the pnw

Spotted this graffiti in an alley along Mercer the other night. I've been wearing my The Northwest trucker hat with pride. It comes from a Port Angeles outfit called Mystery Decals.
*
The holidaze roll on. Dina Martina last week, with people I treasure; when she sang "Merry Chrishmush" my friend had his arm around me and I felt so grateful for our little posse that I couldn't help but cry a little. Not one but two Hannukkah dinners, complete with latkes and matzoh ball soup. A day of football at a fun friend/neighbor's apartment, with food and beer and laughs and smokes and a view of the Needle and downtown. The fam in town, for PNB and gifts and hanging out over pizza and bean dip. Xmas Eve drinks at the Five Point with my buddy, grieving the loss of his father. We raised a glass to the legendary old gentleman. In the background, PeeWee's Playhouse Christmas special played on the bar TV. Xmas morning pajama party at another friend/neighbor's place, egg bake and Miller High-Life and lots of laughs, before a relaxed day with my sisters and nieces and a bro-in-law and my fella. Yesterday, an unplanned walk downtown in the cold sun, thrift shopping with a pal, Campari and soda and then one more little shindig last night. Today I settle down to write and reflect.
2015 looms.

leeves

Listening to a friend's new mix, and it's hott.
*

Roaming around town today, amid the holiday bustle. Shoppers and clerks are pretty nice (with the exception of one grocery store in particular ..cough..PCC..cough) but the drivers. Well, the drivers are maniacs. It's like a dodgeball game in the crosswalks, only SUVs the size of boxcars are hurtling at you, windows fogged over, tires screaming as they brake only just in time to not mow you down. It's energizing, and terrifying.

ruff

A stressful work week and I'm happy the 9-to-5 part of it is in the can, as I ended up on a rainy porch Thursday night sobbing that I wanted to go home. My mental state is much improved, after sleeping in on Friday, hanging with the fam at the movies, then drinks and music later on, with pals.
*
Also, a final good-bye to my dentist, Dr. Jeff Files, who passed away last night. He was diagnosed just over a year ago with ALS. I can hardly believe this all happened so quickly. I mourn the loss of this man; he was patient with and worked with my anxieties, did beautiful work, loved talking about his kids and his motorcycle travels around the state. He was the dentist who called the day after a tough procedure to make sure I was hanging in there. RIP Dr. Files. 

a ridiculousness of beats

For a good time, listen here.

open mic

My buddy hosts a monthly open mic event at a bookstore up north. The Buzzard serves beer and wine so it's more like a dive bar/bookstore. Regulars play Go, at a table up front. The weekly version of open mic features everyone from extemporaneous speakers to a tap-dancer to nervous first-time guitarists. One of the baristas also sings in a band, Little Sara and the Night Owls.
Anyway, the monthly open mic is for poets and writers. Sometimes there's only a handful of readers and we're done by 8.30. Other times, like last week, it's more.
Last week, first-timer Scarlet read a piece, too fast but passionately, about a stoner guardian angel.
I read an excerpt from "Hard to Believe," getting enthusiastic applause when I mentioned the story would be published in March.
My buddy read a few poems, also about to be published, one so hilariously disgusting that one of the  readers/Go players called, "Ewwww," grinning widely as he catcalled.
The barista/singer read from her phone, a piece inspired by The Thomas Crown Affair.
Koon Woon sat in a corner quietly until just before the featured poet. Then he stood up and shared two poems with great depth and beauty. "He won the American Book Award," someone said, and I understood why.
At the end of the night, Noel Franklin, the featured poet, performed, and her poems seemed like more than words, they seemed like her, wrought from pain and experience and love of art. Afterwards, she gave me one of her books. I said goodbye to my buddy and his new friend, a quietly fierce East Coast transplant, and caught a bus home.
*
Picture is from a very cold day-hike at Carkeek.

pix from the Nest

A couple of pictures from some dear friends' cabin on a nearby island. We partied all day yesterday--rambled around the 5 acres, discovered a stream bed under a massive cedar, drank and smoked and dined finely, then woke this morning to a thick blanket of snow.
*
And Thanksgobbling was oddly relaxing and stress-free. I think we surprised ourselves. Started the day with Yula picking us up at the transit center, a stop for French pastries, then to her place for coffee and strategizing. She and my fella masterminded turkey and dressing, while I was on point for mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and fresh cranberry sauce. We snacked on pickles and Boursin cheese and homemade olive bread. It all came together along with greens, bread and veggie Stove Top stuffing for plates of deliciousness, along with a 2003 red that Yula had been saving. Hammy was laid low with a stomach virus so we had pumpkin pie and pecan pie and bread pudding with brandy sauce while she napped, then later on watched the Seahawks dominate the Forty-whiners, 19-3.

