Seattle at the Crossroads...One More Time

So, as my little profile thingy correctly identifies, I live in Seattle. Have been for the last 12 years (which makes me a native, comparatively). I guess what this means is that I like this town more than a fair amount.

I still have problems with the townspeople, if not necessarily the town itself.

I have a feeling that this topic will continue to resurface, so I’ll enumerate my problems in more detail later.

Right now, I just want to focus on a local matter that plays heavily during the present election period: The Frippin’ Monorail.

My frustrations come from the fact that I want this city to be regarded as an actual major metropolis. One that can be taken seriously when mentioned along with other major US cities, i.e. NYC, LA, Chicago, et.al.

There are huge roadblocks in the way, before this dream of mine can become a reality (taking itself seriously, owning a big city attitude are prime examples), but none bigger than that of mass transit.

When smaller European cities have a much better mass transit plan than you do (Nuremburg, for example)...well, you’re fairly piddling.

So, you’d think the decision to have an elevated transit option would be a no-brainer, right? Not so in Seattle. Nooooo.

We, the people of Seattle, have voted on this issue THREE times now, and this Tuesday will mark our fourth time voting it in (polls indicate that it should win, which makes me breathe easier, but the frustrations! They are still there!). How could this be? Well, simply speaking, the combination of local big money, Not In My Backyard yuppie assholes, and a city council that can’t actually, you know, do something beneficial for the city without watering the ever loving fuck out of it have bungled this particular operation.

Now, if big money were behind the building of the Monorail, it’d be halfway done by this time. Witness how the city managed to build a new baseball stadium for the Mariners, despite the fact that the public voted against it (“The vote wasn’t a mandate of the people,” was the city’s excuse, which...I just can’t fathom...).

I was talking with a friend of mine about how I wished that Seattle would just embrace its dirty past. How, if local politics would’ve remained as dirty as it was even in the 70s, we’d have a better city for it. How Chicago, NYC, Boston all, while being fucked by small interests, still managed to get a hell of a lot out of the deal for their respective cities.

He replied that for how “clean” Seattle was, an awful lot of money still manages to disappear here. Which is true, when I thought about it. Norm Rice’s mall-ification of downtown is a prime example, and that was a pretty fucking dirty deal there.

Norm Rice, who looked and behaved like Urkel’s illegitimate father, did things like doctoring up crime reports on a particular block in town to convince HUD to finance a good portion of the urban rebuilding he wanted to have, instead of having the big businesses like Nike, Bill Gates, Bon Marche and Nordstrom’s foot the bill. In the process, he displaced something close to a hundred small businesses that were in the area. It’s alleged that he received a large sum of money, the source of which had never been identified, and due to this, his political career never bounced back. He was on track to take over the very agency he forced to swallow this bill, HUD. And for what? A goddamn mall.

Which points to another problem I have with this town. Not thinking big. Hell, if Norm Rice would’ve maneuvered a deal where the city got something substantial out of the deal, I wouldn’t have minded so much. Instead we get the likes of Niketown, Planet Hollywood, and Gameworks. We could’ve gotten something akin to Times Square (I can dream), instead we get a fucking mall.

All of this, I’m sure, is fascinating to the two readers from the Seattle. The other two readers are probably bored by all of this.

Anyway...

Worky Days Are Here Again...

So, yesterday was my first “unofficial” day at my new job, and it was good. I’m contracting for a local non-profit hospital, as an office monkey. The gig lasts 3 months, though, my aim is to make it stick as a permanent gig. Four years on the temp dole is more than enough for this Beige man.

Can I tell you? (as if you had a choice in the matter)

This weekend has all the earmarks for your typical 10/11 chaos. Dubya2K closes this weekend (Tuesday, in fact, US’s election night, and it should be grand), my present roommate moves out on Sunday, have still yet to find a replacement roomie, and...oh, right. My first four “official” days at work will consist of Staff Orientation, Department Orientation and an early AM meeting on Thursday...

How’s a boy supposed to party?

Twelve Hours

The man walks into the non-smoking bar and orders a beer. Sweet, delicious, beer. Ah.

The man waits for his date.

The man wonders why it is that all non-smoking bars feature sensitive men strumming their twee guitars “pling pling pling pling.”

The man wants a cigarette.

The man asks, “So, uh, do you wanna go somewhere else? Oh, your friend is playing tonight? Which one is he? That guy? Oh, he’s good.”

The man is asking himself if she has shaved her legs above the knee.

The man stands up and shakes hands with the friend. “Hey, was that Asia you covered at the end there? I thought so.”

The man really wants a cigarette.

The man is being ignored by his date and her friend, and drinks the last of his third beer.

