Friday, July 30, 2004

Head Spinning

My head starts spinning every time I get stand up too fast so I crouch in the ready-to-faint-from-a-safer-elevation position with my fingertips touching the ground while vibrating black/white checkers crowd in....

I went to Safeway (cause along with 445794856348270 other Americans I have no health insurance), and checked my blood-pressure on their handy little automated machine in the corner of the pharmacy.


I have no idea what that means cause there was no automated nurse or auto-doc to advise me so I got some yogurt and got in the express check out line.

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Just When I Was Going To Take Your Name Away Again

That guy, he called me today...he told me a friend of his needs another person for their Hood To Coast relay team and wanted to know if he could give them my phone number.... I am totally ecstatic. I dont know if it is a fur-sure thing yet. But that got me all excited so I whipped out the credit card and registered for the Portland Marathon too.

Then Sam called and said I was a total jock. Its not true... I am still the same corrupt party girl I ever was, its just that I zapped all my natural endorphins dry and now I have to to got extreme lengths to get high.

I am going to go take a nap cause I was up till dawn working on my HTML homework, and managed to offend the advisor yet again clichefootinmouth style.... man I am so exhausted.

Moxie has been gone for like two and a half days now and I am feeling useless and anxious and if he comes back I am gonna lock the doors and windows so I dont have to worry about him and the whizzing cars but that is no way for a cat to live.

Monday, July 26, 2004

My Pastures Are So Fucking Green


I went to the Sandy river.  I died in the heat, encouraged every second of death cause resurrection in the river makes me a religious icon. 

Discomfort at this point becomes erotic.  I am a panting, sweating pornstar.  I want it to be hotter, meaner, nastier heat because the river promises me everything. 

Sam calls me.  I WANT TO RIDE A FERRIS WHEEL.  COME GET ME.  We march to the ticket booth like spiritual pilgrims. 


We rode four times in the setting sun. 


...and then the years crowded in.  for hours I told you what happened while you were gone, and I still don't believe I let you leave...  and you said THE WHOLE STORY??...YOU HAVEN'T HARDLY TOLD ME ANYTHING YET....

.....and I forgot that I wanted to tell you about the razor blades and the ORTHO TRI-CYCLEN that that killed me but I climbed up to the roof like the last branch in a flood with a soggy flare. 

I wanted to tell you about PAXIL and hugging my knees to my chest at dawn, smoking a hundred thousand cigarettes, walking barefoot across the wicked sharp gravel and through deep grass heavy with 5am dew.  And for someone who holds you breathless because they need you like an anchor to see your blood drying in beads and your pajamas damp from walking in the fields turn to say YOU JUST NEED TO LIGHTEN UP.....

I wanted to tell you all these things but I got distracted by pecan pie and secret garden tea parties and my explosive capacity for bliss, and...really?  the only end some things have is the end you give them. 

Saturday, July 24, 2004

Products You Learn To Love

Kara of Spacetramp wrote:
Quite the bike ride - 101 miles in a one day! Geez my ass would be so sore I've have to sleep vertical. But I suppose you had a pair of those fancy Pearl Izumi padded ass units on :) Great pics too!

Thanks for giving me the chance to edify one of the more unglamorous aspects of cycling....

Yeah, I had fancy-pants on but you would be surprised...they help but you still suffer from numb naughty parts and wicked chap-ass.  There is this fun product called Chamois Butt'r  (the B is the cyclist's butt incase you didn't to get that one).  It helps with the rub, and you can tell who didn't use it after 106 miles cause they are affecting a sort of bowlegged limp.  Once the chapping starts to set in most people have no shame about applying the lube at their convenience.  I have seen rider holding out the waistband of their shorts, elbow deep into their good stuff rubbing shamelessly, their eyes cast heaven-ward.  I have seen this on land and on bike. 

This chaffing affects runners too.  During Bloomsday, near the six mile mark, the first-aid tent volunteers stand roadside holding forth heaping plates of vasoline.  Baffling!  I didn't figure this out till later, but at the time I thought maybe it was some kind of fast absorbed carb-gel that they were offering unsanitarily to bonking runners.  Man am I glad I didn't dip a handful of that shit into my mouth. 

