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.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Monday, July 9, 2007
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.
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.
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