and I think it's the best decision I've made in years, actually the hair removal from my back via laser, now that was the best decision I ever made. I've been doing a lot of thinking and exploring within Ballard and have decided it is probably the best neighborhood in Seattle, even if it is a little out of the way, we're a helicopter ride away from the nearest I-5 entrance/exit. That, as far as I can tell is the only downside and even then it isn't a downside because I don't own one of those auto-mo-whats-its, and I-5 is primarily for the gays. Word on the street.

I think the main reason why I love it here so much is because it's like a small town in a large city, and it reminds me of my hometown before it started turning into a strip mall. Fuck

"big love" This one actually had some legs! The jokes are good, and topical but I started getting a little self-righteous there at the end.

1: As much as I like to think that thousands of people are reading this blog, the truth is that it's somewhere closer to 527 people, and out of those people, about 132 actually can't leave the house unless they read a fresh blarg written by me on Monday or Wednesday. So, to you I apologize.

2: If I am not writing inter-blogs, than I am scouring these nets for my own obscure fetish. What is it? Sock Puppet BDSM. Now the internet knows and much like this girl, I am no longer safe.

Anyway, good weather has seemed to grace this fair city, and like rats escaping a sinking ship, the tourists are coming out from their hiding places in retarded droves. There are only a few things I hate about living here, but the number one thing I can't stand are the fucking tourists. Holy shit do I hate them. I hate for the fact that they think they need to act like "Seattle-ites" when they come here. They mostly try and accomplish this feat by going in to any Starbucks they happen upon and order the same ridiculous drink they get themselves when they are at home in Bum-fuck-nowheres-ville, all the while wearing a t-shirt adorned with Kurt Cobain's face that they bought at Sea-Tac airport when they got off the plane, while I stand in line behind them considering whether the jail time is worth me smashing a vacant coffee mug over the back of their ignorant skulls.

Case in point. I was a block away from work, and as I walked by what I can only assume was a large Mormon family, I heard three of the younger female members exclaim; "Oh look! An art store! Let's go in." While I could pick that quote apart alone like a pretentious fuck for several paragraphs, I won't because what they did next was absolutely hilarious. They went in to the store. Which is really where it gets funny because the place they went into was clearly a frame shop, and very obviously marked that way. With the multitude of galleries located in the Pioneer Square area they chose a framing shop to go in to. I wish now that I had just waited in front of the shop and looked through the window just to see the looks on their faces as they realized their mistake, if they realized it at all.

My point is, when I am touristing it up in a new place, I don't try and act like I am down with the cities "theme". I do everything within my power to avoid the places where other tourists go. Not bec

"sweet jane" This one was supposed to be about the clerk at the QFC that I have a huge crush on but I wasted to much time writing about the scene with my mother and grew board with the whole thing. Such is life.

When your own Mother has lost faith in you, you pretty much know you are fucked.

I flew home last weekend mainly to visit my family. While sitting at dinner with my Mom and sister, my Mom mentioned that she might want to sell her house. She had said this before, citing the fact that it's way to huge for one person to be living in all by themselves, which is true. But oh internets, if you could only see this place! It was built over 120 years ago, and my Mom took it upon herself to restore, and even add on to it. It is truly a beautiful house, and one of the first places I actually ever called 'home'. I digress however, when she said that she was looking to sell, I sarcastically (big surprise!) asked "Where will your grandchildren come and play?" Scoffing she replied "Do you have a girlfriend?" "No." "I wonder how much I can get for this place now?" Burn! She is right to ponder though. My siblings have terrible taste when it comes to picking boy/girlfriends. My brother is especially gifted in when it comes to

I've been spotty, at best, when it comes to posting on time or frequently. Not that any of your internets give a shit, hopefully Peter Means Rock will come to my aid with a spanking new website and I will be able to give up this blargging crap for good.

bus rides are for closers

In lieu of my latest opus over my brief stint in Ohio, where I attended this years National Synchronized Swimming Competition, I have decided to post this blarg about being a real life "hero". Mainly because that post needs to be perfect, and this one doesn't.

I have had a grand total of 3 opportunities to look/be a real life hero in life, of which I am now 0 for 3. Let me give an example from the time that I would decide to stop pussing out and act the next time a situation presented itself.

My brother and I were in Barcelona visiting my sister who was working in Spain at the time. One night the three of us went out for dinner and drinks. After dinner, Scringa thought that we should go for a tour through her old neighborhood, which was rather seedy. Full of Spanish teenagers, Moroccan teenagers, and Moroccans. In other words, the barrio. It's not the kind of place you walk around at night if you are a local, let alone a tourist. As my brother and I were having our picture taken in front a wall with some graffiti on it that said; "TOURISTS YOU ARE THE TERRORISTS" smiling like a couple of dumb Americans, a young kid comes sprinting by us, followed shortly by a young woman who my sister would later tell us was screaming "Give my back my purse you dirty bitch!" As they ran by us some Spanish dude abandoned his girlfriend to give chase. It was at that moment I realized what I was witnessing. My first ever "purse snatching", and I wasn't going to do shit about it. We watched as the young man, the girl who's purse had been purloined, and the Spaniard disappeared towards yet another building designed by Guadi.

