The Arbitrarium

Hacked!

2011-05-31T15:37:00.001-07:00

Hi Everyone,

Sorry about the Spam. It seems that my gmail account was accessed. I have changed my password, so hopefully that takes care of the issue. Please ignore any emails with bad grammar, and or solicitations for anything except handshakes and hugs.

Thanks so much.

Raul

Battle how are you?

2011-05-31T09:04:00.000-07:00

hi Battle, as soon as i started this my life changed in an instant http://g.msn.com.br/BR9/1369.0?http://cnbc7.com/news

Someone's in the kitchen...

2010-10-13T22:27:00.000-07:00

A quick word regarding the creative front, and possibly a word or two on what's happening elsewhere.

I will start with a brief brief brief word on work-related things, as I tend to ensure that the bulk of my outpourings are professional musings or emotionally dry pseudo-intellectual ramblings.

Work: DK is wonderful. I feel at home and am logging in hours and hours. Next to Cornish, I have never felt like i needed to be somewhere more, or that I belonged more, and I appreciate every minute that I can work with, alongside and for such a brilliant collective. Their feedback has already been so valuable, and positive.

Gigantic Planet continues to employ me as well, and it's wonderful to have such overwhelming creative freedom. I am still amazed, though I also appreciate, that they have put so much faith in me as their AD, but I am gaining more confidence as each project passes. They are likewise an amazing group of folks.

Now, on to the other thing:

a few weeks ago, Aaron let me know that he wants to move to New York within the next few-to-six months to pursue career opportunities--culinary arts, or publishing, the former he excels at (is quite brilliant at actually, in all realms) and the latter I feel he would be very very good at.

Of course, neither he nor anyone else would expect otherwise, I have no plans of relocating or leaving Seattle with so much going on here for me professionally. On that note, I just really love it here. It's my favorite city so far, and has treated me so well. I of course can't expect everyone to love this place, having lived here, never lived here, or currently living here. Life is a huge sea of flux and people move this way and that--upwards and downwards, nearer and farther. And of course Aaron wouldn't expect me to uproot, especially not now, and that didn't factor into his plans for his future I am sure, which I kind of admire. Like two sine-waves. Autonomous and out of sync.

We sat at a small table, over pizza, and a little wine on a Friday evening, and we discussed his plans to move. He has a good friend with a couch, and a few others that are excited to have him land in town. It's hard to think more than abstractly, but I managed a measured dialogue. I told him, and meant it, that I would do whatever I can to support him, both in his decision making process (should he arrive at different plan) and in his eventual move. I want nothing more than to see his talents flourish and paint him with true happiness, even if that means having to watch that happen from across the country, as a friend. It will have to be, and it probably will.

One of the things I love about Aaron is his ability to communicate the important points, to touch on hard to express subjects and be generally steadfast in his delivery. There is also his resolve. It's the kind I love to sleep next to at night, though it means that I will have to cherish that while I can--Aaron rarely if ever backs out on his word.

There was a bit more said, and some blurry eyes, but it was a mild and purposeful conversation. There was never any strife, just a kind of silent convergence of thought and acceptance. As comforting and without so many useless words as ever. I mean, there were people abuzz all around us--it's not like the room fell literally quiet, and even we continued to talk. But I felt we had an innate understanding, and as we let the room continue to fill up with so much talk it was soon time to leave.

The outside air was nice, and it helped a few thoughts to emerge from the recesses: I love him,

which, i suppose really means knowing how to say goodbye.

It has to happen sometime, and I would much rather it be purposeful, meaningful...with personal agency.

I mean, it's going to be so trying, but what would it mean it if it weren't?

Dana's House of Spite

2010-09-27T15:32:00.000-07:00

Dana has a new blog! Hurray for Autumnal musings, and Musey Autumns:

http://spitehousetour.blogspot.com/

Airborn Wasteland

2010-08-05T11:43:00.000-07:00

Seafair is such a wasteful imposition.

The end.

The Archivist

2010-08-04T02:52:00.001-07:00

Email archives are neat. Every conversation is like reading a novel about two individuals you don't know. Who are these people and why is one or the the other (or, why are they both) so different than they are now? How are they the same?

To me, it seems that temporal proximity deadens subjectivity. My friend Dana often sites the possibility of a lessening in useless or misplaced emotion as one of the perks to look forward to as we grow old. Despite tons of evidence to the contrary, I can actually see this, as it's very odd/interesting how even a day or a week can multiply the level of objectivity with which you perceive even your own actions. Have humans ever really had this efficient of a chance for self study, or the examination/re-examination of those around us then with this kind of up to the minute archiving?

I recently went over an infographic breaking down the amount of time a person spends doing certain activities in a lifetime, such as sleeping (28 years!), eating, sitting on the toilet and so on until you reach the very unlikely case of months spent writing a very large novel. Did you know that the average person spends two years socializing (and I am pretty sure this means in person, maybe at a party, possibly holding a red plastic cup, half empty...or...full?). This kind of a breakdown makes me wonder how much time the average person will spend reading and sending emails, or rereading specific strings of existing virtual dialogue. How many interactions are relived once, twice or more?

Also, how is each instance different than the last? Emotions die for sure, but what about the perceived intonation? One sentence seemed far less angry to me in one instance, while another sounded altogether comical: oddly deadpan. Each revisit is like dropping a pebble after pebble into a slowly freezing vat of gelatin. Fewer waves. Lessening movement. Soon to be static.

