Only when I larf*

No Important Movies for me right now. I crave the funny stuff.
Russell Brand and Diddy (surprisingly) killed in this one.
My pal and his kids and I giggled through this.
Nothing like a belly laugh to chase you off the ledge.

*ht to Len Deighton, superbad-ass spy writer.

Wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst..

Got some coolstuf I wanted to share, a story and then some, but instead I stared at my computer.
Listened to some new hip hop on Soundcloud.
Stared some more.
*
Last night someone said a mutual pal was "too much of a pussy and a Buddhist" to make a decision.
C'est moi at the moment.
Wavering.
Doubting.
In a death spiral.
I know I need to ride it out.
One must use caution, as Nietzsche said, in looking too closely at the abyss.

aitch 2 oh

See the sea: cross posting with BusySmartyPants Tumblr.

Portals

I have an obsession with windows.
Which of course has metaphorical implications.
Of seeing, looking, peering, snooping, spying.
Looking into the now, or the future,
or the past,
into someone's most private areas, their home or shop.
The idea of a portal, of movement.
Of reflection, obliqueness, distortion, refraction.
Glances through.
Glimpses blocked.
There's the poignance of a broken window.
Or one that's painted shut.

Escape

I took Friday off and got out of town with two young travelers. After a coupla hiccups--I was phoneless (lost it the night before) and nearly carless (stopped for donuts and managed to lock us out briefly)--we boarded the ferry for the Olympic Peninsula.
Flying the coop, even for just a day, felt relaxing and refreshing. Zipping along (car-ferry-car...ferry-car), we cackled at dumb jokes, snapped goofy photos, stocked up on Black Cats and a Powder Puff melange of fireworks, beachcombed, chowed down on Pop Rocks and Craisins and Mighty-O, argued, dozed, pit-stopped, had a spider freak out, Twi-harded in Forks, and eventually, at 1 a.m., dragged home, with a brief stop en route to pick up my found phone (gracias Hattie's).
Fun times used to make me sad. I was a morose, even Puritanical kid, and I guess I worried that I'd use up my good times ration card and suddenly life would revert to Kafka-level bleakness. Well, laissez les bon temps rouler, as they say in New Orleans.

Overheard around town, 4oJ edition

On the 18 downtown last night, four bewildered Indian tourists--mom, dad, young adult guy and girl--endured a barrage of questioning from a Metro nutjob:
Indian people are beautiful. Don't you think? Don't you think Americans are ugly?
(nervous glances) Americans aren't ugly.
Where are you staying in Seattle, at a hotel?
We're staying with a friend.
Male or female?
Female.
Married?
(more nervous glances) Yes, married.
Then why'd you say you say 'friend?' You should have said 'friends.' Unless you're better friends with her than with him.
(no reply)
Where'd you go to college, here or in India? Or did you go to university?
What's the difference between a college and a university?
There is one, I guess I'm asking did you go to college, here or in India?
(patiently) What is the difference between a university and a college?
You know, like community college. I guess. (now, finally, consternation)

Hear me out

Killer ride first 255 seconds by busysmartypants

255 seconds of a new story

story by busysmartypants
beats by limerence