I pretended like I didn't know what was going on as I often do when there is something fucked up going on. The next morning I went to the little cafe I had been going to every morning since arriving and ordered my usual cafe con leche. Taking a seat outside I lit a cigarette and began to replay the brief scenario over in my head, only this time my brother and I joined the Spaniard, let's call him Raul, in chase. I fantasized about how we would corner that little bastard, he'd probably try and fight us, but my brother is kind of a big dude so he wouldn't stand a chance. So as my brother and Raul, were getting there hits in I would grab up the purse and return it to the grateful, young, sexy Spanish girl....and this is where the fantasy goes to places that are best dedicated to the classier of trashy romance novels, or Cinemax "pornos". In other words; we get are faulk on. That's what happens with heros.

In reality I am pretty sure Raul was led down a dark alley while chasing the purse thief, and was met by the dudes gang who all happened to have knives, and some cutting ensued.

What brought about this brief trip down memory lane? Well, yesterday a chance to be a hero arose, and it was damn near bulletproof. I got lucky and ended up on the 15 Express from downtown to Ballard, a bus I rarely catch but am glad when I can get on it because it cuts the trip home down by about 15 minutes. We are about halfway to Ballard when a you "g-ish" looking white dood with a sidewayz baseball cap comes charging to the front of the bus. The thing with express buses is that they have limited stops, hence the express part, and there is always some poor asshole who doesn't realize this and ends up having to ride the bus until they can get off and catch a normal one back to their destination. That's what most people do, that's what I've done, but this douche wasn't going to act like a civilized human, he was going to act the way he was dressed; like a privileged suburban white kid with a hard-on for 50 cent. He began first by verbally berating the driver, then (and this is what raised my ire) tried to force open the front doors of the bus, which wouldn't budge an inch. He then went back to the bus driver and got back in his face. My pulse quickened and I began looking at the other passengers, who were visibly nervous over the whole sitch. Between sizing up the dude and slowly repositioning myself on the seat so I could leap at the guy I was also looking to the other male passengers for some sort of confirmation like "If you do it dude, I'll join you." No such luck, but I figured if I at least could wrap my arms around the dickhead, some of the others would quickly join me. I calculated that this would all take only a few seconds.

There I was, about to jump out of my seat, my blood hot with rage and adrenaline, when the driver, to my surprise, actually stopped and let the asshole out! My guess is that he could see me seething in his rearview and just didn't need to be on the 7'o'clock news that night. Who could blame him though huh? Who wants to retell that embarrassing story on the news?

"So I was calmly dealing with an irate passenger like I do everyday like ten times a day, when all of the this skinny guy comes flying out his seat to try and...well I don't know what he was trying to do, but I'll tell you what, I've never seen a man go down from one punch like 'slim' there did."

Cut to b-roll of me being carried off of the bus on a gurney to the ambulance, with an oxygen mask over my face. To be honest I bet when the time comes to be a hero and I actually pull it off it will never be able to hold a candle to my actual fantasy. Really the only reason I would even consider doing something that could possibly get me hurt/killed is not for the glory but for the girl.

She happened to be sitting two seats in front me and when the guy finally got off she looked at me and smiled. We'd be faulking later.

"boozey" and other nicknames I won't get to use anymore

I'm having a terrible time figuring out how to write an opening for this one. Part of me wants to be poetic and poignant, another part would like to write something hilarious and wacky, this is all a reflection of my real-life disposition. Pierre, our family dog, was put down on Saturday. So I am dedicating this entry to his memory.

My Mother reminded me a few weeks ago of how Pierre first became a part of our family. Somehow, my brother and I had managed to get him to our house from a family friends house who lived in the country. We had apparently secreted him away in our room, hoping to hide him from Mom. How we ever thought that we would get away with hiding a puppy from her is still a mystery to me. Upon her discovery of the dog, that at the time we were calling "Gak", she told us that we could not keep him, but after much begging, she eventually, albeit begrudgingly, gave in.


I am not sure who came up with the name Pierre, but I always thought that it fit him perfectly. Perhaps we named him that because he was small and had a tail that curled to his lower back completing an almost perfect circle. Which in my mind is a distinctly French dog trait. The best we could figure is that he was some kind of terrier, or a mix of that sort. I guess if I really had to describe him, I would say he looked a lot like Benjy, only 27 times cuter. This is pretty close.

In the beginning he ran away alot, and would more than often be picked up by the pound before we could find him. Where my Mom would have to post bail for him, which increased every time he was captured by them. This really pissed my Mother off, who would after springing him, threaten to leave him there next time. It was an empty threat, we knew it, and even though she wouldn't have admitted it, in those early days Mom loved that dog just as much as she loved my brother, sister and I.