The man is singing smoking in the boys room, while smoking in the boys room.

The man leaves without saying goodbye.

The man tells himself, “That’s the last time I make a date with someone from Friendster. Jesus.”

The man has stepped into a real bar, and smokes a cigarette as nature intended.

The man is listening to the karaoke at the real bar, and signs up for a song.

The man tells a joke to the bartender, “Hey, how do all nigger jokes begin?”

The man sings badly, “There’s nothing that a hundred men or more would ever do. I guess the rain’s down in Africa.”

The man argues, “aw, shut up man, the Lakers finally got beat by a team that did not rely on a fucking superstar. They got beat by a team, and not a bunch of egos. Phil Jackson’s Zen bullshit is fucking bullshit, man.”

The man is settling his tab, he tips five dollars on a ten dollar check.

The man thinks, “no, where I would put it is in the back of my knee, that way, if I sit in a modified lotus position, my dick might be able to reach it.”

The man buys some apples, a bottle of wine, a pair of pantyhose, a box of condoms, a can of whipped cream, and a copy of the Weekly World News with the headline that reads “Cheney is a robot!”

The man watches Craiggers interviewing some c-level star.

The man jerks off to the escort ads in the back of the alternative weekly, thinking that it is just like window shopping.

The man sleeps while an infomercial for an easy to sell vitamin plays on the television.

In the man’s dream, he confronts his uncle on whether they should eat a brown banana. The banana becomes a turtle.

In the man’s dream, he is chased by insectile lemmings, while holding hands with his babysitter.

In the man’s dream, he’s driving a k car in space.

The man is on the phone with his ex-girlfriend, who is yelling for him to go back to sleep.

The man is peeing on his dog’s food.

The man’s alarm clock rings in the distance.

The man hits his dog with the copy of the alternative weekly.

The man brushes his teeth.

The man is in traffic, glancing at his watch, and cursing that he is late.

The man switches radio station to one that’s not playing Asia at 7:50 in the morning.

The man is in the parking lot, passing car after car, and heads toward level F.

1-2-3-4!

so, I'm watching the idiot thing, and the latest ad for the ipod comes on.

I'm sure you've all seen this commercial by now. The one where the new U2 song is plugged, and starts off with Bono counting off "uno, dos...uno dos tres quatorce!" Quatorce being Spanish for 14, for those not in the know...

And I think to myself, "isn't that cute! Bono's trying to reach out, or at least be original...awww." I mean, are we all agreed that U2 had stopped being relevant right around the time they ended their Zooropa tour, right?

Yeah yeah, so they returned to their sound, and yadda fucking yadda, but All That You Left Behind is no Sunday Bloody Sunday...right?

'Kay.

Wait, this wasn't supposed to be a whole thing against U2...Oh, yeah, I just wanted to fixate on the countdown before a song.

I guess I'd give Bono some points for effort, but, quatorce? It's out of rhythm, for one thing. And quatorce is not exactly a rockin' thing either. Kind of a mouthful, too. It'd get old by the fifth time they did it in concert...so, why do it at all?

I dunno. I'll state right now that I'm a purist about certain things. Willow should never have hooked up with Kennedy, Jon Lovitz is no replacement for Phil Hartman, and nobody can count down before a song like The Ramones can.

And, to me, that's the litmus test for counting down, and banter in a concert. Next time you're watching a band live, and they're talking in between songs, ask yourself if your interest wouldn't be better served if they had just said "onetwothreefour" before kicking into whatever song they played next.

Onetwothreefour is pretty played out, I suppose. Though standards get to be standards for a reason. And there's always fivesixseveneight, too.

Besides which, the coolest alternative was Prince's "w, x...wxyz" for "Trust (Who Do Ya?)" in the Batman Soundtrack, and if you can't beat that, don't fucking bother.

(edited because nerdboy didn't name the right Prince song)

Meese Files: Am I White or White?

This is what happens when I'm over caffeinated, bored at work, and have nothing better to do. There was talk on the list (instigated by me) about having a Who Is Whiter type of competition.

--------------

After arbitrary consideration, I've determined the following:

In terms of skin tone, Snake is the whitest one around here...that I've laid eyes on. Since I've met her, it seems like she has studiously avoided contact with the sun, which is an accomplishment, considering that 1)She's from Florida, 2)She has lived in Los Angeles, and 3)the fact that the sun (is a mass of incandecent gas) is out in our sky at least 50% of the time. Congratulations, Snake!Honorable mentions go to: Godot (your freckles took you out of competition), Rudbekia, and SmellyKnee. Miss Congeniality goes to DownUnder.