On a side note:
For me, this is kind of a timely meditation, as it comes on the heels of a sudden obliteration of old friendship--a friendship that remained, at least in my mind, in a kind of stasis--trapped in an archive. As I think of it now, it would seem that the last point of contact before the final point of contact was probably an email. To that effect, the terminal point of contact was likewise an email.

My mind, the ever spacial information flood, wants to imagine this in tangible terms: each email, from inception to completion, as points on a weird spiked line--or a series of overlapping lines--plug in your x and y values as you please:

X=time in years/months

y=humor content

y1=verbosity

y2=appreciation

y3=frequency of youtube links shared

y4=frankness of discussion

y5=emotional content

y5=seriousness of subtext

You could color code the varying y values and then, "viola!" a relationship that's fit to print.

Of course, much like the human mind only perceives .04 percent (or something close to this) of the matter that surrounds us, so would this exercise ultimately fail in capturing the true nature and essence of such a huge deluge of exchange, the bulk of which actually happened outside of the world in which I now communicate to you, and often complicated by third, fourth, fifth parties, and on and on to the 100th.

So, if you imagine a cyan line, crossing over a yellow line, both crossed over by a magenta line, each on their way towards the next point in virtual communication space, the space made inside is what we can never recreate. If you imagine this to be the perfect metaphor, which it isn't, then you could probably throw y6 through y80, each line with it's own unique color over the same moment in time and still have an empty white space left staring you in the face.

BUT
What happens if you start deleting points? Point by point, space expands, leaving your unreliable recall to do the work--that line was green and it went
over the
red,
kind of like "this?" and it stood for "level of support," but crossed over the sinking blue line, y55, which illustrated a decline in certain key words (openness), but even with them there, there were huge holes already. I wonder what happened in those spaces? So much subjectivity.

This is precisely why you shouldn't delete your archive.
This is precisely why you should delete your archive.

I, out of eye-rolling frustration deleted that final point, forever changing the shape of how our virtual friendship comes to a close. On paper, it appears that I sent a couple of messages out into the ether and never received a reply. I suppose it would be nice to review at some point years down the road, if I were think to, but then again...

In all reality I could probably delete the whole of my gmail account, or facebook profile, or Flickr archive, or Twitter tweets, or MySpace page (or possibly the actual domain in its entirety) and suffer very little from it. I would probably have more time to sleep, eat, expel and maybe even a few more days to put towards writing that very large book.

I could also put more hours towards that two years or so that I have to spend of real interaction.

The Archivist

2010-08-04T02:48:00.001-07:00

Email archives are neat. Every conversation is like reading a novel about two individuals you don't know. Who are these people and why is one or the the other (or, why are they both) so different than they are now? How are they the same?

To me, it seems that temporal proximity deadens subjectivity. My friend Dana often sites the possibility of a lessening in useless or misplaced emotion as one of the perks to look forward to as we grow old. Despite tons of evidence to the contrary, I can actually see this, as it's very odd/interesting how even a day or a week can multiply the level of objectivity with which you perceive even your own actions. Have humans ever really had this efficient of a chance for self study, or the examination/re-examination of those around us then with this kind of up to the minute archiving?

I recently went over an infographic breaking down the amount of time a person spends doing certain activities in a lifetime, such as sleeping (28 years!), eating, sitting on the toilet and so on until you reach the very unlikely case of months spent writing a very large novel. Did you know that the average person spends two years socializing (and I am pretty sure this means in person, maybe at a party, possibly holding a red plastic cup, half empty...or...full?). This kind of a breakdown makes me wonder how much time the average person will spend reading and sending emails, or rereading specific strings of existing virtual dialogue. How many interactions are relived once, twice or more?

Also, how is each instance different than the last? Emotions die for sure, but what about the perceived intonation? One sentence seemed far less angry to me in one instance, while another sounded altogether comical: oddly deadpan. Each revisit is like dropping a pebble after pebble into a slowly freezing vat of gelatin. Fewer waves. Lessening movement. Soon to be static.

On a side note:
For me, this is kind of a timely meditation, as it comes on the heels of a sudden obliteration of old friendship--a friendship that remained, at least in my mind, in a kind of stasis--trapped in an archive. As I think of it now, it would seem that the last point of contact before the final point of contact was probably an email. To that effect, the terminal point of contact was likewise an email.

My mind, the ever spacial information flood, wants to imagine this in tangible terms: each email, from inception to completion, as points on a weird spiked line--or a series of overlapping lines--plug in your x and y values as you please:

X=time in years/months

y=humor content

y1=verbosity

y2=appreciation

y3=frequency of youtube links shared

y4=frankness of discussion

y5=emotional content

y5=seriousness of subtext

You could color code the varying y values and then, "viola!" a relationship that's fit to print.

Of course, much like the human mind only perceives .04 percent (or something close to this) of the matter that surrounds us, so would this exercise ultimately fail in capturing the true nature and essence of such a huge deluge of exchange, the bulk of which actually happened outside of the world in which I now communicate to you, and often complicated by third, fourth, fifth parties, and on and on to the 100th.