Yes, long distance sports are not just sexdrugsandrock-n-roll everybody.  There are moments that are less than glamorous. 

My Complexion

I am listening to Ikue Mori but in my head am singing "If you like Pina Coladas...".  I only know two lines "...and getting caught in the rain..." so it's a short loop.  My belt-welt lookin' sunburned back is itching and peeling.  I put lotion on the area and it only served to moisten the huge skin flakes into nauseatingly solid, bite-size pieces of flesh.  I don't want to scratch it cause I don't want gummy skin under my fingernails.  It is an exquisite dilemma.     

Earlier this week I went to coffee with judybluesky.  We talked, watching the sky for noncommittal rain.  I LOVE MY FRIENDS BUT THEY ARE ONLY AS GOOD AS THE INFORMATION THAT I GIVE THEM she said.  She knew what to risk despite what everyone said.  I told her I finally figured out when it wasn't love anymore.  This is why women live longer, we know how to hash it out.

My friend A. IMed me today and said he went on a date with a girl who was like a good version of me.  What the hell is that supposed to mean?   He is crazy anyway. We all know that but I am the only one left who will talk to him and its only cause I have a thing for train-wrecks.  He said he missed me, I said POO. 

Today Sam and I went to the beauty supply store for hair dye and I bought a 10x mirror.... OH MY GOD, I HAD NO IDEA... this is the most fascinating thing, its like exploring outerspace.  I am totally clearing off my social calendar for the next week and you know where I will be. 

Friday, July 23, 2004

Slumber Party

I have an alter to somnolence inhabited by a live, though slumbering, purple haired deity right here in my living room, sprawled in the hundred degree heat on an ergonomically unfriendly fold out couch with green polka-dotted sheets. 


click for larger image

I thought I was bad. 

I paid bills, got coffee, balanced my checkbook (its been almost a month fer crissake) and finally stated in a stentorian voice ALL RIGHT, THAT'S IT, I THINK YOU HAVE HAD ENOUGH....

20oz. of sweating ice coffee and the cars zooming on the race track...its too hot even for flies to buzz.  It is rolley-pollies and calliope music, dry as dust and beading sweat.  Good god, even symbolic water makes me feel better.  All Pisces are invited to dine with me this evening. 

Thursday, July 22, 2004

Seattle To Portland

The STP was incredible. I mean, I had the time of my life and now that it has been a couple days home I feel like I have told this story 974 times and don't have the same fire to tell it again.

This is one well-supported ride with everything from mechanic and message and first-aid tents to motorcycle escorts and prepared lunches. The route was well marked, the weather was perfect, the terrain was domitable, gently rolling through green pastoral farmland. What else can I say? All together there were 8000 registered riders (sold out), plus 51 additional volunteer support and safety riders, 1,845 one day riders, participants ranged from under 10 to over 80 years of age, 27.8% female and 72.2% male, total mileage was 206 miles. This was the 25th annual STP.

I drove the rental to Seattle on Friday and got so excited I started waving a hand made STP? sign at any other vehicle with a bicycle attached. Man, people go crazy for that kind of thing, they just totally geek out and start swerving and gesturing and giving thumbs up and rolling their windows down and trying to yell into a 75mph breeze that you best be having a good time this weekend. It was so much fun, just hopping in my seat all the way up the road feeling like I was going to burst.

My Aunt Jeanette and her husband drove over from eastern Washington and we met at my Uncle Jim's house on Lake Washington in Seattle, had dinner, told tall tales, sized up front forks and water bottle placement, discussed the merits of integrated shifters and presta valves... It was an early-to-bed night which left me listening to my heart beat in the dark with totally dilated pupils, wondering why I hadn't anticipated this, prepared for this with some hot tea and valarian root at the very least. After all, you know, I am medically unable to fall asleep before 4am.