stay woke

The news from Ferguson last night was not good.
Listening to the radio at my kitchen table reminded me of waiting for the OJ verdict twenty years ago, in a co-worker's car en route to a meeting, both of us holding our breaths, the jaw-dropping surprise us white knuckleheads felt when we heard "not guilty."
Last night as I listened to the prosecutor run down a painfully long list of defenses, it seemed clear that there would be no indictment.
My social media blew up. Speaking of knuckleheads, several of my Midwestern family members posted some pretty offensive shit. Mostly, among my friends, I saw disappointment, anger, not much disbelief, moms worried for their kids' safety, pissed off activists, plain-old-bewildered people.
I still feel sad and mostly helpless. The system is working as it's designed to, someone said today, and I realized she's right.
DailyKos had some good analysis:
--the questions no one asked
--prosecutor as defense attorney
I'm reading the documents released on the Washington Post.
And bits of this essay stick in my head:
--I'm deeply and profoundly disappointed and honestly lack the words to explain my emotions right now. It's a frustration in which a man doesn't feel much like writing. It's an exhaustion in which one has hoped just one too many times for justice, only for it to escape in the fleeting fashion that is sadly familiar in cases of young black men killed by police officers all over this country.
--I had hoped officers would be found guilty when they were found beating Rodney King senseless. It was on video. We all saw it. They were acquitted.
--I had hoped officers would be found guilty when they fired 41 shots at an unarmed Amadou Diallo standing in his doorstep. They were acquitted.
--I had hoped the officers who fired 50 shots into Sean Bell's car as he left his bachelor party would be found guilty. They were acquitted.
--I had hoped the officers who shot and killed football star Kendrec McDade—after they lied about him shooting at them first—would at least go to court, but the grand jury said they were justified.
--I had hoped the officers who chased Ramarley Graham into his home and killed him would at least be tried, but they weren't
--I had hoped the officers who shot and killed John Crawford in Wal-Mart would be cited somehow, but the grand jury found they were justified.
--Now, here we are, with a young man who ran over half a football field away, after a confrontation with Officer Darren Wilson, only to be shot over and over again.
--I had hoped Wilson would at least face these charges in an open court of law, but it will not happen.
Change is gonna come, another friend posted, with a link to Sam Cooke.
I hope she's right.

a fountain of eyes

It's funny, I took this picture sitting around in a rental car waiting to pick up my fella. Picmonkey boyeee, I am having fun with it. A friend commented that I should release an album. Right?! Except...I can't sing.
Good news ahead, another story about to greet the public. More to come!

seen somewhere by someone (me)

skrawl

I'm having fun playing with Picmonkey to edit photos. This was a chalk graffiti drawing on a utility pole with about a half dozen effects. Kid in a candy store and such.
*
I had a scare this week.
What does that mean? It's skirting what I mean to say, which is that I got scared this week. Seriously frightened, in my apartment, alone, in the middle of the night. I took steps the next day to be safer and I dug up the weapon my sisters got me a few years ago.
My friends have similar fears, I found, in conversations since. One, who just moved into a house, has thoughts of how easy it would be for an intruder to get in. We talked, laughingly serious, about buying baseball bats.
Another, at home alone some nights with a child, worries some, and props a bottle up by the door as an early warning system.
We all walk around juggling fear and bravery and strategies inside us, I guess. Not so far removed from our ancestors, huddled around the fire for warmth and safety, fingers twitching near a trusty stick, just in case.

road trippin

In my travels last week, I drove nearly 900 miles. Most of the driving was on Interstate 70, a well-engineered four-lane highway (and then some, closer to Denver). I fueled up on bubble gum and coffee and once I set the cruise control, did not tap the brakes for hours. The radio options out on the plains are interesting: all I found were turn-or-burn preachers, the ag report, or country music stations. It was good thinking time.
Tumbleweeds blew across the highway, rolling, hesitating, then sweeping on. The sky seemed bigger, without the Northwest's abundance of hills and mountains and trees. Another good bit of driving I did over county highways, well-maintained and nearly empty of traffic other than farm trucks and other beefy vehicles. I took my time, in no hurry and enjoying time with my grandmother and the late fall sunshine.
Streets near where my aunt and uncle live seemed unusually wide--were they designed for storm runoff? Bigger vehicles? But, there were hardly any cars!