So, if you imagine a cyan line, crossing over a yellow line, both crossed over by a magenta line, each on their way towards the next point in virtual communication space, the space made inside is what we can never recreate. If you imagine this to be the perfect metaphor, which it isn't, then you could probably throw y6 through y80, each line with it's own unique color over the same moment in time and still have an empty white space left staring you in the face.

BUT
What happens if you start deleting points? Point by point, space expands, leaving your unreliable recall to do the work--that line was green and it went
over the
red,
kind of like "this?" and it stood for "level of support," but crossed over the sinking blue line, y55, which illustrated a decline in certain key words (openness), but even with them there, there were huge holes already. I wonder what happened in those spaces? So much subjectivity.

This is precisely why you shouldn't delete your archive.
This is precisely why you shouldn't delete your archive.

I, out of eye-rolling frustration deleted that final point, forever changing the shape of how our virtual friendship comes to a close. On paper, it appears that I sent a couple of messages out into the ether and never received a reply. I suppose it would be nice to review at some point years down the road, if I were think to, but then again...

In all reality I could probably delete the whole of my gmail account, or facebook profile, or Flickr archive, or Twitter tweets, or MySpace page (or possibly the actual domain in its entirety) and suffer very little from it. I would probably have more time to sleep, eat, expel and maybe even a few more days to put towards writing that very large book.

I could also put more hours towards that two years or so that I have to spend of real interaction.

Ha!

2010-05-25T17:55:00.000-07:00

"Whatever it is, it's twenty times heavier than a boot!"

"ohhhhhh..."

The Dog on the Freeway

2010-05-20T15:38:00.001-07:00

The furrows. The gaping maw. The fish-eyed glassy look of terror. These are the visual cues that will help you identify the mutant-transfer-Junior/Senior/Sophmore Cornish motion design student as he or she approaches the end of spring semester. This oddity is a veritable chimera of design principles (in varying degrees of good and bad), academic sensibility and (mostly/almost entirely) self-determination. Also, it likely has the worst posture of anyone else who sits for long hours upon chairs so ergonomic as to be inversely ineffective when combined with the abnormally low and quickly decomposing desks. Generally mammalian, it would appear that this creature, though treading brave and unconventional shorelines of disciplinary evolution, has not yet developed a resistance to the tried and tested infections that plague the overworked.

Looking to leap over the dividing line between "slow and steady wins the race" and "I can't afford too many 30,000 dollar drops in the bucket," this creature from a distance appears to suffer as such. It's a disease I would like to describe as "Dog on the Freeway Syndrome." It's acute, terminal and resistant to all forms of medication and is contracted much easier from communal design settings and fluorescent living. It makes me think of a kind of Black Mold for the soul, and that there is definitely something growing in the walls of Cornish, though for the life of me I can't figure out how I have survived it thus far. I suppose I may be doing something right, and leaning heavily on my fellow leapfroggers for support may just be the trick; though whether or not the MAC Truck of institutional pressure, or the 18 wheels of cultivated, cumulative and entirely unclear expectation finally get to dash my spirit in chunks along the dividing line remains to be seen. As for now, all I can do is alternatingly leap and then remain perfectly, ass-clinchingly still, all while grabbing at scraps as they are tossed from the surrounding din. It works for now I suppose. And it also doesn't.

SO much to do!

2010-02-23T09:23:00.000-08:00

Ack! I am about to embark on two major animation projects, a non-profit branding effort with Sean, mock-portfolio review on Thurday, I have to get ready for the 123 show and prepare my work for the scholarship contest. Aside from that, I need to keep researching private scholarships, get a reel together to start applying for internships, and I need to keep up on my other assignments for the rest of my classes. Bleh!

Oh, yeah, and I am going to Pittsburgh in March.

This is how I feel right now:

(genuine good)

2010-02-19T12:39:00.000-08:00

He may think it's not much--or is the proper way to say it, "isn't much?" Well, he could tell me; however, the point is, he accentuates every purposefully dropped article, every facetiously placed "scowl," every balsa wood panda (still needing assembly...eh??), every minute of unwavering consistency, directness and assurance, and every moment of sardonic wit and keenly hilarious analysis with a perfect moment of parenthetical ease, set in skilled measure from cheek to cheek. If each tooth were a figure, ligature, letter or sign the sum would still speak without words or syllables; volumes and volumes of invisible text and I'm just barely clearing the preface.

At Home with the Ick and...

2010-01-26T11:26:00.000-08:00

~~Hyena Camp is next door~~...Day Care is next door.

Maroon Banshee Song

2010-01-12T22:37:00.001-08:00

Oh my gosh.
I am currently making plans to stay in bed all day.
ALL DAY.
Here is why:

It is approximately 8:30 am, and we wake up to what at first sounds like a loud bird cry that suddenly quits. Then it squeals out again, this time sounding much more like a woman being any of the following in varying combinations:

-assaulted
-chased
-beaten
-systematically deprived of her loved ones
-slowly run over

I instantly look over at Aaron, who's also awake at this point and say
"Is that a woman? What is going on? Oh my gosh."
"Yeah. That's a screaming woman. Umm...what...." his eyes are sleepy and yet huge.

"Here then, dutiful Raul, is that moment you often hear, or read about," says my fuzzy 8:30 am interior monologue. "Are you going to be the neighbor who does NOTHING?"

Absolutely not.