Start Line

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But I bounce back. We were up by 4:30 and crossing the start line by 6:30am. They opened the starting gates every 10 minutes and let another cluster of cyclists out onto the road. As the STP is not a race but a self paced ride this had the nice effect of keeping a diverse mix of all demographics woven together rather then the natural striation of riders by their pace and athleticism alone.


click for larger image

The first day I fell into a couple different pace groups, drafted and led and made friends at the rest stops. I fell in love all over again with cycling, which I have really put on the back burner in favor of running this last year. But since late June when my hip joint began pulverizing itself I have been riding again. Woah! I forgot how much fun it can be to ride with a fast, responsive draft line.


click for larger image

Drafting, in case you were wondering is a technique used by cyclists to overcome the enormous force of aerodynamic drag. Drafting is the act of riding behind another cyclist in an area of reduced air pressure created in the wake of that leading cyclist. The drafting cyclist uses less energy to maintain the same speed as the cyclist they are trailing. There are a lot of safety issues, rules, and etiquette to drafting and they are not always followed. I am fairly speedy and it isn't unusual if you are zipping down the road to pass other riders and have them hop on your tail so you can pull them along for awhile. I have looked over my shoulder to find five or six cyclists just inches off my back tire, which can be potentially dangerous. However, if you fall in with a good group it can be really exhilarating.

We arrived in Centralia just after 3pm on Saturday, showered, ate, mingled, camped, was asleep by 9:30 and up by 4:30 and on the road again at 6:30 am

Lunch Stop

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First thing that morning I broke into a pace line of four guys just flying down the road. These guys had thighs the size of my waist and were not fucking around. My new first they were amused that I would try to keep up but were sufficiently impressed by the next rest stop that they introduced themselves and invited me to ride with them again. They lost me after 20 more miles or so. Waiting for lunch I heard someone yelling my name LOOK WHO ROLLED IN, HEY ASIA YOU MADE IT! They were lounging under a tree amidst 5000 other cyclists. I left with them for another 50 miles till they pulled ahead on an incline and I just couldn't keep up and the exhaustion of 170 miles was setting deep into my muscles. I straggled the last 30 miles in to Portland at a much slower speed of 15mph and crossed the finish line at 2:15 in the afternoon.

Crossing Into Oregon

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Holladay Park in Portland was a crazy festival of gritty cyclists with funny tan lines and enthusiastic friends and family. Kate was at the line to cheer me in. People kept rolling in for hours and hours. We were a spinning city of bicycles after all, stretched along a hundred miles of road.

Kate and I went to the beer garden and standing around looking for a chair I heard a guy behind me telling his friend HER NUMBER IS 3100, I SAW HER COMING INTO THE FINISH LINE BUT I CAN'T FIND HER NOW and that's me! It was my friend Ned in an improbable crowd looking for me... We sat around rehashing the ride yelling over the music and bustle of the crowd.

Jeanette got in at about 3:30 and we said our goodbyes. I went out to dinner with Sam, felt like I did when I came home from summer camp *homesick* and was fast asleep by 11:30.

I have a sunburn across my back like a belt strap where I forgot to put sunblock between my shirt and shorts. I have never been so red.

And now you know where I live.

My stats for day one:

  • 17.2 mph Average speed
  • 101.54 miles
  • 35.5 mph top speed
  • 5:48:12 total riding time

I didn't clear my odometer for the second day so do the math. The combined statistics for the whole ride:

  • Average speed 17.1 (damn head wind... I was up to 17.4 at the 180th mile)
  • 206.74 miles
  • Didn't beat the top speed from day one
  • 11:50:05 total riding time

Thats pretty damn good!

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

My HTML teacher showed us this feature just to say we should never use it cause its totally annoying...what do you think?