On a brisk morning run I came across a flattened tumbleweed and snapped a photo for a possible future tattoo.

PNW--Wild West--Midwest and back

I've been on the road some. It was nice to leave the bubble and nice to return to it.
In the interim, I visited aunts and uncles and cousins and our matriarch, met a new baby and a new husband, drove nearly a thousand miles over the prairie, hung out with a 93 year old and a 5 year old, visited one of the oldest African American settlements in the Midwest, haggled for antiques within shouting distance of the mausoleum at the Garden of Eden, mourned with the locals when the Royals lost the World Series, drank Coors Light and Most Wanted bourbon and Lb's wheat ale and in general had a pretty good time.
The photos are from a road trip reflection in my uncle's seatback, a bathroom wall made of bottles, and a snapshot of a very important box.

While I was there a family heirloom came back to us, a wooden box that Dusty nailed together and sent back to his sweetheart while he was stationed in Italy during the Second World War. In it he enclosed a necklace from Rome, his Good Conduct medal, and the mushiest love letter this side of a Nicholas Sparks novel. The necklace came apart and is being restrung and we had to dampen the fragile letter to flatten it enough to slide it into an acid-free sleeve, but the trio of gifts is still with family and all together, which in these weird times is comforting and sweet.

as seen by me

I work in a fairly elderly building--think sub-basements and alcoves and an elevator with a counterbalance and brass fittings. Today I waited outside a conference room as the previous meeting ran long, staring through pebbled glass at whoever was inside. The occupants emerged, flailing and flushed (faculty for sure) but I didn't mind: the view was so cool!
*
My story "Free Ride" was accepted for publication next year (!) so I went online to withdraw it from the other places I'd sent it. Boy looking at Submittable is an exercise in humility. For the 2 stories I've had accepted via the online submission tool over the past few years, I've received 70 rejections. A 1:35 ratio basically.
Good to remember.
Good to be grateful for the yes's and the constructive no's.

superchill

Hey y'all I'll be reading at Babeland next week as part of Seattle's Lit Crawl. More info here and here.
Thanks to Jane Hodges and Your Impossible Voice for the opportunity. Come hang out! It will be a funtastic night.

sunruf

Some pictures from around town. The top one is a little graffiti picture scratched into the Plexiglas on the bus. The second is the view from a friend's sunroof on a stormy afternoon.
*
Where have I been? Already launched into October and I dunno what's what. I'll carve out time later in the week. That's what it is lately. Carving out time, as though it were obtuse and resistant and needs the attention of a knife.

fresh pop corn

These cool kids have a new video out today.
Peep it! The storyline is corny but the beats are oh so worth it.
My pals and I keep thinking Ayron is going to blow up big. Soon. Soon enough. In the meantime, AJ and the Way are one of Seattle's best kept secrets (their album release at Neumo's with Sir Mix-a-lot might be one of my favorite shows ever). 

le weekend scene

I have been experimenting with online guided meditation this past week and yesterday I attempted one related to lovingkindness. Which turned out to be difficult and painful. I was joking around at my volunteer job with one of the staff, and he said he didn't have a heart, just a heart shaped block of ice in his chest. Don't even talk to me about walls, I said, and saw recognition in his face. The  weekend though has been quite pleasant after a particularly tough week--hang-out time, pizza and art with my favorite 12-year-old; a sunny afternoon at a friend's house sipping rose and girl-talking; then a clothes and accessories swap hosted by a neighborhood pal, in an artsy loft retreat in the middle of downtown.

