It's been so long...

It's been a while. I haven't had much access to a computer lately. Most of you already know, but I broke my foot two weeks ago. I went and drove a pick axe into it. Pretty painful, but things are on the up and up. I had surgery to screw it back together on monday and everything seems positive. If you want to see the xray and see some nonsense my dad's been spitting check it out here (I don't know who that kid is though)...

EAT MORE CHILI!!! Chili Cook Off was great! I hardly remember it from all the pain meds, but I have been reassured by many in attendance that a good time was had by all. Here's how the winners shaped up:

Traditional: David's "Smoke"
Standard: Ray and Jen's "Five Star Mango Mojito"
Vegetarian: Elizabeth's "Mystery Pepper Moli"
Experimental: Nathan's "Ostrichili"

Best in Show: Ray and Jen's "Five Star Mango Mojito"

I want to thank everyone for participating. I think that this year was by far the most competitive cook off to date. The only half assed attempt was my entry, but I had a good excuse...

I wish that I had some bacon right now. Hmmmm, bacon....

I'd like to give a quick nod to Arlen Specter. I know that he only did it to save his political life, but it's brought duly deserved attention to the fact that the Republican party is increasing becoming a regional party that is out of touch with the majority of the county. You all you should check out this article by Sen Olympia Snowe, I think that she hit the nail on the head and I wouldn't be surprised to find that she'll be leaving the republican ranks in the near future...

I love PBS. It's been my go to since I've become secluded and strange...

For my finale I'd like to give some shout outs:

Mickey, you've been awesome. My garden appreciates your liquid love and it's been nice to have some one to talk to at random times.

Elizabeth, afternoon cribbage in the sun was the best. Now I just need to get that tincture stuff from you so I can be up and running by the weekend!

Nathan, You better be ready for some Jeopardy craziness. I'm doing some serious boning... What is the Rhone? I'm also really looking forward to diving back into your fictitious world of fiction.

Rebecca (Sister), If it weren't for you I'd be wallowing in my own filth. My rooom mates are appreciative to I'm sure.

Rebecca, Thanks for cooking! I'm sure if I tried I'd break the new stove and burn down the house. And I don't think either of us will want to be around when Jeremy gets home after that.

Mom, the cookies were great! Thanks for checking in on me.

Lil Bro, Thanks for getting the stuff at the store for me. I was clueless before you came by that day.

David, I'm sorry. I know that you're getting screwed at work. When I get back I'll have to think of something spectacular to make it up to you.

Dad, where do I start? Thank you for the laptop, helping with the insurance forms, taking me to surgery, getting me crossword puzzles...and that's just in the last 4 days. You're so awesome. I really appreciate all of your help.

Mr. Sharp, where would I be without you. Well actually I can tell you. Probably still screaming in agony with a pick ax at my side. Your patience and selflessness has gone to further solidify in my world view why you are one of my favorite people. Thank you.

Asian Secrets of the Cephalopod

I have to give a giant shout out to Pangford. He just dropped the asian secret of cephalopod preparation on me. It's all about the soaking. Thanks Mickey and Benson!

OCTOCHILI LIVES!!!


Chili Cook Off is Saturday. I hope that you're all ready. Lets pray for sun. EAT MORE CHILI

Quick moment with Radiohead

For any of you who aren't familiar with the Radiohead track A Reminder I encourage you to find it and listen to it now. Here's a tube clip...not sure if it's that great though, my sound isn't plugged in at work.



If I get old, I will not give in
But if I do, remind me of this.
Remind me that, once I was free,
Once I was cool, once I was me.

And if I sat down, and crossed my arms,
Hold me into, this song.

Knock me out, smash out my brains,
If I take a chair, start to talk shit.....

If I get old, remind me of this:
That night we kissed, and I really meant it.

Whatever happens, if we're still speaking.
Pick up the phone, play me this song.

Vintage Jesus - My experience with the plastic fantastic Christ

My first encounter with the Mars Hill Church was a few years back. I received a postcard from them. Pictured was a bottle of wine with an old Gothic font that read "Vintage Jesus". Over the weekend I had my first interaction with Mars Hill...