Monday, July 19, 2004

I Can Be A Real Jerk Sometimes.... Part 1

Ask anyone... 
Reality is so malleable.  Additionally language has high potential for manipulation and if you understand that then you have a large degree of control over perception of events within your sphere of influence.  
For example, if I am intentionally euphemistic and charming about owning up to my faults then they become sort of endearing idiosyncrasies, but if someone wanted to read me the riot act then they could make me out to be the horrible person that I am without hyperbole just by changing their choice of words
People can use words in far subtler ways to mold perceptions.  I, for one, am fetishistic about language and can be very persuasive when I want to be.  In this case I would like to persuade you that calling someone a 'fucking retard' on the internet is not so bad, or that if you put yourself out there you have to expect a certain amount of light hearted jocularity, but really... 
Straight faced, IT was a patently un-nice thing to do. 
Well this morning the offended party contacted me and we had a short volley through comments posted on this blog.  You can follow the exchange by going here...  then here.  
After that he sent me a private email.  He said that at first he was flattered that I had linked to him then he found the link and, being insulted, lashed out at me for which he was sorry
And so, without being coy or flippant, I would like to extend my apology as well. 
The summer that my boyfriend and I house sat for my mother, a girl at the local coffee shop read both our palms and told us the reason we got along so well is because YOU EACH HAVE A STREAK OF THE DEVIL IN YA A MILE WIDE.  She was pretty accurate about everything else even if we were only the second and third palms she ever read so I choose to believe her.....not that its an excuse but it is in my nature.    
But about the manipulative nature of communication--------------- 
This influence plagues a lot of people I think...  I have heard that Dominatrixes have a steady stream of customers who are successful businessmen who want someone to humiliate them and  degrade them because they don't feel worthy of their success.  They feel like charlatans who will be denigrated when their bluff is called and the anxiety caused by the anticipation of that moment is relieved by acting out the punishment. 
Anyway, it is a pretty common anxiety, to different degrees of course...I mean, not everyone is wearing the ball gag and suffering a stiletto heel in the small of their back.... but still I think to feel like you are misleading people when you win the approval you seek is a pretty conventional neurosis.  
I think I am misleading by making everything seem whimsical and light hearted.  In reality I am often pensive and reflective.  DON'T LET ME AND MY WICKED WAYS FOOL YOU. 
Coming soon!  The low-down on the STP.  Man watta ride! 

Guess where I forgot to put sunblock....

Friday, July 16, 2004

200 Mile Weekend

I baked up a bunch of butterscotch/chocolate chip/oatmeal cookies for my sad-sounding brother out in Texas giving soldiers Anthrax vaccinations and shooting guns at paper targets.

Just picked up the car and it is time to start packing up the gear. Will ride 100 miles on Saturday, 104 miles on Sunday...a pack of 8000 cyclists pushing through headwinds, bugs in our teeth. Will tell you all about it!

Q. Whats the difference between a rental car and a Jeep?
A. You can go anywhere in a rental car.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

You Can Pray For Me Too

I have to rent a car cause I didn't get on the bus on time and didn't make other arrangements on time and the rental car lady thinks 200 miles earns me a place in her Bible and will be saying a prayer for me! 

By The Way

If you haven't yet checked out the Daily Oliver link in my sidebar you should. Daily.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Secret Societies

Evil Twin

I am covered in hieroglyphs, a strictly localized dialect. I have your name tattooed on my body in a language no one can read. What do you think of that? You know what I think? I almost got Jason's name tattooed on me and I would never have had the power to change the meaning of those symbols. My astounding lack of foresight does not always get the better of me. This language is still being written.

I don't care much to talk about my job...for two reasons. One, I make a point to leave work at work so that if I want to air grievances then I vent with my co-workers at the end of a shift. They are the only ones who relate anyway. Two, I don't care much for negativity and drama and have spent the better part of the last two years of my life weeding my garden, so to speak.

But sometimes there are notable exceptions. Yesterday was a marathon work day. It wasn't supposed to be. I wasn't supposed to work two shifts, under staffed and turning over tables all night without pause, but whatever. You do what you can in those situations. You sweat, smile, run, do whatever you can to make them love you cause otherwise everyone goes away mad.

But we make it through without incident till almost closing time, 9:20. Ten more minutes and this woman comes in with her boyfriend. They get seated on the patio, take their time with the menu, then...after we are already closed they order four (4) entrees for the two of them. They don't look at me when they order and talk low like its a power trip that I have to bend down to hear them. I bring them their food twenty minutes after closing. They eat, I check up on them, they just exchange looks when I ask them if they are doing all right, need anything...don't answer.