*
The top picture is a design by Hammy, images cut out of a magazine and pasted into my drawing book. The other one is the sky last night at the 255 bus stop in Kirkland.

life is change is life

and around here we call it

I was talking to a trusted confidant recently about being spanked as a kid. I don't mean the occasional swat. I mean on the reg punishment, skirt hiked up, panties pulled down, full-on hit on the bottom with a ping pong paddle, a belt, a wooden spoon, a hand--hit and hit and hit until my father or mother deemed the penalty was sufficient. I wasn't allowed to cry, either, to "beller," as my father put it. Afterward, whoever had dealt the beating would read me bible verses and tell me they loved me, and then I'd cry. I felt so humiliated and ashamed and angry.
Spanking has been the topic du jour in the media the past few days, with a football player in trouble for beating his four-year-old kid (article on WaPo). That led me to bell hooks on Justice: Childhood Love Lessons.
And to this: why you should never.
Even the New Yorker weighed in.
So what about me, now? I don't know what it all means, exactly.
Except as my confidant put it, around here we call that abuse.

lady don't tek no

Coming up tomorrow! These fine fellas, at Nectar:

i need dis

A guy on the street told me a joke yesterday. "What's the best vitamin for friendship?"
I was in a hurry and wished, just once, not to get chatted up. But, I summoned up patience and said, as I walked past, "I don't know, what?"
"B-1," he chortled. "Have a great day."
It was Hammy's 12th birthday and my Sid and I treated her to a decadent brunch including fresh hot cinnamon-sugar doughnuts with tiny bowls of mascarpone and currant jam. I gave her a card with moustaches on it (the inside also wished a happy birthday to a handsome fellow, which I had to X out, oops), and some flowers, and gift cards, and chocolate-covered nougat from De Laurenti. She's got so much confidence and talent and she's developing into such a lovely girl. I hope she knows how much I love and treasure her.

life live it up

Graffiti from the UD.

sum-sum-summah

Yup, August is in the can. The month started out strong, with girls' night at a friend-chef-coolgirl's house up north. We drank wine on a hot summer evening, we watched her chickens run around and ate delicious snacks and drank homemade limoncello and laughed at wisdom teeth videos. I got 2 of my nails did. What a treat.Then, Friday was Gaga, rescheduled at Key Arena, and I was less excited for the show (my 3rd time seeing her) than to hang out with good pals over salt-n-pepper tofu and drinks. I met a new friend and closed out the night by myself, at the neighborhood hot dog cart, treading lightly on my high heeled wedges. Two days later--Book of Mormon, with my sis. We pre-funked nearby on happy hour martinis and potato nachos. Mmmph. I checked out Radiator Whiskey a couple nights later with some pals. My neighbor and her rad husband work there and the whiskey drinks were stellar (and a lil spendy). It was a tough night--I got some news I didn't want to hear--but, now I know what's up, for real, and now I can proceed.
The next night was a good friend-artist's birthday party on the hill. Imagine cucumber and gin drinks, an outdoor patio, a warm summer evening, scads of friends--yes.
Next up--Trombone Shorty at the zoo. Big ups to the big man for a hott show. And a loud chorus of boo's to the zoo for pretty much fucking up everything you could want in a venue: letting kids--babies!--in for free, operating two miniscule beer gardens with zero view of the stage, and no extra bathrooms, meaning females spent a good ten to fifteen minutes waiting to pee. Parents--you're in trouble too. Spring for a babysitter you fucking cheapskates, so the rest of us can enjoy the show without smelling shitty diapers or listening to your kid whine. And to the lady who tried to make 2 dudes sit down so she could see--ha ha. Kudos guys for laughingly saying no.
A few days later I hopped in a car with my Sid and Hammy and we headed up to Vancouver. A pit stop at Duty Free for whiskey, and then onward to Granville Island and our party pad. The visit was stressful and fun and maddening and a little melancholy. During the ceremony's mini-sermon, hate settled in the air like a choking gloom. I looked around afterward at these smiling people, invoking a deity and passing judgement. Ah, no.
On Saturday, I was home by 7pm and in a Zipcar by 8 to check out a friend's housewarming. I got there in good time but it was a bust; people were settled in, comfortable in their party cliques,  not inclined to extend themselves, and so I was on the road again by 9.30. Mid-week I met up with a good pal to catch up after her month away meditating. She's gorgeous and smart and we egg each other on in the best possible way. When I left her at the bar, one of the owners was chatting her up. Girl got game.
The last Saturday was me and Hammy, on the road to the coast to do some trailer repair and generally hang out. By Sunday I was dragging, but I had breakfast and bloody mary's with a good pal, catching up on news--a funeral, a surly ex, a sick parent.
The news continues relentlessly. And so do we.