"He's just like a person!" Everybody says this about their dog, but no one ever says it about other peoples dogs. We heard this exclamation quite often, because up until about a year ago he would greet anyone who set foot through our front door with a toothy smile and a fit of sneezing, tail wagging, and a myriad of bodily gyrations. He was smart in a very stupid dog kind of way. If you left anything edible on a table that was less than 3 feet high and then left the room only to return and find it missing, he would be sitting there smugly licking his chops, staring at you with a look that said; "Dude, you didn't call 'dibs'."

After my brother, sister and I moved out of the house you could tell who Pierre really loved. It was Mom. This became evident after she sold the restaurant and decided to take him with her on an extended vacation to California and Spain. Unfortunately she couldn't take him to Spain, where my sister was living at the time, so he had to stay with my Grandma in Laguna. My Mother was gone for a month, and when she returned that dog would not leave her side for a second. From then on, he wouldn't let that woman be alone unless she was going to work, but when she returned he was always beside her. At dinner, on the couch watching 60 Minutes, or just reading a good book, he would hang within her proximity just so that he could be near the person he loved so dearly. His utter devotion to her was concreted by the fact that when he was diagnosed with chronic renal failure a year ago and he could barely move. She rushed him to the vet and they helped him the best they could but told my Mom that he only had a little more to live. After that visit he wouldn't eat his dog food, so my Mom decided to cook for him. Mashed potatoes and ground beef, that is all he would eat!


The most endearing quality of this dog was his undying devotion to Mom. I can remember nights sitting on the couch with her and Pierre and looking down at that dog only to see him gazing up at her. To him, she wasn't just the Alpha-dog, she was his Mother, his savior, and his best friend. To be honest I was a little bit jealous, Pierre and I had many a good time. We spent many late nights hanging out, eating leftovers, and watching the Cartoon Network. Whenever I would come back home for a weekend, he would join me in the basement and sit beside me where we would enjoy the quiet solitude of Mom's house together.

He was quite possibly the most excellent domesticated animal to have ever existed. I really hate it when people personify their pets, but it is hard not to do it with him. He lived 15 years, which I am told is a very long time for a dog to live. That's a little over half of my life time. He lived a charmed life, and considering his penchant for running around in traffic, a lucky one too. We all miss him very much, I'm sure the next time I return home I'll really understand what it's like. So I dedicate this blarg in loving memory, of a brother, I sincerely hope that there is a heaven, because if there is, he's there, running around with a turkey carcass in his mouth, playing in traffic that will never hit him.

The Night of 1000 Michael Jackson Dances

I can call some of my birthday celebrations, "birthday celebrations", others I can call "epic", but only one (so far) can I and will call, legendary. I recently hit the quarter of a century mark, and while I've considered posting a very self-indulgent blarg involving stories from my formative years, I decided that writing a blog, in and of itself, is enough. Consider this one an ego hand-job, instead of the usual BJ.

Mr. Proper/Voltron's gift to me was admission to the CSS show at Neumos. Unfortunately, after two buses and a very underwhelming improv bus performance (my first) put on by three hackneyed teenagers, we arrived only to find out that the show was sold out. Upon which Mr. Proper(MP) and I decided that it was going to be "one of those nights." We'd be got-damned if it didn't too, and got-damned we weren't!

After a delicious G&T at Moe (the bar connected to Neumos), MP led the way to another bar down the block that he was familiar with. After showing our ID's to the bouncer we entered, and found our ears being assaulted by Janet Jackson. Red flag from the get go, but we had already walked through the doors and something curious was going on. Placed along the bar were 40 or so designer Fedora hats. People were trying them on so we decided to do the same. After finding one I liked I told MP that I might buy it if it was reasonably priced, but I would definitely need another drink before I made that kind of commitment, so we ordered a couple of beers and MP asked the bartender what the deal was with the hats. "They're fuckin' free dude, it's a promotion." He turns to me and says. Without hesitation I run over and grab the one I was admiring and we set to finding one for him. At this point I figured that after the free hats anything else would be a bonus and we probably could have called it a night. That is, if we were major pussies.

With both hats and buzzez on we triumphantly strode up the street to the Satellite, to look in a Stranger and find out if there were anymore shows we could go to. There really wasn't anything going on and we both knew where we really wanted to be at that moment. Neumos, watching this waifish minx rock out. After yet another beer we made our way back to Neumos to see if we couldn't find a way in. Obviously it was still sold out and Busdriver was already playing who we could actually see from the street. He's kind of a nerd-core rapper, he was wearing one of those cone shaped birthday hats, which I thought was very apropos.