Forty five minutes later I bring them their check and some boxes but, in my twelfth-hour-of-work exhaustion I added up their bill wrong and left off an $8 item. The other server was getting ready to run their credit card and notices the discrepancy. I went back to the table to let them know what the actual charge would be. Again they wouldn't look at me but they exchanged looks of total contempt and resentment for me, didn't respond at all. They left a full hour after we had closed with a zero in the tip line and...and... she had the nerve to write SMILE next to her zero.

I WAS INFURIATED. Enough so that I actually went outside, civil authority be damned they were going to have to pry my thumbs from her eye sockets, but she was gone.

All of it I could blow off pretty easily if she hadn't written SMILE on top of everything. Ask anyone, ask any woman you know who works as a server or bartender how they feel about being told to smile. And yes, it is almost always women. And why do we find that so offensive? Well, what are smiles for? They are for approval. They are for validation and they are for disarmament. In a situation where you are serving another person and they tell you to smile it is usually because they have a need to feel that the power imbalance is well defined. Your smile approves of them, makes you unthreatening.

Not always, many people who say 'smile' are genuinely trying to be friendly to someone who seems somber, stressed and withdrawn. I don't resent their good intentions a whole lot, even if they are trite and annoying... its the other ones.

Anyway, I took all my money and went and got another tattoo.

And may our paths not cross again cause my mojo is stronger then yours.

I will always thank my (ex)stepfather for taking me onto his knee and asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up. It was a rare stab at fatherly affection, a break from thinking about himself, so he could go back to thinking about himself, plus what a good father figure he cut. Another feather in his cap. I think I said horse trainer. He gently led me to the conclusion that waitress or seamstress was a wonderful occupation for a woman. Together, with his guidance, we decided that waitress was What I Would Be When I Grew Up. Thanks a lot asshole.

Monday, July 12, 2004

Who Goes There?

I came home tonight to see that someone has plunged an odd yard ornament into my tomato plant. I wonder who...
I have gotten strange gifts before. Roses on my kitchen windowsill. A can of soup inside my screen door when I was sick. During the blizzard in January I ran out in the middle of the night to close my storm windows. Backlit by my tiny lamp inside I saw that someone had written on my window with their fingertip

I ♥ A.K.

It is still there, invisible till the light catches the oil streaks. I have no idea who wrote it or when.

Saturday, July 10, 2004

Squirt Squirt

One thing that I like about working with the public is the chance to observe people in very intimate settings. People are rarely guarded or preoccupied when they are sitting down for a nice dinner. Our restaurant has a disarming sweetness too, a red patio sheltered under a huge grapevine heavy with fruit and curling tendrils, white table cloths, a small fountain in the corner. In this capacity I can interact while remaining an unknown quantity which is where I feel most comfortable, while the customers generally betray tendencies, motivations, convictions, character, disposition, covetings, regrets... the story under the story. The story frame with out the drywall and plumbing. Usually the details are less interesting. Anyone can make these observations if they care enough to stop and look, and if they are not mutually creating static (ie detached enough to obtain a wee modicum of objectivity).

Then other times the details run away with the story. Last night a traveling business man came in with a woman I am 281% sure was an escort. She was a greatlengths girl...a plucking, tanning, puking, lipliner wearin', itsafulltimejob beauty queen...
(There isnt necessarily anything wrong with primping, I *heart* primping.)
She wore a tight pink jumbsuit unzipped to her sternum and spindly leather heels, the kind that barely exist...just a pink strap and a kickstand that keep her foot arched at a 65 degree angle. He was just a business man, mid-40s. I brought them menus, water, asked if they were ready to order. Her eyes scanned the price list. I'LL HAVE THE *pause* pointed to where it read $19.00 and dragged her finger across the page PANANG SEAFOOD CURRY, AND A GLASS OF *pause* dragged her finger right to left again THE CABERNET-MERLOT PLEASE. He ordered from the left side of the page, and changed the glass of wine to a bottle. (aside: I love presenting and opening wine at the table. It is totally pompous and gives me time to stand tableside and eavesdrop) He spent the entire dinner looking bored and making quasi-sarcastic comments that she didn't pick up on. He paid for dinner with an airline miles business card. I felt a little sorry for him, and got the impression that he was a half way intelligent person who might be interesting to talk with. It was a fascinating interchange.