In terms of overall whiteness: this was a tough field to compete in, I mean, look at who we have here. So, I had to do some cutting down. First to go: anyone who lives in a major urban area. Sorry, if you live in NYC or Boston, DC or Seattle, (or in goddamn australia; and yes, Pittsburgh counts) you're too fucking hip for school, ergo, not white enough. Bye bye. (amongst these, Godot and X were front runners) Chicks who work on motorcycles: GONE.

This leaves us with MTGrrl, SmellyKnee, and Mehitabel.

Mehitab, part 'rab (says the Puerto Rican that most people confuse for black, thereby creating the new slur, Spigga. better than Nics I s'pose) and used to live in Philly. sorry, love. try again next year.

Ooooh, this is tough.

MTGrrl, decidedly libertarian, lives in Telluride (which is way the fuck in the corner of Colorado, a bonus in terms of whiteness)--and not even in the town itself, in the outskirts of Telluride, which is like saying you live in the outskirts of ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOWHERE, only slightly better than living in, say, Ouray--, does some arcane business with maps for a living, telecommuting to boot. Is married, but has no kids, skis, and owns some kind of 4x4 contraption.

SmellyKnee, hails from Buffalo, lives in some town somewhere in Massachussets that I haven't even heard of, and is best known for having some kind of railroad going through it and some coffee shop or something. Married, but has a kid, from a previous shack job, no less. Had a predilection for wrasslin' which she gained by being influenced by other loudmouth types (amazingly enough, not me), and roots for the frippin' Patriots. Currently works in marketing, but is thinking about going back to school for psychology.

I'm sorry, but the winner here is not that obvious. These two represent your classic white person archetypes here. It's neck and neck, and I'm forced to go to the rulebooks on this one.

eeny meeny miny mo
catch a tiger by the toe
if he hollers let him go
eeny meeny...mi..ny...mo

The Winner of the Whitest Person On this List Is:

SmellyKnee!

Congratulations Smelly! You've earned the title by your sheer willingness to being white, and a random game of chance! Hope you enjoy your title.

Meese Files: Brunching Shuttlecocks Style

To fully get the gestalt of this post, you need to see this:

http://www.nznature.co.nz/MSHOP:SPI:1480941634:1_2254

and this:

http://files.blog-city.com/files/aa/36597/p/f/knit.jpg

-----------------------

Love the fur nipple cozies, they look functional and fun. An unfortunate side effect is the fact that they deter from nipples showing through, which, I must admit, is one of my favorite things about breasts (I know they chafe, if you're wearing the wrong item over the sensitive buggers, and others consider it embarrassing. But as a man...hmmm, nipples). I imagine they'd be fun for the partner of whoever wears them, however. Another unfortunate side effect is that they remind me of a woman I used to date, who had no need for nipple cozies. Couldn't see the fur thong. (Nipple Cozies: A-)

The sweater, though, is an eyesore, in my opinion. Ugly, non-functional, and beyond the fact that it places my penultimate oral fixation RIGHT THERE, not so much fun. I'd imagine that this is what this sweater is for; moms with tykes fresh from the oven, and this sweater allows them to feed the pups without the lifting and disrupting of bras, and still remain warm. Which is all well and good in theory, but then I realize that if this were the case, then the sweater would come with some kind of lid at the end of those boob tubes. So, someone must've designed these with titillation in mind (these puns just magically appear, I swear).

And as titillation, they are woefully...what's the word...damn it, it's on the tip of my tongue (fingers). Ah well, the thing most of these designers of novelty erotic clothing, is that titillation comes when you see less of the body. A state of wanting to see more is needed, the imagination has to be engaged. And that's where this sweater fails, in my estimation (and where the nipple cozies succeed, by the way), it leaves no room for me to yell out, "take that damn sweater off, damn it!" Also, it reminds me of some villain in either the Pink Panther or the Flint movie series, the one with knifes in the bra, except, you can't hide anything in this sweater. Yup. (Boob Exposing Sweater: D)

tbo

ps-I never dated a woman who didn't need nipple cozies.

Looking Digable Planets, But Feeling Beastie Boys

From the files of the Meese:

huh
yeah yeah
huh huh
ambypants in da house
nod ya head
dj mxlpltz mixin da beats

check it

i used to come in here and then raise a big commotion
hyping words all manic so everyone got used to the notion
of having me here, to give you the schmear
on the bagel that's my life, (now give me some lotion)

name checking, convalescing, then being a big flirt
perspective, most reflective, and dishing some dirt
i'm the thoughtful Beige One, without me you can't live
now don't deny me on that or i'll stab you with a shiv
just kidding, y'all, in the goofy arts i dabble
(i used to jack my billy while i was playing scrabble)

prosaic, mosaic, my mad skillz on the flow
but when i'm not around here, i can hear you, "where'd he go?
he's so quiet, just lately, i wonder where his car is?"
well, the dating game and gong show were created by chuck barris
it's simple, the reason, of why i'm not here
i only sleep four hours, but i'm still drinking beer