I look ridiculous, wearing a button up shirt along with my little red soccer shorts, nothing on my feet, phone in-hand and meandering down the wet sidewalk. I pass the house next door where I stop to see a middle-aged couple loading their underdressed--almost entirely naked--child into their van, carrying him sideways like a burdensome piece of luggage. He is approximately 3 years of age, lucid though oddly quiet, especially considering his shifting orientation.

It's 8:35 am and this does not quite compute.

"Is everything okay out here?" I ask.
"Umm. yes, It's fine." The father says, though I read this as,

"I want coffee. And a plane ticket, I wonder what time I should swing by the cleaners beforehand." and this confuses me.
Why are these people so calmly loading their naked son into a van when a woman is being audibly waterboarded in a garage nearby!? Then it dawns on me.

"Oh...umm, was there a...who? Was that your kid...a moment ago?"

"Yes, that was...our child."

For me, in this moment, it's a strange scene--the very kind of scene that makes perfect sense at 4:40 pm after lunch and a coffee, but at 8:30 in the frazzled morning ends up looking more like a tragically bizarre kind of suburban pieta, or maybe worse. Where are they taking that small child? Is it dying? Are they responsible? Are they REALLY it's parents? Are they? hmmmmm...

But it slowly comes together: the mother and child, she, adorned in a respectable maroon office frock, the young one...as stated before, not, were in the subsiding tides of a tsunami sized tantrum. The father found no recourse but to stand idly by, a possible buffer between the banshee child and the inevitable inquiring neighbor or neighbors.

But of course, what do I look like to them?

The maroon clad mother finishes entombing her child in the matching van and, while the rest of my faculties have finally arrived at the reality of the past 5 minutes, the area of my brain that houses basic tact had clearly stayed in bed, blissfully unaware.

"Okay..Okay. Phew. That's a relief. 'Cause you know, that sounded like a woman SCREAMING. A DYING WOMAN..." Now, my intention here was to explain, rather than to criticize, as if to say,

"Now listen for just a moment, good family, this here is why I am traipsing about barefoot in little red shorts, collecting the morning mist while frantically clutching a phone,"

not,

"Dear god in heaven, how on earth do you manage to get that kid to do anything but attack things and gather meat?"

The father seemed to think I implied the latter sentiment, lowering his head slightly before saying, "Nope. It's just our child."

I turn around and head home, finally remembering that, while still a relatively new installation, we actually now live next door to a day care center. Of course we do.

I am now on the porch, still barefoot and now locked out of the house, fumbling to call Aaron to let me in, though I stall when I first hear and then see the Maroon Mother pass along our front fence, her tightly cropped grey hair bouncing along.

Did she just make a noise? I wonder.

Again: "blulahoo."

Yes, she definitely blubbered, this time as she climbed into a second family vehicle, a likewise Maroon hatchback Something or Other, parked directly in front of the house.

"She is about to cry!" I think, and upon shutting the door she not only cries, but has a visibly impassioned fit of hysterical bawling, striking the steering wheel and placing her face into her hands. screaming.

Oh dear lord. It's only tuesday people!

Is? Is this my fault? What did I do wrong? My intention as I raced out of my house as though it were on fire, was to save a possibly dying and/or dismembered woman. Instead I find myself upsetting the sensibly dressed mother of a possibly autistic child.

"Aaron, I am locked out. Please let me in."

The morning is capped off with him opening the front door and me scrambling into the warm and sane living room. On a side note, though I have promised not to divulge much in the way of details, I will say that Aaron's on-the-fly choice of cover barely surpassed my own it terms of the inappropriate/ridiculous, and I half wish that he had followed me out into the cold morning air, just to accentuate.

Leaving the woman to strangle the remaining of her vehicle's interior, we returned to bed.

Maroon Banshee Song

2010-01-12T16:45:00.001-08:00

"Oh...umm, was there a...who? Was that your kid...a moment ago?"

"Okay..Okay. Phew. That's a relief. 'Cause you know, that sounded like a woman SCREAMING. A DYING WOMAN..." Now, my intention here was to explain, rather than to criticize, as if to say,

"Now listen for just a moment, good family, this here is why I am traipsing about barefoot in little red shorts, collecting the morning mist while frantically clutching a phone,"

not,

"Dear god in heaven, how on earth do you manage to get that kid to do anything but attack things and gather meat?"

The father seemed to think I implied the latter sentiment, lowering his head slightly before saying, "Nope. It's just our child."

Did she just make a noise? I wonder.

Again: "blulahoo."

Yes, she definitely blubbered, this time as she climbed into a second family vehicle, a likewise Maroon hatchback Something or Other, parked directly in front of the house.

Leaving the woman to strangle the remaining of her vehicle's interior, we returned to bed.

Stop time and watch:

2009-12-03T14:45:00.000-08:00

Two Weeks - Grizzly Bear from Gabe Askew on Vimeo.

This is worth posting everywhere, let alone spending the six minutes it takes to watch it twice. Beautiful.

2009-12-02T01:36:00.000-08:00

Man, I have listened to this Radiohead song for years.

It's a good one:

Red wine and sleeping pills
Help me get back to your arms
Cheap sex and sad films
Help me get where I belong

I think you're crazy, maybe
I think you're crazy, maybe

Stop sending letters
Letters always get burned
It's not like the movies
They fed us on little white lies

I think you're crazy, maybe
I think you're crazy, maybe

I will see you in the next life

Follow up.