In other news, Moxie has decided that biting is a good way to communicate his needs. Watch for my new look of the 2004 summer season, water gun and a thigh holster!

Friday, July 09, 2004

HTML is Super Cool!

I am taking an internet class to learn HTML. I got pissed off and fired off an irritable email (which I usually only compose in my head) to the instructor because I had fallen behind and suddenly decided that the workload was unreasonable. Then I went to the class site and saw the bulletin board that everyone had been posting on for over three weeks... I wrote my instructor back and apologized in what I thought was an endearing letter. Her response was terse and now I am busting my HTML ass to catch my jammies still and I have to leave for work in six minutes... I want to win her over, I want to be ACES with HTML, I am not a total jerky brat..... I AM SORRY FOR CRYIN' OUT LOUD,
and i am later for work now too

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

What Can't You Do To The Willing???

I found a hidden cache of pornography on my computer,

last modified: January 24th

I was out of town without my dog cause she had been attacked

and needed medicine so I had a housesitter

and his name was


  1. One
  2. Two

    • Three
    • Four

  3. Five

I just got snake charmed away from my HTML homework...damn you SPACEOCTOPUS, damn you...


I can't help myself. I tried to post a comment but the link was disabled or something.

i picked up the news paper, and not to sound paranoid, i read about Saddam, i cant believe they are showing video of his trial. Its stupid, he is there with no lawyer to speak for him. He is most likely sending out code through his actions or words, to his minions telling them when to strike and how, GW, get a brain and take that shit off the airways, am i the only person that is seeing this, am i totally bonkers?

What a fucking retard.

Again With the Up-All-Night...

I have this link to a satellite image of earth and I am poised above my coast, watching the sunlight advancing toward me, bearing down, wiping out the twinkling lights of cities further east.


It is summer and day invades from the north. All that stuff about the winter sky and arctic nights, long summer days, solstice and equinox make sense from up here in the stratosphere watching my 32 hour circadian clock knock me into another tomorrow . Click on your corner of the world and you will see what I mean. This kicks ass a gazillion times over mobiles anyday.

I leave the door open for my cat, sometimes all night and my little apartment has become a high traffic hangout for local strays. I scared a tabby with a pert, curious tail like a periscope cruising towards my closet. A few minutes later, from the food bowl down the hall a shaggy gray cat with a satisfied air and a dignified gait. I feel like I am the intruder. And my own cat is mesmerized by a moth mesmerized by the light of the lamp above my desk but all I can see is a single strike and an avalanche of detritus, a broken clay pot, exposed plant roots, my 31 trillion systems of organization lost in a flutter. So it is a game of constant, yet gentle redirection.

Monday, July 05, 2004

Independence Day

Saturday I went to Kay's for breakfast, rode my bike in slow looping curves with hot coffee in my water bottle cage.

Kay is a baker, daughter of a baker, granddaughter of a baker, great granddaughter of a baker. She made orange/blackberry muffins, cooked potatoes and eggs. Her kids are big and healthy, sweet and engaging.

We sat on a hammock that sagged with our weight so that we were tickled with dandelion heads.

Cruised around the block twice to get a look at a piece of raw meat, just sitting there.

Later Sam and I went and played pinball. Got one multiball, won two free games.

Fourth of July the whole herd of us from the restaurant drove to Six Flags, ate papaya salad with sticky rice in the parking lot, and shared in the great fortune of not having to wait in line for the rollercoasters. The owners picked up the bill for the whole day. Looped, dipped, splashed, swung, flipped...I never get sick. Rode the rollercoaster seven times. Laughed.

In the wave pool got surrounded and splashed to submission. Bobbed off to the deep end and between the oceanic swells watched a man with a shaved head trying to bob toward me. Am too swift, hate being hit on when my nerves are tingling with chlorine-pool summertime nostalgia, have runners lungs, ducked and swam away.

We went out for Chinese later that evening, a huge multi-cultural party, sunburned to exhaustion. Thai, Mexican, Mayan, Russian, and two white American girls. I counted the languages between the lot of us... (I think that there is more still).