I was a bit groggy when I awoke, late, and began to rush around in order to be ready when my sister arrived. It was Easter Sunday and while the clouds hung heavy with raindrops we prepared for what I thought would be the typical service to commemorate the resurrection.
My sister was late in her arrival, but that didn't stop me from getting coffee on the way, nothing better than seven shots of espresso to jolt you into a day. We wove our way across the city in a diagonal pattern. Everywhere we went the roads were starting to swell with rain run off.
When we reached the intended location we found that parking was a problem. After circling through neighborhood street, we finally were able to stow the car about four blocks from the facility.
The outside of the building was fairly nondescript. A gray exterior surrounded what appeared to have been a warehouse of some kind. There were young families unloading outside the main entrance in order to avoid getting the children wet.
The foyer was full of women mulling about in vibrantly colored dresses and men standing uncomfortably in suits with well placed ties. It seemed as thought the majority of those in attendance were 30-something families. Children were running all about like mice in a grain field. I nearly crushed a smaller child when he darted underneath my foot while I was fighting my way to the seating area.
The main foyer was much as it would seem from the outside. The ceiling was exposed and ducts ran overhead painted the same color as the walls in order to lessen their impact. Attached to the ducts or bolted directly to the ceiling were many large flat screen televisions bearing down over the congregation. There were rows and rows of folding chairs arranged so as to provide four aisles through the room. In the center of the room there was a sound booth with multiple people bustling about.
The stage was a world unto itself. There were flowers on one side with a white backdrop. The other side supported a large number of instruments more commonly found at a rock concert than at a church. In the center of the stage was a large, probably about 12 foot tall, white plastic cross. It bore down on the room with a sort of artificial authority that only plastic can provide.
My father and step mother were holding our seats in the center row just behind the sound booth. We were able to speak only briefly before the event began.
A group of musicians came onto the stage and began playing. I'm not exactly sure what it was but none of the music they played seemed appropriate for church, now matter how many times "Gloria"'s or "Alleluia"'s were sang.
The pastor delivering the sermon came onto the left side of the stage and began his message by discussing the Apostle Peter. His faced beamed out across the room from each of the televisions in a way that made it difficult to look at his actual presence and not the produced transmission. However it was not long before I realized what was going to happen.
The sermon quickly took a tone of denigration towards anyone who was not "born again". He maliciously attacked the Jews for making a pilgrimage to the burial site of Abraham. He ignorantly attacked the Islamic faith for believing in a man whose earthly remains remained on earth. He condescendingly attacked Buddhism for mourning the death of the Buddha. He told us all that in order to find salvation we must be "born again" (a term used close to 50 times in his sermon) but then left no answers as to how to achieve this goal other than "let Christ in". For about twenty minutes the pastor went between empty promises of salvation for nothing and assaulting non Christian faiths with grossly misinformed facts.
Luckily, or so I thought, the sermon was not terribly long. He wrapped up the scene and the band reemerged onto stage right. In the area where the pastor once stood a large baptismal pool was moved into place. A different pastor came out to announced that it was time for baptisms and invite anyone in the audience who was moved by the sermon to come forward for instant salvation. They began with a long line of people queued up back stage and the band went into a haphazard melody of songs. A few minutes into this a light show began behind the band. Just when I thought that it couldn't get anymore superficial the smoke machine kicked in, leaving a hazy fog to cover the cross which was now being displayed in an almost Technicolor rotation of light.
The baptismal fount was more like the line at a fast food restaurant. As soon as one person completed taking a set of vows that was hidden to the audience the next person was already in the pool. They must have done over 40 baptisms in less than 15 minutes. I couldn't help but think of it more as a sideshow than a religious ceremony.

During this time they were also providing communion. This was the most blasphemous thing of all. There were stations set up amongst the aisle with people distributing the Eucharist. When people around me returned with their sacrament it was not what I had expected. The small piece of bread symbolizing the flesh of the savior had been dipped in the wine symbolizing the blood, greatly increasing efficiency at the cost of nearly destroying what should be a most sacred act. I had no idea that this kind of iconoclasm could exist within a supposedly Christian church.
The service ended and we left questioning where we should go for lunch. In what was probably the most fitting of all ends we ended up at a bar called the 4 B's where we ate pub food and played Buck Hunter.
Now I'll end with a question...I have long realized that organized religion is not what was intended for me, but at what point did we start giving up the true values of Christianity for this sacrilegious, quick fix, easy answer, institutionalized hate?

Strange Ramblings

The NESF is fully operational. I'm not sure if mankind is fully ready for the implications of this highly intelligent system working at the height of it's design. I must warn all of you that if you encounter NESF to take extreme caution. The system is known for excessive acts of humanity and possesses a super human sense of reality. Do not take this warning lightly...