2009-11-29T07:37:00.000-08:00

And then there is this:

The Admirable Admiral's Academy for Seafaring Youth

2009-11-06T13:02:00.001-08:00

The Admirable Admiral's Sea-l of Approval

It has been sometime since I last updated, and have in the interim been astoundingly busy in school. Because of Cornish's attempts at my life, I have emerged with a lot of great stuff for my reel/portfolio. I have one animation, Orpheus, that is shaping up to be one of the best things I have done so far, among a bunch of other type in motion style pieces--an old style informative piece on Rockwell for example. The latest piece to be filmed is the Admirable Admiral's Academy for Seafaring Youth: A short, two-minute animation mixing watercolor assets/environments and live action--eventually I would like to use mostly stop motion when I have the time, but for now, After Effects is a friend indeed.

I want it to be incredibly fun. Fun. Plain and simple.

Wish me luck.

Boweling

2009-08-19T19:34:00.001-07:00

A few words on group activities:

Whenever it happens I die a little on the inside: A choice group of friends (but more often co-workers) manages to defy the odds and actually plan to assemble in one place--I imagine a bunch of silver marbles tenuously huddled on one of those tilty wooden labyrinths--the site is designated along with the decided activity.

Drumrollllll please!

Bowling.

(or, less frequently planned upon but similarly aggravating, Poo(l)...Bulliards...whatever).

I suppose my beef here isn't with league bowling, or organized bowling for "sport" (however, I tend to regard sporty activities as those that raise your heart rate past the level of Turtle, Food Coma Panda, or Grooming Cat, and bring it ever closer to that fat killing level of Lawnmower Rabbit), but maybe more with what you would call recreational bowling.

I am so disenchanted; though, I couldn't have ever been so seriously won over by anything so brilliant as advanced ball rolling. And while I have watched quizzically as all ten hopes and aspirations for an engaging evening have been dashed into their gutter resting place, I have done so with not much tear shedding.

Before I get into why I hate bowling so much, I might let you know that the first thing I do when arriving at any number of bowling allies in any number of the small or large cities I have ever been to is look for the arcade. It doesn't matter who I am with--it could be a Sufjan Steven's b-day bash hosted by the Pixies and catered by Brad Bird--the arcade is the first thing I look for and damn it if the results don't ever vary. Bowling alley arcades are like the Shriner's club wasteland of derelict electronic entertainment. If these dirty, sticky, hazy-screened machines could say anything more than "bleep," "boop," or "pyooom" I believe their words would speak volumes to the heart of anyone who has, or has had a grandparent left to shifty-eyed convalescent care.

Dusty and subject to grease misting.

Which brings me to my next point.

Bowling cuisine [sic] (there is no way to spell this phrase and have it be technically accurate.

99 percent of everything you can purchase and put in your mouth at 99.99 percent of the allies I have ever been to is

a) really not supporting your body's interest in lasting much longer than whatever it is you are eating can stay crispy.

b) a different shade of the same color...even things normally known as "lettuce."

c) persistent in coating everything within a 100 foot radius in its essence, and

1) seriously destined in part or residue to find its way into every little finger hole in the place.

This in turn takes us full circle to the filthy little lysol coated minutiae of the act itself, and how you had better make sure you don't get strong-armed into a bowl-o-rama fest on a warm, summery, sandal clad evening.

I don't know...am I being dramatic?

I feel ill at ease every time that blast of disinfectant spreads before me like an unjustifiably smug d-list magician's smoke screen. Those counter lurkers always act like they are doing you such favors, what with the backdrop cubby wall of tan and pleather offerings...but they can't fool me. I can see through their haze and into the past, for it is actually the present, it's all around me, and I know where that shoe has been. Not to mention its filthy stepbrother.

And then there are balls. Oh balls!! Frustrating balls. Oh Balls!: I am convinced bowling is why we say this. I don't believe I have ever been able to stick with the same ball through an entire game. They always manage to betray and disappoint with their various sizes, weights, their shifting hole width and distancing.

I will admit that I am the constant here, and that my hands may need adjustment, much as my form needs perfecting (ahem). And it is true that they can be as pretty and enticing as large candy sweet things, all shiny like for to eat and stuff. But damn the finger holes. Damn them damn them straight to rotten spot worm hole hell.

Yes those balls are pretty--yet I couldn't imagine a more horrifying end to your supermodel date than discovering that he or she indeed has three greasy sphincters on the back of his or her head. Go ahead, reach in for that sweet alley kiss. guh.

And me without my hand sanitizer. Always.

Honestly, the next time my friends manage to drag my ass to a bowling alley I am going to show up in a Purel soaked fire blanket.

2009-08-14T11:01:00.001-07:00

Test.