1. Thai
2. English
3. ASL
4. Chinese
5. Russian
6. Spanish
7. French
8a/b. Mayan (two dialects)

The food kept coming and coming and coming. Jellyfish, sea cucumbers, calamari, scallops, clams, unidentifiable squishy round balls...I will try anything twice.

I felt overwhelmed with goodwill all damn day....expected component of human nature notwithstanding.

Later that night I had sad*sad*sad dreams about J. being gone and I was at a party with these people from High School (one I remember was a girl named Sabrina who taught me how to French inhale). I was drinking and smoking and being horribly ill-behaved in my grief. B*** explained to me that Thai people believe that some foods cause great sorrow. I went and hiked up and down secret paths on a dark cliff above a raging ocean.

I was woken up by the overwhelming sadness in my throat and jettisoned the whole affair, out of bed, on the phone already late to social engagements, quick math to figure a coffee stop, blinding sun, untamed hair, forgot the directions and went to 67th instead of 76th. It became a grand day though!

July 5th and my neighbor let his kids stay up late to light off fireworks. See the silhouette of that adorable little girl? Aww....

I went for a short run, then later a long walk in the dark. It is lush and warm and the breeze smells faintly like gun powder. I love the day after the fourth listening to distant pops of firecrackers when it is otherwise so quiet.

I was worried last night that my cat got scared and ran off so I went to bed and left the front door open for him. Should have known, he is unflappable and buoyant. Cairo dives for cover if you talked too loud. Sweet little scaredy-cat.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

Email to C*sey

Man o' Man I feel like a complete fuckwit for like, three days now. I just cant seem to get anything useful done at all. I start out wandering around in my PJ's for way too long, decide to balance my checkbook, unfurl a pile of receipts, remember that I forgot to brush my teeth, amble to the bathroom while the receipts blow away under the fan, decide to eat cereal before brushing, go to the kitchen, see yesterdays dishes and say forget it, wander back to the front room, start to put away last weeks clean laundry but begin to count my shoes instead, leave shoes in a pile on the floor and go write a blog post about shoes, remember I forgot again to brush my teeth, go brush, start to get dressed pulling clothes out of the un-put-away-yet clean laundry pile, trip on shoes and receipts, land on my ass near a potted plant, notice it needs water, take watering can to sink while only half dressed, notice that sink is still full of dishes that have to be moved to fill watering can, start making fridge magnets out of Dia de Los Muertos tin skeletons instead.

Nothing better to do

Now it is the middle of the night. Me and my shoes both are going to lay out under the fan all night.

So what's the latest with you and C*****?
How did she roll her car?
And did you tell her you sang songs about her?
And what is the deal with your band?
Are you renting studio time or is this Old School D.I.Y. style?
What do the shirts look like?

Neighbors are good and all, but I hardly talk to mine anyway. I probably should. They are all nice people except for this woman with, like, four fucking kids and they never talk...they just yell. They yell about everything, all the time. They are a.l.w.a.y.s. yelling. Its amazing. From here I cant hear them at all because their windows face out and the noise carries away but when I am coming and going, which is frequent, or sitting on the grass I hear them.
One of her kids is about four or five years old and is obsessed with a watering can that I keep on my front porch and if he thinks that I am not here, or not looking he steals it off my porch and throws it on the ground. He did it so many times he broke the spout and now water just gushes out and makes holes in the dirt of my potted porch plants. Last summer I asked him sweetly about a hundred and thirty two times to not throw my watering can on the ground anymore but I finally gave up trying to stop him and started stealing his toys out of the courtyard and putting them in my front window sill. I am so wicked. I thrill myself.
So you see what kind of neighbor I am? A not-talkin-to-you, baby-candy-stealin, coming-and-going-at-all-hours, cooler-then-you-in-dark-glasses neighbor. Vexatious.

Good Tippers, Peaches and Amazing Friends are all good things and should be bountiful in one's life.

Great paintings too... Wunderkind!

Music/movie recommendations? Hmmm? Well, Fahrenheit 911 of course. I don't care what anyone says about Michael Moore as a person. I love him. I have not heard one single fact successfully disputed excepting all the semantical quibbling and logically fallacious, hostile discord of course. Poo.