MP seemed shut down, we were just standing outside the main entrance between CSS's tour bus and some groupies. No words were exchanged for about 5 minutes, but I was cool with that because I was being entertained by these two sorority girls attempting to get on the tour bus, the look of desperation on their faces was priceless. But after they left I began to worried MP, was standing there seemingly staring in to blank space, little did I know the gears were turning in his and a plan was being hatched. "Let's go dude, I've got an idea." And like that we were off down the street at a good clip.

It wasn't until we arrived at the grocery store that MP would unfold his plan to me, and it was either the dumbest plan ever concocted or the most genius. I settled on the latter, due to the fact that the risk to reward was something like 0 to 100, and if anything I would have something to write about later, MP agreed.

The plan was remarkably, we were going to make our own VIP bracelets. All we needed was a green band, which we got off of a kite, a sharpie , a whiteout pen and some tape. Total cost: 11 and some change. We set to work right there in the QFC on some tables next to the coffee stand in front of some windows facing the sidewalk. People could easily see us from the street as they walked by and we must of looked totally retarded because as we were drawing on the green ribbon we were smiling and laughing like a couple of drunk idiots. Our faux bracelets attached to the appropriate wrist, we made our way back to the club, all the while discussing our plan of attack. We decided to try the side entrances first, since security seemed to be the most lax there. But we were immediately turned away saying that we had to go through the main entrance. Fuck.

Things happened very quickly from this point on. MP led the charge, his technique was flawless. Stealthily covering up his wrist band just enough so that it looked like the real thing, so that they could give him a stamp. He was in, right there on the fucking stairs leading up to the VIP section. His insane plan had worked, I followed his lead, mimicking almost every one of his movements, almost. Something gave me away, we're not sure what it was, but we were pulled to the side as security was called. Checking MP's wrist, a security guard discovered that they were fakes and said to Mr. Proper as tape broke "That's not going to work." You could tell the security guy was mildly entertained by our little ruse, and for a second it looked like he was going to let us in. Until he put a giant red X on our wrists, and told us to leave. What was surprising is how little we were hassled, usually when assholes try and pull a fast one like that, they get a lot of shit, but nothing happened. They handed me my ID no questions asked, 86'd us, and let us leave under our own power.

We ended the night at Linda's replaying the whole thing over in our heads. What if we had...etc. It didn't dawn on me until the next morning how much fun I'd had. We had done something completely stupid, something I probably would have done as a teenager. Here we were two full grown adults attempting to trick an establishment in to letting us in with VIP bracelets that we had fashioned from a kite streamer. For me it was all about proving to myself that I still had it, that wild spontaneity of youth. You sometimes forget that you are still young in the midst of the 9 to 5, student loan payment, bill world that you live in everyday. It felt really good to do something crazy, and it truly ended up being one of the best birthday's I've had in years.

A special thanks goes to Voltron as a whole, for making this happen. Now go and check out Mr. Proper's account of this tale.

zoom control

My job can be one of two things on any given day. It can be pretty fun or it can be really funny, and not in the funny "ha-ha" sense, but in the "What the fuck am I doing here?" sense. That's the one where you are secretly laughing to yourself, or in my case out loud, while shaking your head fighting back the tears wondering where it all went wrong. What causes me to feel this way? Well, I deal with a lot of underage children, strike that, I deal with a lot of over protective adults who have to deal with children. Let me explain.

Besides covering high school sporting events, my company also deals with an ailing local school district who have hired a third party company to come in and help teach the teacher to teach more gooder. How does that saying go? "Those who can't do, teach." Then what is the one for the teachers who teach teachers? So, that third party company then hires my company to send a videographer to these teaching sessions so that they can be documented, put on a DVD, and then distributed to other teachers to watch later. These things typically go like this; the consultant (usually a former teacher) meets with four or five 'real' teachers, they plan a lesson and then they implement that lesson in one of the teacher's classrooms that same day. This usually happens within a 3 hour span and all in front of the camera. The problem begins the minute I set foot in to the school. Why? I am an unmarried twenty-something with a beard.

Run for the fucking hills.

I used to dress up for these things, nice shirt, slacks, and a sharp-ass tie. I would shave the morning of, using an actual razor, and I would arrive a half-hour early. I'd go directly to the office to check in and find out what classroom the consulting was going down in, and every time without fail, I would get the third degree. So I stopped dressing up and have since started going as my normally moderately handsome disheveled self, because what difference would it make? A huge one. I often can't use the restroom without being escorted there first, my id is checked when I enter a school, and parents will stare me down eying my tripod as though it was some kind of three stage pipe bomb. It's become kind of routine, which is sad for me as an American.

What really gets me is who the crap do these people think I am? Why am I treated like a level three sex offender when I get within 100 yards of a fucking elementary school? What makes them think I want anything to do with their ugly children? Do they really think I am their under my own volition? Who in their right mind would actually want be near a smelly kid, who has yet to discover that simple human hygiene is an integral part of a functioning society? In other words, I hate kids more than I hate dolphins, and man do I hate dolphins. Those things are assholes.