At the Hospice

2009-06-08T17:45:00.001-07:00

So, I have been volunteering at an AIDS Hospice near my home for the last few months, and have yet to really share much of the experience until now. My shifts are always on Sundays, last about 2-3 hours and are sandwiched between my two Sunday shifts at the Vet clinic. This last Sunday I somehow managed to get hit particularly hard by the nature of my time spent there, and described this in an email to a friend:

Today involved getting by on little sleep, but i made it in to Bailey, the AIDS hospice near my home, for my weekly volunteer shift. I had my usual chat with "Crawford," (confidentiality imparts in me the need to offer up a pseudonym) a patient with AIDS related dementia, which means he is in a constant state of forgetfulness, but I can tell that the visits help to reactivate his brain a little bit. His situation is pretty sobering when I fist get there, and is so on a weekly basis--he usually just looks kind of lost, which is hard to see after having left him the week before in a much more lucid state, but after about fifteen minutes of persistent conversation and questions however, he really brightens up and starts to remember things--lots of things--at which point the conversation really takes off. Today we had an extended conversation about drag queens that involved everything from nomenclature (Sharon Needles, Wilma Fingerdo, Helena Handbasket, Shi Shi Whatever etc) to actual Drag Queen Pageantry:

"What is Miss Gay USA @ Large?" I asked.
"Those are the kinds of drag queens you'd have a hard time gettin'
around to...well you'd have a hard time gettin' around them in
general. Big girls with thighs as big as you..."
"Miss Gay USA Classic?"
"Oh. They are drag queens of a more matronly nature"

Boy.
He really loves himself the drag queens. We also talked about animals and the power that they hold over us. Things such as inherent goodness, uncomplicated love and unwavering attentiveness to the most basic of human emotional needs.

But mostly we laughed our asses off about drag shows, bar-hopping and dancing. If I could ever buy Crawford a drink it would decidedly be a "double L.I.T." though I am not sure how a double of something already inherently tripled would work...other than dangerously.

Regardless, Crawford is a sincere hoot, describing everything from the wag of a tail to the warm sun and even our weekly visits as "powerfully good," and I really value the time I get to spend with him.

After spending about an hour and a half chatting with C, I took a stroll through the halls, stopping by the meditation room on the second floor. Every now and then it seems to invite me in.

The Meditation Room (I suppose it should be capitalized in the proper sense) is a place for anyone who is at Bailey (patients, staff, volunteers, visitors) who would like to have a moment of quiet reflection. It's essentially a little room with a stained glass window and lots of inspirational, non-denominationally spiritual artwork and decorations, as well as a lot of natural items like driftwood, pebbles etc. collected throughout the years.

The centerpiece of this room though is a large large branch of a tree that is mounted upon one of the walls and decorated with a veritable moss-like covering of things: Pictures, cards, writings, emails, ribbons, knick-knacks. The first time I encountered the room, I wasn't sure what it was for other than a place of peace and prayer, but I soon discovered that it is a very purposeful room meant to honor all those who have passed under the watchful care of the facility, as well as the nature of the hangings. The cards are from loved ones, the knick knacks are sometimes personal affects, the pictures are generally of the deceased in question, and if nothing else (usually not the case) each person is remembered by a single polaroid snapshot, usually taken in their beds, and seemingly during the last few days of their lives.

It's this last that really kind of threw me the first time I encountered one of them and realized what I was looking at. My initial reaction was very visceral--a reaction to the aesthetic:
an image, washed-out in quality in the way that only a polaroid can claim. Odd, uneven color saturation and moments of contrast that kind of emphasize the worn color of each person's skin against the darks of their hair. The subject almost, but not always, universally posed, often times with eyes closed, mouth agape, with or without tubes.
And at the bottom a date, hand written in ball point pen.

This may be obvious to say but these are often so overwhelmingly painful to look at.

Today my time in the room was both different and similar to previous visits. In a little basket with the word "remember" placed on it were 4 or 5 new pictures, waiting to be hung I assume, and waiting for their acommpanying mementos. Two of these were familiar faces--not anyone I had visited with at length, but still a couple of people that I recognized and wondered about from time to time. One of them was a small Asian American man whos room I would routinely pass. Over the past few months he was always in his bed and always with family members nearby it seemed. Another picture was of a a tall, bearded Caucasian man in his 50's, up right and alert in his bed clad in a hospital gown--he looked gaunt, but very much still full of life and I remembered saying hello to him on occassion on my way through the halls. They had both passed within the last two weeks.

Seeing them there made me wonder at so many things. I mean first of all, the question that begged the loudest for an answer is "Are they really gone?" It seemed like such a first stage question, but I felt "How can I not ask myself that question?" Other questions, not really needing to be vocalized, were present nonetheless. There were just so many questions.

Over on the branch was a card that a husband sent in after his wife passed that described his relationship to her passing in metaphor:

A ship moving toward the horizon, referred to in the traditional maritime "she," sails away from the docks, growing smaller to the denizens of the beach but only in matter of perception, as this thought invariably leads to the conclusion that somewhere, a ship...THE ship..."she..." would be arriving and growing larger in approach to those on an assumed opposing shore. The story of course stops there.

A little cheesy...but then again not at all, given the harsh context, the accompanying snapshot. Her last hello.

His wife the ship.

I am to assume that it's a vessel built for one...and while remaining functional until those last moments, it gets old, it creaks, the colors fade, desaturated, and I suppose it eventually has to rely on the wind to get where it's going.

The card made the pictures a little easier to deal with in some ways, though the obvious pain, the overt waiting communicated in many of them, not so much. But still, not all of them reflect this kind of existence. Some show joy. Smiles. Laughter. All that stuff. All of that "powerfully good" stuff.

I don't know...it's hard to figure, but I think the unmitigated reality of that room has a purpose:

To show that, even in those last days when the body gives, when skin fades and loses its luster, when you have nothing to do but wait and those around you have nothing but decisions, you are still connected to something essential, something beyond the physical definition of everything.