And I went to see Dodgeball last night with some people I work with. It was dumb. I laughed, but it was dumb. Wait for video. Otherwise I really don't watch movies much. They make me squirmy for the most part.

The Joy of Cooking is an essential cookbook. And this is another thing that I don't do much. I mean, I love to cook but I just throw things in the pot by the handful, make way too much and end up trying to feed everyone I know before it goes bad. Lately I just eat pickles, oatmeal and Thai food...a diet I highly recommend. I love fingerfood, sushi, anything that is pickled, anything soy, and hot pepper flakes. Life is full of good stuff.


Friday, July 02, 2004

Rent By a Hairs Width

Rule Number One when you are trying to milk your parents for money, don't make expensive credit card purchases in front of them. Duh...

Shoe Count

I just pulled all my shoes out of the closet.
28 pairs total.
Two pairs running shoes.
Two pairs bike cleats
One pair river shoes
One pair snowboarding boots
Four pairs sexy boots
One pair hippie sandals
Four pairs that cause me pain but I wear regardless
Two pairs worn once
One pair worn twice
One pair worn only three times in ten years
One pair worn a gazillion times with cracked soles
One pair should never have worn cause they are cheap Payless plastic shoes that make my feet sweat and bones grind but are sooo cute...
Two oxblood, three brown, one orange, most black.
Right now I hate them all.




Bush Lovin' Dad

Momma (would have you know is not fond of Bush at all) and miss Cairo

Post-ride exhaustion


Thursday, July 01, 2004

Hit The Ground Running

HotHotHot - Dark glasses and light clothes, supine and wilty. Every single thing that touches my skin makes me sweat and I am stuck to my seat.

...and he said he would marry me if I quit smoking.

Back home here it is slightly overcast and muggy. I rode my bike to the coffee shop, sweat beading then trickling down my chest. My left knee and right hip joint feel fractured, violated, pulverized.
I ran four miles on Tuesday but cannot bear it, am skipping. All things considered I will probably fall 100 miles short of my projected training goals because of, well, the things you can expect - injury, exhaustion, too hot, too full, too sad, too happy, long lost friends. My hip is like a mortar and pestle, grinding, grinding, grinding.

Monday J. was offically activated and today departed for three months of training in Texas. What do they learn? How to say STOP OR I WILL SHOOT, and DON'T KILL ME PLEASE in Arabic and Kurdish? We discussed Pine Boxes and Contact Lists.
I WILL BE BACK, DON'T WORRY...all the force of will behind him. This is so abstract for me right now, its like my eyes and ears are full of sand.

Happy Birthday Darlin'

Sarah is up from SF but still a hundred miles away out in the backwoods, at her parents house. She wants me to go get her, bring her to the city but I cant. I am not sure that I can pay rent this month. Am looking at my checkbook with trepidation, it is my Schrödinger's cat. If I open it the wavefunction will collapse.

I went to a bad rock show last night with Sam and ate vegan burritos in a dark cafe, discussed whether the correct course of actions was to seek out a 24 hour tattoo parlor but put the idea to bed, went home, dreamed about my fish Tsunami.

Sexy Bastard

I am incredibly vulnerable to the relativity of illusion right now, the illusion of motion, the illusion of stasis, the illusion of poverty, the illusion of affluence - I am ripe for some sort of conversion, vulnerable to charlatans and snake charmers. I keep saying to myself HAVE FAITH, PUT YOUR HEAD DOWN, RUN THE COURSE. But I feel like an illusion too, I keep having to check the mirror. I admit this, I use mirrors. If I don't have mirrors I fashion them out of raw materials, of words and deeds, grief, joy, eulogy, reaction, flickers, breezes...I am always seeking myself in shadows. Is that narcissism? I feel totally without substance so I hoard things, little facts about myself like that I have a mole on my knee that hurts when I bump it, that I like pickles and pickled peppers, that I can fix a flat tire, that I like commas and dislike them to be interrupted with the word 'and'. Every morning I collect the pieces of me.
What if I start to think about someone else too much? What if I start to hoard their stories? Your stories? Your moles and cowlicks?

I am totally sick of narcissism. I find it to be both seductive and repulsive in others, and just plain tiresome and neurotic in myself.


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