Nothing seems to be in motion. I'm surrounded by a stagnant pool of water, highlighted with sheens of drull...

The Voice is silent. I'm not sure how or when this occurred, but it brings me a heavy sadness. There are some days that I wish things were as they were 6 years ago. And then I remember that I don't want that either...

There are many faults in a passive aggressive strategy. The most significant being that it doesn't seem to change anything other than further fueling the building anger into full blown rage. So I must question why it always seems to be the easiest path. At what point was it decided that part of being a Seattlite is having been well versed in passive aggression. Is it like that elsewhere in the world too?...

Time to get back to the Dylan, he's been saving me today...

A new day dawns

So I've survived the weekends birthday events. It was good all-in-all. I think that I need to give a special shout out to P Matty for the killer dinner at Anthony's. I'd also like to thank everyone for showing up at the GLC. I had a great time...

Outdoor gardening in full effect. I was able to get the garden bed east of the brewery all cleaned out this weekend. All the hoe'n gave me a blister, which is irritating more than anything. But I was also able to plant the cherry tree. I also bought a couple magnolia trees that I need to find a good spot for. I think that they will bring me great happiness...

On the indoor front I was also pretty productive. I made the first attempt at octochili. I haven't tried it yet, because my stomach was not prepared for chili yesterday, but I have a ton of it at home and I'm hoping it's delicious. The little bit that I tried was good, so I'm hopeful. I also got the laundry room cleaned up. Now I just need to attack the rest of the house systematically to make sure it's all ready for the cook off. There are a lot of things I need to do and I'm not sure what all they are yet...

I have the best sister ever. She got up before the birds to make sure we'd capture sunrise pics for my wakeupseattle header. I included my favorite pic at the bottom...

I've been thinking about starting a new blog. I can hear you all now, "another one?!" Yes another one. I have been trying to figure out what to do with this old project that I did a few years ago. Elephant Skin aka Novel aka Dreams / Nightmares. I'm not really sure what to do with it, but I feel that I should do something with it so I may turn it into a blog. Could be interesting...

Happy Birthday Me!!!

I'm another year older today. Never have really understood the true importance of birthdays. I figure I'm only a day older than yesterday. But I never pass on an oppurtunity for a party. So anyone out there looking to have a few drinks tonight should hit up the Georgetown Liquor Co around 9 o'clock. Should be good. As for right now it's 6am and I on my way to Alki to get some sunrise pics for the wakeupseattle blog.

We'll wrap this one up with a classic pic of young me with my awesome sister (who is driving me to Alki, can you believe she got up this early just for me!?).

Do you love sex? Isn't that why you called?

This is too funny to pass on posting..

http://www.oregonlive.com/news/index.ssf/2009/04/cereal_box_typo_sends_callers.html

Metro Route #43 (Short Story)

So here's a little something I wrote a while back. By a while I mean almost ten years now. I'm sure that as I read through it a few times I'll find thing that I want to change. You can hit up the comments with your ideas. Strange that it's been that long...