Even when it goes? Something is always there?

Life is a harsh picture sometimes. Questions. No answers. Lots of evidence. Esoteric instructions. But I felt the reasoning in there, because the funny thing is if you take a step back from the indivual faces--all of those little windows into waiting rooms and well used beds--and just take it in, the branch, and the cards, ribbons, papers, every last hard earned final shot. The stuff. It really is a beautiful thing. I mean really. Almost sublime and certainly intense.

But intensely pretty.

Maybe I shouldn't let it get to me...but moments like these tend to color my days even if infrequently. I suppose I should just keep doing what I can, while I can do it, and while I still have the capacity to learn.

Writing this made me laugh and feel a little better.

2009-06-02T12:34:00.001-07:00

When we last left our young explorer, he had abandoned his computer, screen still flashing with the glow of unfinished business and windows looking into interrupted conversations. Barefoot (and yet oddly unpregnant), shoes and socks in hand, he was suddenly running down the street to catch that last bus that would take him to visit a good friend for the last time before that friend's trip back to the wilds of inner Asia, where he would not be heard from in-person for another unforeseen length of time. Though the quick nature of this poor jet-lagged friend's visit had made for an extremely difficult and arduous process for our young barefoot runner, he had weathered much worse and his feet were still up to the task (barefoot walking has treated him well in the past) of extending themselves in spite of mistreatment.

They met! Well, the young runner and the bus that is. No, he was not physically struck by the bus...but the bus did have the most impeccable of timing, and some would say an odd amount of punctuality for the number 11, which, according to the quick glance at the trip planner before the runner found himself falling up the stairs and out the front door of the house, would magically become the northbound 125, ultimately taking the runner to a sterile and understocked hotel lobby in Edmonds. That was the plan.

It wasn't until about a half an hour later that the Runner found his slowly developing assumptions to be true, assumptions intrinsically tied to a sense of direction honed through years as a pizza delivery driver: He was going south. This was oddly surprising, as the trajectory of the day itself was pretty much everywhere but Up, though the bus driver herself did manage to find a fair amount of levity in the situation, laughing as the runner stepped off of the bus and into somewhere, WA.

He was pretty sure he was in West Seattle. A place the Crazy that was (most of the time) asleep at the next bus stop certainly called home. The Runner checked the time on his phone, which was located just to the left of the wasted battery life meter. It was decided. He would just go the fuck home and then to bed.

And so it was done, but not quickly. His cat appreciated the effort, but was thankful to have the leg-defined area of his normal resting spot back for the night, and even the birds outside were still singing the praises of a day that somehow managed to defy all expectations, leaving the runner to slowly sink lower than usual into his plastic bed as the air beneath abandoned him for higher places.

Spooky Scary

2009-06-02T09:17:00.001-07:00

I sang the Werewolf Bah-Mitzvah Song at work today and was the only one who thought it was funny.

But I'm cool with that I suppose.

2009-06-01T18:13:00.001-07:00

lamer.

2009-06-01T18:07:00.001-07:00

lame.

Like a Bee

2009-05-18T09:50:00.000-07:00

Holy crap yesterday was busy busy busy!! I can't believe how much I got done/had to do:

1. Woke up (got out of bed, ran a comb across my head).

2. Walked my ass to work, got there on time before 9am, where I fed watered, walked and medicated (if needed) 5 cats and a huge dog. Seriously, that dog is crazy and produced about a 1/2 pound for me to pick up while on the walk.

3. Walked home, stopping at a garage sale in Madison to check out the overpriced crap. Left feeling relieved.

4. Made it home, started laundry, mowed the lawn, put the laundry in the dryer.

5. Went on a run, checked out the YMCA near here to see if it would do--no rowing machine....boo! Finished my run there on the treadmill. Nice treadmills!

6. Jogged home, showered, put the laundry away, cut up a shirt or two.

7. Went to coffee with DaNana, but didn't stay for too long.

8 Ran across the street from the cafe to Bailey for my shift. Chatted with patients for about 2 hours.

9. Walked back to work. Los animales once again!!

10. Got a call from Sue about heading over to Golden Gardens in a Zip Car.

11. Walked home from work, changed, cut my finger with an x-acto knife, walked down Madison, bandaged.

12. Met up with Sue and her friend from Philly. Drove to Golden Gardens where there were some Cornish kids havin a BBQ. Went from there to the Gasworks Park/Hill. Then to South Union Grill (SLUG).

13. Sue drove me home. I passed the fuck out.

oh my. Today is my day off. Fer real.

Plausibility

2009-03-20T21:07:00.001-07:00

I am picturing a scene:

"Hey dad."

"Yes son?"

"Do you remember the time when you got really mad at Lydia because she really wanted to watch Dick Van Dyke, but you wanted us to do our homework?"

"Hmmm...lemmie think..."

"Oh come on. You were like,

'Time to strengthen those minds, it's homework time'

and she was like,

'Yeah, but after Dick Van Dyke,'

and you put your foot down and was all,

'NO...now.'

But she was still like

'No...after Dick Van Dyke...we ALWAYS watch Dick Van Dyke'

and then you turned off the tv and threw the remote in the fish tank?"

"Oh yeah! I do remember that...heh heh."

"Haha. Yeah."