I will relay one more short tale for you my dear internets. About five months ago I was at a high school to film a basketball game. I was the director so I headed in first to meet with the AD and figure out where we could set up. I find the AD quickly and introduce myself, here is the conversation that ensued.

EA: Howdy, I'm Elliot. We're here to shoot the game.

AD: Whoa! We don't say that around here!

EA: (Half-smile/WTF? look) Ahhhhh....excuse me?

AD: (Serious whisper)We don't say that word around here.

It turns out that I had made a huge mistake by using some common terminology, even more, I had used a regularly spoken word which because of an event that had transpired two weeks prior, was no longer allowed to be used on campus. That's right, two weeks earlier, there had been a shooting outside of the school involving students, where two students were injured but not killed. So, The Ministry of Truth, or the Ministry of Funny Walks, I forget which, had decided to ban a word because if someone were to use it, a firefight might break out.

I realize that these people are just trying to do their jobs, and if that somehow puts parents minds at ease then more power to them. I just wish that I didn't have to do a constant dance so that these people could feel a little (fake) safer. The thing is I am about the last thing they need to be watching out for these days, perhaps they should look a little closer to home. Though, if any of my teachers had looked like that...

facconble

Every year around this time I get little excited about the weather, because it mostly means the end of the craptacular weather that seems to be indicative to this city. But I also like it because you get to see the latest trends that women will be wearing all summer long. Some trends are better than others of course. Tennis skirts were all the rage two summers ago, which were pretty alright, not that I would ever a date a girl who would wear one. Then there was that time about five years ago, I like to refer to it as the "Capri-pocalypse", in which every female on the planet seemed to be rocking capri pants, which are universally hated by men. Okay, so I don't know that for a fact, since I haven't met every man in the universe, but every dood I know hate them with a burning passion. Ladies take note, not of the fact that I am an asshole, but of the fact that capri pants suck ace. Which brings me to the theme of tonights blahg; this summers latest and terrible female fashion trend...the sun dress with leggings.

Oh man, fuck this trend, seriously. It seems that lately everything from the 80's is making a comeback in every form. From music to food. But some things are better left behind and leggings underneath nicely fitting dresses are one of those things, those and "Tab" cola. Today I saw 3 really attractive women at three seperate locations all wearing this ensemble. I am a huge fan of the summerdress, I will even go as far as to say that if I had a girlfriend who only wore a summer dress for the rest of her life I would not complain. Okay, summer dresses. So why do they have to go and ruin a completely sexy outfit by tardin' it out with some shitty leggings? Is it because Avril Lavigne wore something similar in her latest video with an ill concieved title? Something like "Dirtbykn' dyud" or "I'm Canadian, therfore I am punk!". I liked the first one more too.

Listen, ladies if you are going to do something like this, try it on at home first and really think about it. I mean really think. That sundress looks really good on you, and summer means that you no longer have to cover up your legs because, gasp!, the sun is shining. Also, what the f is the point in wearing a dress that shows some leg if you are going to wear dark stockings underneath?

As a closer, I fell in love with a girl on the bus today, which happens on a daily basis but most of the time they get off before I can decide whether or not I am going to marry them, which leaves everything very open ended. Today was different however, I actually got to sit next to my future wife and was able to divorce her two stops before she got off which was great cause I only had to drop a small amount of mental skrill, and not the physical kind.

I got on the bus this afternoon and was lucky to find myself a seat next to a very pretty girl. I had been pissed because I didn't bring my iPod with me so I was pretty sure I was going to have to sit next to some asshole yammering on his cellphone. Instead, I found myslef sitting next to a brunette twenty-something. She looked over at me a few times (maybe), while I focused on the tattoo behind the ear of the chick in front of me thinking "Wow, what a stupid place for a tattoo." I soon turned my attention to the music the pretty girl was listening to. At first I imagined that she was listening to something I really liked, some "cutter music", as my friend Dantron says. I day dreamed about lazy Sunday mornings with her in my bed, and going to Art Walk every first Thursday sipping on wine and laughing at the tourists. Insert record skip here. Guess what she was really listening to?

Fergalicious. As she got off the bus, I could see every flaw in her and realized the bullet I had dodged. Also she was wearing those really huge sunglasses that were super hip in Europe like 5 years ago, another trend that I can't stand.

Christ, I'm an asshole. To be honest I'd take any girl who bothered to give me a high-five at this point, leggings or not.

the brah-thel

August 2002 – April 2007 was the timeline of my tenure at my last house. Right on the cusp of 5 years, and I believe that my stay probably could have ended two years ago, mainly because that is when all the fun and all of the good memories ceased. I could blame this on many different things from roommates, to the house being sold to a different management company. In truth, I think what happened was that I changed and became something different. It was that, or it was the fact that all of my roommates girlfriends secretly wanted to jump my bones, which caused a rather awkward rift between all of us. Or maybe it was my affinity for wild coke parties and down tempo house. Whatever the reason I should have left a long time ago, but I am glad I was there long enough to experience some of the things I am about to tell you, my dear interblags about.