Metro Route #43
by Aka Desomniac

I woke up around 11 am. The half empty bottle of Jack was still resting quietly on my nightstand above a graveyard of empty aluminum cans. I just couldn't bring myself to break the peace that early in the morning. The bottle stood motionless.
My forehead throbbed with stabbing pains in my temples. Blood red eyes replay all the horrors I was trying to forget. Her skins smooth tan complexion. Her eyes set on her face as two swirling pools of blue and gray. Her last words, crushing everything I believed to be real in my life, "I'm not sorry it's over."
Those five words continued treading water through my stream-of-consciousness. I tried drowning them out with whiskey and beer. After 24 years of life, you'd think I'd have learned not to mix liquor and depression. I never claimed to be very bright.
By the time I left my apartment I could already tell my day was going nowhere. Her face was everywhere, the grocer, the mail carrier, even the neighbors Persian cat. With each time I saw those strands of dishwater blond hair, I found myself one step closer to saying my final goodbyes. Dining on a last meal of shotgun shells. An introduction to the afterlife, with a most personal touch. Depression overtook my reality.
My body, being severely hung-over, felt weary and near a state of total collapse after about five miles of walking. Going back wouldn't do. Not now anyways. Without thinking about the consequences I boarded a bus.
Metro transit route 43, serving Downtown Seattle, Capitol Hill, Montlake and University District. 45 minutes each way. But I had nothing but time.
The afternoon rush was in full force as I scanned the crowded bus for an empty seat. One stood out from the rest, the only vacancy, towards the middle of the coach.
I rode, in the same seat, all through the afternoon. The sun began to set on my third lap. An array of crimson streaks fell over the water beneath the Montlake Bridge. The sheer brilliance of color reflected off the water without losing any of its intensity. A sight of such beauty it couldn't be tainted by words. "I'm not sorry it's over." Her words tore through my thoughts, leaving behind an uneasy darkness.
It wasn't until nightfall that I took notice of other passengers. Businessmen and junkies rode side by side. So many different faces, so many different stories. But two faces, one story, stood out among the rest.
They entered the bus at separate times. She came a board with several other Ave Rats just off 45th. She had curly brown strands of hair that accented her smooth skin nearly poetically. She carried a backpack and a white nylon laundry sack.
The people she was with were typical of the area. Hooded sweatshirts that zip up in the front. Greasy tendrils of hair tinted and arranged in a pseudo-rainbow. Trying desperately to be different, ending up just like everyone else.
He got on shortly after, carrying nothing except a jacket. Fiery red hair scattered in all directions, half covering a face that appeared badly beaten by the day. Dark circles set in beneath his eyes. Unshaven skin hung loosely from his cheekbones. His head hung low as if he’d been caught beneath the globe when Atlas gave way.
He sat quietly toward the middle of the bus. She rode in the back, circled by the others.
One of the men with her asked if he could interview her for some kind of project. She reluctantly agreed.
The interview began. “Tell me about your current state of reality – or surreality as the case may be.”
She was got off guard by the question. After taking a moment to think about it she replied, “I feel like we’re exploring a certain part of time that shouldn’t be explored. My reality is crooked, jagged and at time horrifying. I feel like I’m acting in a movie or someone has written the script of my life…”
Her colleague quickly transposed her words onto paper and continued on, “Do you believe in fate?”
Confusion fell over her face. “What kind of assignment is this?”
“It’s for my metaphysics class. I know it’s a little odd, but… do you believe in fate?”
“Well, no. It destroys the idea of free will. I won’t go into why I think that. It’s pretty apparent we have freewill. Outside forces will always affect our lives. But with the given amount of freedom we have the general direction we travel is ultimately left to one’s self.”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Physically I’d like to be on another continent. Mentally I plan to be on the road.”
“Maybe I should rephrase the question. Where do you see yourself spiritually in five years?”
“That’s one thing I can’t attempt to predict. I think that could be where fate comes in…”
The interview was over.
The ride between 15th and Broadway was fairly uneventful. A few more people got on, none of them for very long. We reached Broadway and East John and the Ave Rats descended onto the paved sidewalks, leaving myself, the young man, the woman - and the bus driver.
She moved to the front of the bus, nearest to the driver and began a conversation, mostly with herself. I faintly heard her say, "Seattle is so harsh, so full of money." The young man looked up. Silence.
She began to ramble on about the influence of Southern California, namely Torrance, on her upbringing. Compton was mentioned briefly. It was hard to decipher the words as they were blustered through the hurricane of open windows.
I could tell that he was having the same troubles understanding her words. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the bus and out the windows into the darkness and lights.
She continued on about her bag being full of clothes and how she got a hold of them. A group of Catholic nuns in southern Oregon had taken her in for a short while, with the intent of getting her back on her feet. What she carried with her was the extent of her belongings.
She diverged from her rant to ask the bus driver if he knew of any shelters in the area, mentioning something about a list of them that she had, somewhere. The bus driver didn't know.
We began the coast down Pine St. into the heart of the city. No one got onto the bus, no one got off.
