i got carded for NyQuil today.
oh Oregon, you are so bureaucratic.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Sunday, June 25, 2006
i can't sleep. there are birds chirping.
so, it occurred to me, just now at 5:22am lying awake for no good reason, that my recent return to chronic insomnia might very well be due to a lack of urban noise infiltrating my bedroom.
oh, where are my traffic noises and drunken Poles?
here, there are birds chirping (incessantly) and, in the distance, a train at Union Station. then, intermittent silence.
it's so relaxing, pleasing to the ear.
it's just not the same.
oh, where are my traffic noises and drunken Poles?
here, there are birds chirping (incessantly) and, in the distance, a train at Union Station. then, intermittent silence.
it's so relaxing, pleasing to the ear.
it's just not the same.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
the page is blank, my pen is down; i'm working it out.
So, I spent the weekend in Seattle, a place to which I had not returned in four years.
Point one: Laser Tool is awesome. I don’t care what my friends think.
Me: “dude, Laser Tool tonight. You in?”
Dave: “what are you, thirteen?”
Dave Hawkins: Thrill Kill. (love you!)
Loud as hell, and come on kids, the Seattle Center needs the money. Go in your jammies, stoned. I don’t care.
Point two: the Broadway Market is now a QFC, which is weird. Definately a sign of the times (pointing towards the fact that Broadway just isn’t the punk, raver, indie-kid drag it once was). If you like to juxtapose your Urban Outfitters i-needed-an-overpriced-Ramones-shirt shopping with your grocery shopping, then you’re in luck. Otherwise, just fucking weird.
Point three: late teenage drama makes for fun reminiscing. As do Kickwear pants, bad hair-do’s, and former drug-usage. Those were the days.
Also, a shout-out to Jason’s cat Miss Nixie (sp?), who provided ample cuddles and purrs and whose hair has indelibly attached itself to all my clothing.
Point one: Laser Tool is awesome. I don’t care what my friends think.
Me: “dude, Laser Tool tonight. You in?”
Dave: “what are you, thirteen?”
Dave Hawkins: Thrill Kill. (love you!)
Loud as hell, and come on kids, the Seattle Center needs the money. Go in your jammies, stoned. I don’t care.
Point two: the Broadway Market is now a QFC, which is weird. Definately a sign of the times (pointing towards the fact that Broadway just isn’t the punk, raver, indie-kid drag it once was). If you like to juxtapose your Urban Outfitters i-needed-an-overpriced-Ramones-shirt shopping with your grocery shopping, then you’re in luck. Otherwise, just fucking weird.
Point three: late teenage drama makes for fun reminiscing. As do Kickwear pants, bad hair-do’s, and former drug-usage. Those were the days.
Also, a shout-out to Jason’s cat Miss Nixie (sp?), who provided ample cuddles and purrs and whose hair has indelibly attached itself to all my clothing.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
surly and disinterested
A few things.
I have a wicked crush on Jason Jones ( a product, strangely, of Hamilton, Ontario, producer of my favorite Canadian, one Jennifer Sgro. [Whom, my thoughts are with, and I miss terribly]).
(Parenthetical within a parenthetical [I could footnote it, but I found Jasper Fforde’s use of footnoting in Lost in a Good Book disconcerting. Hilarious, but disconcerting. ])
Where were we? Ah! Yes! Mr. Jones.
Point one: prior to cutting it up on The Daily Show, he had recurring roles on As the World Turns and Queer as Folk. Which makes him more hilarious.
Point two: he is a classically trained cellist.
Damn you Samantha Bee.
Unrelated: I finally have my own apartment again. And, for whatever reason, I cannot seem to leave it this week. One could write it off as an “I work from home” thing. One might also call it a “lazy” thing. Maybe I’m moping. Or hibernating. Or celebrating.
We’re not sure yet.
I did have to venture out of the building this afternoon; I ran out of Red Bull.
Related: my parents just happen to rent the apartment directly above me. Which is, you know, um, something. I heard a loud thud at 7am the other morning. So instead of silently cursing the upstairs neighbor, I can silently curse my father. Which I do a lot.
Tragically, a potted orchid was knocked off a table. My mother’s potted orchid, to be exact. Snicker.
Answers. It's the difference.
More interesting things have happened this week. (but why would I write about them here?)
I have a wicked crush on Jason Jones ( a product, strangely, of Hamilton, Ontario, producer of my favorite Canadian, one Jennifer Sgro. [Whom, my thoughts are with, and I miss terribly]).
(Parenthetical within a parenthetical [I could footnote it, but I found Jasper Fforde’s use of footnoting in Lost in a Good Book disconcerting. Hilarious, but disconcerting. ])
Where were we? Ah! Yes! Mr. Jones.
Point one: prior to cutting it up on The Daily Show, he had recurring roles on As the World Turns and Queer as Folk. Which makes him more hilarious.
Point two: he is a classically trained cellist.
Damn you Samantha Bee.
Unrelated: I finally have my own apartment again. And, for whatever reason, I cannot seem to leave it this week. One could write it off as an “I work from home” thing. One might also call it a “lazy” thing. Maybe I’m moping. Or hibernating. Or celebrating.
We’re not sure yet.
I did have to venture out of the building this afternoon; I ran out of Red Bull.
Related: my parents just happen to rent the apartment directly above me. Which is, you know, um, something. I heard a loud thud at 7am the other morning. So instead of silently cursing the upstairs neighbor, I can silently curse my father. Which I do a lot.
Tragically, a potted orchid was knocked off a table. My mother’s potted orchid, to be exact. Snicker.
Answers. It's the difference.
More interesting things have happened this week. (but why would I write about them here?)
Monday, June 12, 2006
Sunday, June 11, 2006
these follies are within you and shine through you like the water in an urinal
I saw The Two Gentlemen of Verona on the Elizabethan stage in Ashland the other night. Imagine my surprise when, in Act IV, the Mantua outlaws bounded upon stage in full goth gear, blue mohawks and all (all this in a replica of the original Globe Theatre). They have a sense of humor, those Oregon Shakespeare Festivalians.
So.
My body is adjusting back to pacific standard time. I’m not sure if I feel at home exactly; Oregon was home, but now I associate it more with being on vacation, so I’m not sure what it is I feel here. Displacement, perhaps.
It feels a little empty, sleeping alone. Very empty.
I am suddenly aware that I have gotten very little affection, affirmation and support from any of the guys I’ve dated in the last five years.
“Ask me how it feels to vie.”
Of all the guys I’ve been with, not one had ever looked me in the eye and said I was worth the effort.
Sad, but true.
(thank you, B)
So.
My body is adjusting back to pacific standard time. I’m not sure if I feel at home exactly; Oregon was home, but now I associate it more with being on vacation, so I’m not sure what it is I feel here. Displacement, perhaps.
It feels a little empty, sleeping alone. Very empty.
I am suddenly aware that I have gotten very little affection, affirmation and support from any of the guys I’ve dated in the last five years.
“Ask me how it feels to vie.”
Of all the guys I’ve been with, not one had ever looked me in the eye and said I was worth the effort.
Sad, but true.
(thank you, B)
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