The Slutty Lingerie Party and the Canon XL-1

It was probably around December of 2003, I had survived an entire year at the house and still generally liked all my roommates. This house was, and as far I know still is dominated by ex-Frat doods. This was never a big deal until that night in the onset of winter. I don’t know how many of you know this, but the collegiate Greek society often get together and partake in acts of hedonism. From my understanding they would sometimes have mixers in which males would mix with the females, however before this union could ever happen, the respective parties would first have to imbibe their pre-funk libations at separate locations. Not only were these mixers a big deal but they often carried themes, and not the oh-so-classic-and-often-over-the-top toga theme that you’ve seen in nearly every flick involving this sort of content, but such inspired ideas as; Pimps & Ho’s or the “Italian Wedding”, which if I could even begin to explain to myself would be it’s own post entirely. Structure.

For some reason that I can’t remember involving a theme party that escapes me, fifty scantily clad women between the ages of 18 and 22 showed up at the “bin” to pre-funk before heading over to the actual party itself. From my understanding and from what people in the know have told me, drinking is not allowed in Sororities, so they have to get sufficiently drunk outside of their finely appointed “mansions”, so that they can feel completely normal dressing up like some tweenager’s wet dream, or for that matter, mine. Anyway, they start showing up in handfuls, mostly dressed like cheap burlesque show girls. Okay, so not all of them had cheap lingerie on but what dood could tell the difference? As I was saying, they started coming in to my house hand-over-fist style, and at first, I was making some sort of an attempt to introduce myself to them, but unfortunately they were exposing too much of the wanton female flesh that I so craved at the time, and I was therefore reduced to my rather meek, irreproachable self who will often end conversations abruptly by saying something very stupid. By 9:30pm the house was covered wall to wall with cleavage, and by that point I had holed myself up in my room due to the fact that I couldn't control my unwanted amorous glances which rarely ended anywhere above their necklines.

Keep in mind this was 50 really, really, inebriated sorority girls so I don't have to tell you how loud it was, except I will using an highly entertaining and onriginal analogy. It was louder in there than some Apalachians incest hootenanny, or whatever. They were banging on the walls and doing some really annoying chant thing, and then my roomate the Big Headed Ecuadorian (BHE) in his enternal wisdom broke out his brand new mini-dv camera, which naturally alarmed the natives. The ladies flew in to a fit which was sort of funny because you know that later that night at the fraternity house they would be going to, they were probably going to end up doing all sorts of depraved acts cameras or no.

BHE put his camera away and the night went on. As the girls started to leave for the real party, I would occasionally leave my room to go out on the deck with my friend Scribbles who had stopped by very fortuitously. I had some of the dumbest conversations that I have ever had in my life that night, but truth be told, I wasn't out there for the repartee.

I was out there for a ciggarette. Ha! You thought I was going to go with a misogyny joke there didn't you? That's just lazy writing. Tune in very soon for yet another story from my old house, also thank Enron for the title of this inter-blog by going and checking her's out.

lock-up ballard

So I realize that the wheels sort of fell off the proverbial bus over here at BAABP. First I blew Dork Week by not completing 5 posts, and then I didn't make a single post last week. I apologize but I have one or two really good reasons for my incompetence/neglect. Let me start with why Dork Week blew up in my stupid internet face, well it's mainly because I was moving out of my house that week and in to a new (and much better place) out here in breezy Ballard, that and writing 5 posts in one week is next to impossible when you have a job and some drinkn' to do. The other part stems from my lack of internet here at my new place.

So to start things off I would first like to give you some introspective and to preface the stories I will be delivering hot and fresh to your dust covered monitor come Wednesday. What with the "dust covered monitor" remark you might be asking yourself right now? Come on internet, is there any other reason for you to be traipsing through this digital hell then to read my blarrg?

Answer: Absolutely not.

When one of my best friends/roommate left the city almost a year ago, I found myself in a house full of people, 4 to be precise, that I had absolutely nothing in common with. Shit, I wasn't even cool with them when Steve was around but at least Steve was there to bridge the gap or someone that I could relate to and share a beer or two with when I got home from work. When he left however all bets were off, and I found myself in a house full of people I knew next to nothing about, and who knew nothing about me. For the next 8 months I would barricade myself in my room rarely conversing with them, other than to hand them the odd amount of money involving bills, rent, or something they had decided to buy and then charge the rest of us for whatever retarded reason they deemed fit. My already high amount of introversion turned to the extreme spectrum and I basically stopped calling my friends to go and hang out, save Enron who really, whether she knew or not, got me through some shit.

So what's the deal? After a week of living at my new place I have done more than I did in basically a year. Okay, so I am embellishing...a lot, but still I've spent almost the last two years stifled by not only my environment, but I guess even more stifled by my own inability to just commit and pull the trigger.