As we got deeper into the city I could tell that she was becoming locked into some kind link with the other man. Her eyes scrambled about haphazardly. Occasionally she would hesitate on his form and stare deep into his eyes as she babbled more and more. His eyes never moved.
We made our way across the city, Ninth Avenue to First Avenue before stopping. As the bus came to a stop they both began to gather their belongings. Before exiting he looked up at her and said the words that we all could tell where coming. "What do you want most in this life?"
She looked up at him, half cracking a smile, and then turned to look out of the window. "I want someone or something to assure me that my struggle isn't for nothing."
He nodded his head and they both left the bus, through different doors.
The bus driver looked back at me and said, "This is where I take break for an hour."
"I guess you can't drive forever," I replied and moved toward the door. "Thanks for the ride."
"Anytime, man."
I walked quietly down the metal steps and onto the harsh reality of the cement sidewalks. Plastic bags and empty alcohol bottles littered the sidewalk. I could see men sleeping in torn clothing near the warmth of the buildings.
Without warning the young man from the bus turned around and yelled to the girl, "I would like to make an attempt to help reassure you… If you're interested?"
She turned around. Her eyes lit the dull sidewalk with an iridescent aura. "How about coffee?"
They both smiled.
I followed them to a small cafe two blocks away, The Turf. A large neon sign lit up the letters R F above the door. Panhandlers and drug dealers convened in front of the large windows. The only other store open was a second floor adult novelty store, directly across the street.
They took a seat at a booth near the back; I sat at the bar in front of the kitchen. I could see their movements, but the words were lost, once again, through the general ambience.
The waitress was in the kitchen; probably having just ran out to the corner for a fix. Five minutes passed before she appeared. She approached me first.
She was about 5'8", with no sign of flesh. I could see nearly every bone in her face and hands. Her skin was reminiscent of an old leather sofa. She was exactly as I had expected her to be.
Before she could initiate the conversation I made my move. "Coffee. Black." It was all business here.
"Food?" she replied with a hint of irritation in her voice.
"Just coffee."
She took the flimsy paper menu that had been placed on the counter for me and moved it to her apron pocket. All the necessary items were in place, a mug and coffee pot. She filled the cup only three quarters and spilled a noticeable amount down the side and on the bar.
Without saying another word the waitress moved over to the booth, pot of coffee in hand. She filled their cups and took the menus. They ordered some kind of food.
I watched as they talked and laughed and drank their coffee. It was quiet possibly the worst coffee I had ever past through my system. I began to question how long it had been there and how the other two could be drinking it. I noticed that the man in the booth hadn't really drank much, while the woman had attempted to compensate for the lack of quality with about five packs of sugar and two non-dairy creamers. I suffered through it black.
The waitress brought a plate of what looked like pancakes and placed it in the center of the table. The young man positioned it perfectly in front of the other side of the table. She ate everything on the plate. He smiled the whole time.
A man took the seat next to me at the bar. I knew someone would eventually. He ordered a coffee, to go. I made no attempt to acknowledge the man adjacent to me but continued to look off at the booth, in the back.
"Sometimes love can find you in the strangest places."
The familiarity in the voice was startling. Purely by reflex I turned around and looked at the man next to me. The bus driver.
We both looked at the couple in the booth. "I guess it does," I replied.
"Well, I've got to get back up the hill."
"Can you give me a minute and I'll ride with ya."
"No problem, I'm going to warm up the coach."
I watched the back booth for a moment longer. I reached for my wallet and left a five on the bar. I got up to leave. When I reached the door I turned around for one last glimpse. He had switched sides and was holding her in his arms. Their eyes were locked on one another just as they had been, nearly an hour ago, as well fell down Pine St into the city.
I turned away. It was over.
I walked back over to the bus, exchanged salutation, and we took off up the hill. I sat in the back and looked out the window, onto the Seattle streets. A homeless family nestled together for warmth. A pigeon perched on top of a dented steel garbage can. A middle-aged man resting quietly near the entrance to the bus tunnel, a mix-breed dog sleeping up against his chest.
I guess I’m not sorry its over either.

Ramblings

Snow is mixing with rain on this gloomy fool's day. The only day of sun we've had recently I was too incapacitated to appreciate. Fitting...

Immaturity runs rampant. I try to avoid it at all costs, but I guess that's just how fate works...

I need to find a white suit. Something stylish but not flashy. Also reasonably priced. Am I dreaming that this could actually happen?...

I desperately need to take a road trip. Preferably to the ocean. It's been far too long since I've seen the Pacific. That might be part of my problem. I find that my relationship with the Pacific, and water in general, is extremely complex, but my mood and outward attitude towards life drastically improve after seeing the waves crash on the rocky shores where the forests meet the sea, while the wind blows from all directions at once and just on the horizon you can see that glimmer of blue sky offering you hope of something better...

Wolf Parade seems to think that "A new world is just a minute away". I guess time isn't constant, because this is the longest minute of my life...

I might try putting up some of my old writing here soon. I'm not sure what I'm going to post, or even if there is a word limit. We'll see...

The thing that I miss most about living in West Seattle is that I don't really see the water anymore. I guess that isn't the only thing that I miss lately...