how can this

A note in remembrance of a fine, fun, smart and charming young woman, who departed this planet on Friday, abruptly and unexpectedly. Left behind are her equally amazing partner, her baby daughter, and hosts of bewildered friends. I had the good fortune to get to know these women the past couple of years. It's been a tough summer. A friend's mom passed quite suddenly last week as well. I am weary of departures.

tonight

beer n crackers for dinner

At a party

At a party the other night, the friendliest animal present, humans included, was somebody's beagle.
I tried, and failed, to penetrate the other humans' perimeters. The turned shoulders. The averted eyes. So, fifty-six minutes after I arrived, I departed.
*
At a friend's dance performance a month ago, I sat in the audience with a pal, sipping Jame-o from a clandestine bottle and reminiscing about the last dance thing we'd been to (zoe | juniper @ otb). This night we laughed uproariously at an older man dancing a deux with duct tape. Later, when my friend entered the stage with his dance partner, wearing a dark pageboy wig and cute little skirt, I didn't recognize him. Only when I heard his voice did I realize: she was he. 

jumbelation

Chaos, inside and out. I have nothing more to say today, because the hate is daunting
because jeezoids and fanaticks
because Ferguson
because wereallgonnadie and wedeserveit

big..big..BIG

Big things afoot this week.
I feel abandoned by friends. Left out, moved down the list, the usual cycle of close and not so close. So, my plans for fall change. I may not be traveling as far as I'd hoped. It's discombobulating and disappointing. Hopefully, it's temporary.
Really big things afoot with the fam. And it's hitting me how much I miss my mom.
Boy I wish she were here for this. She'd be in her element.
We are leaderless. I'm sad, yes, but I wouldn't want not to be.

sammyisgood

Pictures snapped mostly by my niece on a tour of campus residence halls. All I added was filters.
#sammyisgood.

beyond

 A friend told me this week that they have been communicating with "the other side." Confused, I asked who exactly they meant--Republicans? People on the East coast?
This friend had consulted a pet communicator to say some things to a beloved dog about to undergo surgery. In addition to clearing some things up with both of the household's dogs, the communicator also had some messages from relatives of friend. Deceased relatives. And, from my friend's spirit guides.
The communication was part verbal and part experience and even as my friend kept saying "I know this sounds crazy" I couldn't help but notice that their demeanor was supercharged, glowing, ecstatic almost.
My friend asked if I wanted to talk to my momash and I'll be honest, it scared the shit out of me. I didn't sleep much that night.
My friend definitely heard some things that might make life easier. I'm not sure I can say the same for myself.
*

Then I dreamed of momash two nights ago. In the dream, I was lying on the floor of a bedroom, sobbing, "I miss her so much." I woke up in tears.
Yesterday, news that a friend's father suffered a fatal heart attack while hiking in Arizona. Two weeks ago, a bunch of us met up for dumplings and laughs with this friend and his parents. He was an active, smart, hilarious and generous man and I can scarcely believe he is gone. My heart aches.
*
Last night, the much-anticipated Lady Gaga show with good friends and a new one. I wore towering gold sandals just because, and I'm hungover and my feet are killing me. It was a glorious night.
*
photos are reflections in the window of the Union 76 on 45th.

that voice

I struggle with anger and resentment. Does everyone? This much? I'm not sure.
It's like realizing you'll never see yourself as others do--you'll also never know exactly how anyone else feels.
Some work situations have changed and I find myself so confused.
I find myself actively disliking a person or two.
One person I've known only a few weeks. It feels like plenty. Like we could never ever meet again and I'd feel like we'd gotten as far as we ever would. Some days I feel like if I have to hear that loud cackle just one more second I will punch out my eardrum with a dull pencil.
What I should remember is that some of my best friends are people I loathed originally.
I think my default setting is a reflexive "get the fuck away from me."(With exceptions for dogs and kids.)
When I'm fighting with my fella--and we fight, oh my god we go at it--the words I hear myself yelling sometimes are the words I am telling myself. The inner monologue, the super critical voice that says I'll never be skinny enough or nice enough or a good enough writer or friend or sister, and that everyone knows what a hypocritical fraud I am. Man, that's scary.
I know, on an intellectual level, that I can't love anyone else until I love myself.
That just feels like a whole lot of homework. And I laid off my shrink back in January.