I'm not trying to sound too sentimental here (like I said I didn't want to make this blag personal), but for the first time since 2001, I actually feel comfortable around the people that I am living with. Not only are they like minded in everything that I am in to; music, art, film etc. They are also an excellent counter point/balance to my otherwise neurotic self. Nicknames abound! I'm kind of partial to "Voltron" when they are together...

Tune in on Wednesday, when I will expunge some of the greatest moments from my time at the "Looney Bin", the place I was living at before I moved here.

Wordles.

meh

Dork Week rages on! Today's foray in to nerdom is about music, because on Wednesdays I like to update the "Recommended Listening" section with a band that I am kind of into right now. So I'm going to hit you with a little story.

It's 1994, I am 12 years old, and obsessed with videogames. Music is far from my realm of understanding. What I do understand though is that the soundtrack to Final Fantasy III is one of best things I have ever heard. I was so in love with it's 16bit goodness that you could often find me humming some of the more memorable tunes even when I wasn't playing. Back then the internet was just a toddler but you could still download crap off of it. I scoured it high and low looking for .wav files that conta....

...sorry everyone my internets are down again I am posting from a cell phone, right now. I'll fix it tommorow.

of nerds

Welcome back to Dork Week! I return with yet another personal tale of my dalliances with the nerd kind. Though this is an old post I wrote on MySpace, I think it works well here given the theme and tone. I never said that all of the entries this week were going to be gems. I would love to post everyday with original content but I have a job that takes up a good majority of my life. A job that gives me money, the only thing this blahg gives me is "ego dollars", which they don't except at the liquor store despite my pleading.

Originally posted on MySpace Friday, February 3rd, 2006

Title: "Are you guys going to be using Seahawks glasses today?"

NERRRRRRRDS! Oh, sweet sword of Damaclese, they're everywhere! Wha, what's going on....oh thank Chimpy, I'm just writing a Blog. Sorry about that guys I was just having a flashback from earlier today and my fingers must have started typing by themselves, they do that, alot. Do you want to hear about what I did today? "Oui." Your speaking French now reader? That's cool, I'm into it.

So today I was commissioned to do a little "freelance" bartending for a catering event in Redmond, specifically for Microsoft. To be more specific, it was for the people working on the new Windows OS, 1500 of them to be precise. To be even more precise, 1500 nerds. I'm not joking, this was a real eye-opener. I have never seen so many socially inept people in one place at one time. Jon and I were serving two kinds of beer, Mac & Jacks and Moose Drool, which were clearly visible behind, and still we were asked what kind of beer we had. Here is a memorable example.

Nerd: Are you guys serving beer?

The Help: Yes, we are. Plus, we have wine!

N: What do you guys have?

TH: (TH looks at N with the "Are you serious look?" or AYSL) Well, we have M & J, Moose Drool, Merlot and Chardonay.

N: So can I get a beer?

TH: Yes you can. Which one would you like?

N: I'll take a Budweiser.

TH: (AYSL) We don't have that. We only have M & J and M. D.

N: Ok, I'll take a Miller Lite then.

TH: (Grabs an M & J and hands it to N) There you go sir, enjoy.

N: Nanu, nanu.

TH: Word.

This happened at least four to five hundred more times today, sans the whole "Nanu, nanu." thing, that happened only once.

It gets better. I had the privildge of listening to some of the convo's these people were having, but none were better than the one I am about to describe to you. I'll spare you the actual dialogue this time. So, there was this woman talking to three nerds. I'm calling her a woman only because she was one of the 5 among the 1495 men that work in this particular department. There could have been more, I did mistake many pony-tail-rockin' dudes for chicks and vice-versa...still. Digression. Anyway, so this rather 'damaged' woman was drunkenly telling these nerds how to score, and they were hanging on her every word. Now, I have never claimed to be good with women, I'm no Casanova, but compared to these guys, I'm a regular Brad Pitt, or Eugene Levy, it's up to the eye of the beholder. So she was telling these guys "Oh, but you're cool!" and "You have a good personality!". Which even to me translates to "Pray to god that in your next life, your name is Leif. Because if it is, you have at the very least, 30% more of a chance of scoring with a female without paying." These guys were "Lovin'it" though, and I am sure it helped.

wrong about costco

Over the weekend, between rock shows, reunions, and booze, I had some great conversations about lots and lots of retarded shit! Some of them were with my friend Stacia and at her behest I am going to write a post involving one of those convos. But why stop there? I've decided to make this week here at BAABP "Dork Week". Not only will you be treated to 5 (count'em!) posts this week and all of them will be so filled with dorkery that by the end you might find yourself saying things like "Spiderman didn't have organic web-shooters!" or "Band of Horses are just a rip-off of My Morning Jacket." So I am starting this glorious week off with something that happened to me all the way back in the fall of 2006. It's a story about where being an oblivious dork really can be pretty funny, and it's not about me.

