So fresh

Czech me out!
Main Street Rag's upcoming anthology, Coming Home, will include a story I wrote called "The Sunflower State."
You can pre-order now for delivery in August or come by my place late summer and take a gander.

Overheard around town, Juneuary edition

On the 18 to Ballard last night, two drunk dudes checked each other's street cred.
"You like Scooby snacks?"
Nah, man, them's for kids.
"No, man, you ever been in the penitentiary? No? King County Jail?"
Proudly: Never been locked up.
"That's what they call breakfast sausage in the King County Jail. 'Scooby snacks.' If somebody asks 'do you like Scooby snacks' you better say hell yeah."
*
The 30 to Fremont this afternoon felt like a scene from Wings of Desire, with snippets of strangely endearing conversations percolating around the back of the coach.
I don't know what I want to do with my life.
"Dudes, there's this new movie coming out with Nicolas Cage and the Rock!"
I just want to be happy. I don't care what I'm doing, as long as I'm happy.
"So you don't get off at this stop." "Uh--no."
I want to learn French. But I think I'd speak it with a Japanese accent.
"You think he can excuse their pathetic defense the past two matches? Like I excused those two knuckleheads in class earlier? No, I didn't think so."

Busysmartypants:Tumblr -- portals

Attenzione!
Check out BusySmartyPants:Tumblr for a new group of photos: portals.

Texture

I did something last week that some (most) would consider douche-y.
I'm not proud. I apologized. I thought, It's so not me.
But it was me.
And on a certain level I enjoyed it, because it felt gross and painful and honest.
I have no patience right now for the stable, the sane, the normal, the ordinary, for 8 hours of sleep a night and a well-balanced breakfast, for the perfect manicure or tights without holes or polite conversation or men with Careers or literary novels or good grammar or nice dinners.
Someone accused me of being an adrenaline junkie but I don't think that's it. I just want to live the bejeezus out of life, out of this city. I want to feel--love, sadness, disappointment, desire, anger--so deeply and truly that I almost can't stand it.
Then what, I dunno. There may not be a then.

Look up (don't look up)

How great is it when the distance between the absurd and the rational is about two feet.
Walking along Elliott Avenue yesterday I saw this sign.
Chuckled.
Looked up. Saw the scene at right.
Looked down. Picture a sidewalk coated with a thick fresh frosting of bird shit.
Carried on, duly forewarned.
*
I'm grouping photos when it makes sense; see "the commentariat" over on busysmartypants:tumblr.

Ready ok!

The unironically-mulleted Danny McBride doppelgänger at the DMV last week must have taken my photo a dozen times.
You moved your chin.
No move it back.
Were you a cheerleader in a previous life? (mocking) Ready, ok!
*
Check out these videos for the band OK Go. I think they're my new rock star boyfriends.

• OK Go site
• Earnest geekazoid article explaining "speed of time" video
• Rube Goldberg video for "this too shall pass"
  
• Treadmill video for "here it goes again"

Tumble on ovr

Check out this cross post to my new tumblr crib, also called BusySmartyPants.
It's all part of my PlanMaster MasterPlan, in other words, experimenting with new ways to post photos and sound files.
Let me know what you think.