woo

Halfway through 2014 what? This has been a spectacular summer, a little too hot in stretches but jammed to bursting with good times. Less recap July shall we? Day one, in the 90's, and I met some pals on the back patio of Blue Water Taco for cerveza and burritos before checking out "Rushmore" at SIFF. The a/c conked out during the movie but it didn't matter. Bill Murray's Herman Blume is a work of beauteous ennui. After, drinks with my fella and a good friend at Red Papaya (salt-n-pepper tofu I am coming for you soon). A couple of days later I met up with some girl pals at Cicchetti for a drink. A newcomer threatened to call me Elsie (I warned him the consequences would be dire). After a couple of cocktails, my ladies pedaled home , calling "Bye!" and I took a leisurely stroll home in the golden summer evening.
The Fourth started off with bloody mary's and a pal about to welcome her out-of-town fella into town, for a month. Then a trip to Boom City to stock up on fireworks, and our traditional family blowout at my Sid's--grilled hot dogs and Field Roast's new veggie burgers, my own elotes salad and amazing homemade ice cream sammies, courtesy of Hammy and her mom.
On the 7th, a friend screened her movie at the Harvard Exit and made me miss Tanzania. Afterward, drinks at Bait Shop, our decision finalized by chance encounter with an enthusiastic older lady in a crosswalk. That Friday I worked a half-day, picked up a rental car out on Lake Shitty Way, parked it in my neighborhood, changed shoes and jaunted out to Alki Beach with a pal. It was a blistering hot afternoon so we shaded ourselves near a rock (which happened to house a colony of peaceful bumblebees underneath), shot the shit, and drank my custom beer/lemonade mix. Late afternoon we met up with another pal for a patio drink, then went up to the Junction to check out the festival. Music = lame, crowd = weird, but there was a beer garden and a big bunch of us detoured to West 5 for sustenance and cooler air. Later on, my friend flashed her clown-print, lace-edged bike shorts and a passing driver yelled "girl, you got it."
The next week--still hot!--was all California.
There was a backyard dinner the next week, manhattans and taquitos and lots of laughs and some tears, as my friends were heading to a memorial service that weekend for a dear lady. The next night, rain! and pizza with my seesters and Hammy. And the last weekend in July -- the Capitol Hill Block party. It's a sweaty good time, days and days of sun and music and wandering on the Hill with friends. It's a mini vacation in the middle of summer. The month ended with more dance and music, a new friend's experimental dance performance--duck tape and gender bending--and an old pal's album release party (ps I scored a t-shirt).
July: woo.*
*photo of a utility box in Fremont.

chbp 2014

Another one in the can! Three days of music, sun and friends, dranking beer and smoking and doing tequila shots and dancing and hanging out. HOLYCHILD, Shaprece, The Dip--see you again soon, I hope. A$AP Ferg, Odesza and Chromeo, honorable mention, kids, thanks for a fun weekend.
*
Thinking about my sid today, it's a momentous--but not joyous--one.

7811

Thought for the day week life:
--is it true
--is it necessary
--is it kind

fwp

It's been a fun week of seeing old friends and meeting new ones. A handsome someone from Santa Barbara was in town for a day and the old crew got together in the loft at Belltown Pub on a steamy, ninety-something July evening. We took turns standing in front of the fan, misting ourselves with a spray bottle. And, I'll never look at bratwurst in the same way again. My traveling pal's man is in town from Europe and we had a fun night Friday drinking whisky and Fireball with iced coffee and cream. Ms. Hammy and I hung out all Saturday afternoon, shopping at Momo, then grabbing a Car2Go up to the hill, a spicy lunch at Rancho Bravo, and perusing art supplies at Blick. She danced, she sang, she prodded me not to forget her birthday. Later, one of my besties and I hung out with a friend in town from the Bay Area, sharing laughs and Seahawks stories and beers at Five Point--crowded with weary Bite visitors and accompanied by a heavy metal soundtrack. Later, a quick walk down to Shorty's for one more drink, then pretzels and fried cheese curds at Bravehorse. Still later on, my man and I relaxed and caught up at home over with a Manhattan and big band music.
With all this loveliness, I find myself getting whiny, whingey, unpleasantly petty, and then I read the news and it's all bad and I just feel ashamed of myself: drunken criminals rifling through dead passengers' belongings in Ukraine--a friends' sister-in-law passing away after nearly two decades of fighting cancer--unceasing fighting in the Middle East--it's a ghastly time. I worry.
What does one do? Can one do?
Why am I so lucky? Are we unredeemable, lost without all hope?
It all seems so bad. I want to have hope. I want peace.