I was sent to Costco this day due to the fact that a tire had asploded on the company truck while I was driving it to Spokanistan. It was just before Christmas so of course there was going to be a long wait, as there would be other people preparing to take the pass over the holidays. In other words; I was in it for the long haul. So, after dropping off the keys at the tire center I decided on a little jaunt around the massive warehouse. I always head straight to the "tech" section, where today I spent most of my time trying to crash the cheap ass computers and changing the desktop backgrounds to the Walmart logo. After about an hour of that (literally) I went back to the food hutch area, not because I was hungry, I had actually filled up on microwaved crab-cakes and triscuits with jalepeno artichoke cheese spread at some of the sample tables in between my computer hacking.

The weirdest thing for me about Costco is the aforementioned food hutch area. It's located at the end of your shopping journey and basically the only way you can get to it is after you've already paid for your 10 gallon jar of mayonnaise. When you go to Costco you don't just go there to spend fifty bucks, you go there to spend more like 200. My question is; why after spending a couple hundred dollars or more on various goods and sundry would you want to spend another 5 dollars on some crappy pizza or for that matter anymore time there? But the single weirdest thing for me is the seating. You are basically made to perch on what can only be described as poorly constructed indoor picnic tables, which for some reason have umbrellas over them. I don't claim to be any expert on indoor seating but I am pretty sure that you are well protected from the elements when you are inside. Digression.

I find a seat at one of the empty tables, whip out my cell phone and settle in for a good round of Uno. It doesn't take long for my table to become unempty as 4 of the remaining 6 seats are filled by a very young very Japanese family. I really didn't give them much thought other than to remark to myself at how cute their two kids were and that the father was writing a letter or something in Japanese. We sat quietly respecting each others space, until some dude in his early twenties came and sat across from me next to the Japanese wife, who was across from her Japanese husband. A minute or two passed as our new young guest noshed on a giant hot-dog. I could see him stealing quick glances at the Japanese husbands writings, until the dood said something I couldn't decipher, but could only guess was Japanese. The husband looked up smiled, and said something back to the dood, who also smiled and said "Sorry, I only know a little Japanese, I just recognized that Kanji character." To my utter horror and embarrassment the dood went on to start spitting extremely bad and simple Japanese to not only the husband but the wife, and children as well. These people new less English than that dood knew Japanese yet he kept trying to communicate with them, by acting like a big dumb American and pointing at various objects and saying their Japanese equivalent. This shit went on for 5 more unbearable minutes until the Japanese family spared the doods life by getting up and leaving but not before exchanging many bows and other pleasantries. I say "they" spared his life because I believe they could sense how humiliated I felt for him and the rest of American society, so much so that I was willing to take this man's life right in front of them just to preserve my honor.

I guess the worst part of this was how oblivious this dork was. I know a little, French, Spanish, and Chinese, but that doesn't mean I will walk up to anyone hailing from a nation that speaks one of those languages and just start spouting out phrasal verbs like some kind of retarded parrot. This guy couldn't have picked a better target though, for as we all know, the Japanese as a whole are eternally polite, so really he was just taking advantage of this fact, though again he was probably not aware of it.

So how does this all tie in to dork week? You mean aside from this doods obvious social faux-pas and why he is what gives nerds, geeks, and dorks a bad name everywhere? Here it is: It's every dorks dream to go and live in Japan, and I am not excluded. It's just that some of us know that Japan isn't only about anime, video games and ninjas.

It's also about Hentai. (Can you believe some nerd spent this much time writing that shit out?!)

P.S. My good friend Cal pointed me to an excellent site that he has been writing for, and I must say that his album review of Malajube's latest is not only one of the best reviews I've read in a long time, but also one of the most well written. Record reviews are not easy to write people, and Cal seems to have a knack for it.

do the heizman

So to end that last blog; I smile at girls now.

I've been working non stop for the last 30 hours with no end in sight so you will forgive me if I keep this one brief, and also about nothing.

I've noticed no one has commented on my "Recommended Listening" links that I have been updating every Wednesday. Is that because the music choices suck? I realize I have picked a couple of bands that haven't released a full length in like two years, but it's because I re-discovered these bands when emptying my iPod and forgot how much I love them. So I am going to hit you with yet another 2005 joint this one coming from the likes of "The Boy Least Likely To". It's some mega twee shit, but you know how I loves me some indie pop!

Lately I've been really delving into my past I am reading the excellent Drop City for the third time by one of my favorite authors, T.C. Boyle. I also went to Twice Sold Tales the other day and got just about every one of Kurt Vonnegut's books about half of which I haven't read before.

Also, fuck Comcast on every conceivable level, my stupid DVR didn't record LOST and my internets are still asploding all over the place, that and they are fucking the company I work for over which in turn is fucking me over. I don't know how much longer I will be there, which is why I took on my current heinous assignment, and switched back to being paid hourly instead of salary.


Oh and about that blog title, if you don't know now you know....ho.

Sorry Barack!