Kelis: oh he works/on the show
then he paints/the sets, whoa
and he techs/for sketchfest
he thinks it's/for the best
he won't deal/with bullshit
i wish he'd/lick my--
milkshake brings all the boys in the yard--

--------
written after a bout of uncharacteristic quietude

Themed Essays & Stories

These are some of the entries that I've had most feedback on...I think the word "essay" is a bit misleading for the bulk of those samples, but, I'm not quite sure what else to call them, really. The fiction stuff is pretty...varied.

Anyway...


Essays:

Meese Files:

• Brunching Shuttlecocks Style
• White v. White
• Back in PR

Mix Tape Ruminations:

• #1
• #2
• #3

Women:

• Prologue
• Laurie Anderson

Stories:

Fiction:

• Twelve Hours
• Flores Para El Hillbilly Muerto
• Somewhere In America

People:

• Bronko And Angie at The Family Affair
• The $40 (Canadian) Sock


• I Was A Drunken Restaurant Mascot

About The Links

I ended up writing entries describing or riffing on the people I've linked to, and in an effort to keep those thoughts handy, I've made this lovely little page directing you to them. Enjoy!

The Queen

The Queen Bitch

Sports

Odd Whimsy

The Funny One

[BOMP]

Short, Sweet and Dead

Left Wing Nut

FLOX

Eastland Academy

Women vs. Men Mix List

women vs. MEN (Disc 1)
Side One
1) Women Vs. Men -- David Byrne
2) King of NY -- Dan the Automator/Kool Keith
3) Strobelite Honeys -- Black Sheep
4) Baby Doll -- N.E.R.D.
5) I'll Wait -- Dirtbombs
6) There Is No There -- The Books
7) Siboney -- Ruben Gonzales
8) Cannibal's Hymn -- Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds
9) Maybe Your Baby -- Stevie Wonder
10) Electric Village -- Add N to X

Side Two
1) Hard
2) Jettin' -- Digable Planets
3) My Brother's a Basehead -- De La Soul
4) Slim's Return -- Madlib
5) Lucien -- A Tribe Called Quest
6) Spottieottiedopaliscious -- Outkast
7) Dreams -- TV on the Radio
8) About 18 Seconds of Silence

WOMEN vs. men (Disc 2)
Act I
1) In the Musicals -- Bjork
2) Shave -- Enon
3) Chemicals and Chromosomes -- Clevergirl
4) Fassbinder
5) The Size of Our Love -- Sleater - Kinney
6) I Put a Spell on You -- Nina Simone
7) Tired Hippo -- Yo La Tengo

Act II
1) The May 4th Movement -- Digable Planets
2) Take Me to Your Leader -- Add N to X
3) Fury Eyes -- The Creatures
4) Lust -- Bas Sheva
5) Segredo -- Suba
6) Caramel -- Suzanne Vega
7) Camilia -- Anna Nimus

Act III
1) Chumpville -- Carolyn Mark
2) Talk Normal -- Laurie Anderson
3) House of Bamboo -- Southern Culture on the Skids

WvM III: Head to Head (Disc 3)
W) Babalu -- Yma Sumac
M) Killing an Arab -- The Cure
W) Up the Punks -- Add N to X
M) Graffiti -- Digable Planets
W) Late Show -- Laurie Anderson
M) Another Generation -- Fishbone
W) Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood -- Nina Simone
M) Big Brother -- Stevie Wonder
W) You! -- The Creatures
M) Can't Stop -- Jon Spencer Blues Explosion
W) Lost Parts Stinging Me So Cold -- Melt Banana
M) Bitties in the BK Lounge -- De La Soul
W) One of These Days -- Imani Coppola
M) Provider -- N.E.R.D.
W) Inevitable -- Carolyn Mark
M) Tongue -- R.E.M.
W) My Favorite Plum -- Suzanne Vega
M) It's Over Now -- Dan the Automator/Kool Keith



(Yeah, so, I still can't figure out how to create stand-alone blog entries that wouldn't be seen on the main page, so I've edited my first entry to allow me the freedom to seem like I'm creating stand-alone web pages. I think I'll be doing this as the need arises, for I do create some rather lame entries. For completists, however, I'll leave the original entries in their entireties.

Couple of things: 1)You'll see why I've decided to bump this entry, as it is merely a cheesy Beastie Boys lyric quote. 2)Yes, I do realize that no one gives a shit about this. And yet, I still write.)
-------------
Subject: one two one two

this is just a test