signs of note

It's been hot (I know, Seattle-ite stop whining) but it has been, and I was wandering around in a heat-daze at lunchtime the other day, trying to find a vegan grocery way up on the Ave.
Hopping from shady spot to shady spot, I saw a sign in a bar that said "Soup of the day - whiskey," which made me laugh.
I found the grocery and wow is it the motherlode. I wanted mineral SPF which they didn't have but I did scoop this crazy delicious spicy jerky and some fruity gumballs.
On my way back to work I saw another sign, which said, "If you were looking for a sign, this is it."
That's all I got. Happy Friday.

all times ish

midpoint

So, June. Yes June. Good stuff..quietly brilliantly fun.
The Farestart party with my sis on her birthday. Not much vegetarian fare so I stuck to whisky, wine and dessert. My wallet stolen at a work party on the same day...and mysteriously returned a week later.
A whiskey date with a good pal.
Hanging out with Hammy--lipstick! Veggie Grill!--on her last day of school.
A long weekend on the coast--mowing, chopping, grilling and hanging out, then a cool drizzly couple of days at the beach with the fam.
The Pride march with good friends.
C'est tout.

the newest

ings

I've been traveling and not writing much at all.
Living, thinking, loving, fighting, eating, drinking, playing, worrying. Lots of -ings but not writing.
Today, that changes.

the land beneath

Pictures from the beneath...including a U district cross walk and the Monkey Pub ladies room:

the heavy

How to get back to a place of lightness, energy, optimism?
Read this. Try to ignore the florid headline and proceed to the good stuff:
You are not your mind. 
Life unfolds in moments.
Most of life is imaginary.
The last one, though. Yes. Key.

towelfish

My wallet was taken this week. The mystery of it--who? how, exactly?--is frustrating. At most they got $20 and some cards that don't work anymore. It's a huge pain in the ass logistically. And, dumb. I found a bus pass last year and made an effort to track down the owner and return it. Come on karma, bring it all back home.
*
On a happier note, a friend from out of town popped up last weekend, recently laid-off and doing a coast-to-coast road trip. At a backyard bbq, someone removed a dried up towel from the deck. A few beers in, we named the resulting image towelfish.

laterz May

Another May in the can. I've been living hard lately and it feels good. That said, it's been a tough month in other ways. A guy I know (and who's good friends with my fella) did something truly awful and devastating. It's impossible to wrap my head around. The line between living hard and irreversible bad decision is pretty fine, I think.
May started off funky, drinks at the new Comet (meh) and then getting sweaty with Eldridge and Lady Gravy. My niece came back from Florida and we hung out for a hott second. I spent a weekend at my place on the coast with my fella--3 days of mowing, chopping wood, clearing brush--and also a roaring fire pit, grilling farmer's market deliciousness and getting deep hard sleep out in the woods.

Back to the city and a giggly movie night with a friend, I couldn't tell you what Transcendence was about but my soul needed the laughs. The next night--the new X-Men movie and drinks after at Kangaroo and Kiwi, seated in the Mayor's booth (inadvertently) with good friends. An M's game the next day, rainy and dull, but the day was rescued with a few hours at the Market Arms with my fella's folks and a good friend, we played pool and sipped Irish coffee. Then dinner at Ray's! On Memorial Day, I looked at Dusty's journal and thought about how much I miss him. Every day. I got to hang out with my sis and Hammy, got pedicures and goofed around. The much-anticipated Gaga show was canceled last week, so my pals and I hung out on the Hill. Later, I learned about biscuits from a friendly dishwasher. A neighborhood friend and I kicked off our first-ever (and hopefully to be repeated) LQA shitty-bar-hop, with a delicious Decatur prepared by her man, and headed to the dueling piano bar  for whiskey gingers in buckets and a selfie with a good-natured visitor from DC. Friday--a day off!--some lazing around, iced coffee at Uptown, then picked up my niece for a Rudy's haircut, then backyard BBQ down south. The coals were ready long after we were but oh wells. Ballet yesterday--how did Hammy get so poised and lovely?--and capped off the month/week/night with funk and friends in Wallingford.
I need to write more--think more--feel more--photograph more--June: you will be mine.