Time to Up Your Date.

2009-03-09T21:14:00.000-07:00

Ahoy!

So here is the latest news on the Raul front! I just recently acquired this pretty baby:

Though it may sound like hyperbole, I must say I do believe it has changed my life. Never before have I had such a fast, sleek and out of control computer as this--my work time has been chopped down severely.

Letsee.

I am currently on Spring Break and came into breakland with the following checklist:

Format desktop/streamline data

Update Resume

Update Website

Apply for part-time work

Apply for Scholarships

Go on a fast
Learn InDesign/After Effects/bone up on CS4 apps

So far I have accomplished the following:

Formatted and organized desktop/continuing to fine tune my mac

Color Calibration has made a difference on the lappy for sure.

Applied for work, and have acquired an interview scheduled for tomorrow

Have begun my fast

Finished volunteer orientation at the aids hospice.

sigh...so much to do still...

wee...

SPRING Breeaak...*meekly waves flag*

2009-02-12T10:50:00.000-08:00

Quite possibly the only banner ad in the history of banner ads that has made me laugh out loud.

Hair Today...

2009-01-16T15:25:00.000-08:00

I was sitting at my desk, and suddenly,
"Grahhhhhhh!"
That about sums it up. I couldn't handle my hair anymore, didn't want to wait 2 weeks to get a really nice haircut, nor was I willing to pay for one.

Also, check out my first really visible gray hair! Yup.

Up to Date Info on Everyone's Favorite Braggart

2009-01-10T12:28:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends and Family,

Today I bring you an update on the happenings--the life and times of Raul--and I promise not to ramble.

Firstly, Dana, Joanie and I have been moved in and settled in our new place for about two weeks and we absolutely love the house and the area. We now live just east of Capitol Hill in the Seattle Metro region known as Madison Park and have lovingly occupied a 3 bedroom two bath home that is warm AND cozy. We are a block away from a nice little boulevard complete with cafes, overpriced bistros, creepy consignment shops and crepy creperies, many of which are probably adorned with white Christmas lights all year round. It's basically like living on a fruit strip (har har), but it is lovely. Also, I am finally on a consistent internet connection for the first time in about two months. It was like living on 1/4 lung capacity for a while there.

Next up is School, for which there is a buttload (don't ask me to quantify that, just know that it's a lot) of good news. At this point I have squared everything away over at Cornish in terms of acceptance, financing, orientation, credit transfer, scheduling and work study.
Bullet Points:
-I was granted an Institutional Scholarship!! hurray for money!
-All humanities and science credits have transferred over from the UO
-I have been opted out of two fundemantals classes, and given the option to test out of two more
-I am very close to having a work study job lined up working with the image curator in the library. This position is about 15 hours a week and consisits of image editing and learning how to photograph/create slides--usefull skills.
-I may be able to finish in two and a half years!

Orientation was super informative (it actually was) and fun. Every administrator I have met so far is super friendly, amazingly helpful and very accessible. There was one very boring and redundant financial aid seminar that was mandatory (bleh), but we got breakfast, a delicious lunch with the department heads, and a dinner out all covered by the school. The rest of my group all went out for a movie and desert, but I opted out so I could hang out with Dana on her way back from the doctor.

I start classes on Monday and feel like I am on the verge of a nosebleed every second of the day until then, due mostly to a combination of excitment and nervousness. I really want nothing more than to be in school already and to spend the entire weekend doing nothing but homework.

O_O
It's true.

So my plan at this point is to work my ass off as it never has been before, finish up my BFA in motion design while hopefully snagging an internship at somewhere nifty and local (Digital Kitchen anyone? I can dream right?). And then work for a little bit to save money and scout out the best option for MFA programs, wherever they may be.

And that is all for now. There are many pictures to post, and I will do them shortly. Also, I plan on completing a couple of promised favors this weekend before school consumes me. These include:

-Alex's tattoo, which he may or may not even want at this point.
-Pictures compiled to be mailed to Minkie and Eric of their Union Extravaganze. LOVE!!
-Pictures sent for Brandy and Eric of Goodbye Karaoke

Yup. Keep an eye out. Thanks for stopping by, and have a nice weekend.

-Raulph

Shiit

2009-01-10T12:19:00.000-08:00

It looks like I am going to have break down and get a Mac here fairly soon.

:/

Apparently IBM is just not chic enough...But really, I am completely not surprised at the program's requirements. What I am not quite sure about yet is how I am supposed to pay for one.

Blerg.

Of Sleeplessness, Cells and Mighty Chondria

2008-12-16T01:19:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking a lot about the city and its weird biology: movements, synthesis and waste. If each of us is a cell, or a cellular component even, what kind would you or I be?

Am a white blood cell, out for "blood" and all for the greater good? That seems a bit too socially thoughtful, and also dangerously corruptible for my taste. I would probably end up reporting to the Leukemia Precinct with a truckload of contraband oxygen units hidden away at home in my garage.

Am I maybe a Red Blood cell--life-giver extraordinaire? Man, that seems like a tall order and really quite grunt-worky, but I do have a lot of job experience.

I could be an axon or a dendrite, but my overall IQ and general knowledge may not be up to snuff for that kind of an occupation. Maybe if I was localized in the creative center.

Components.

I suppose I have the capacity to put up with people's crap, so to speak, and am relatively good at cleansing relationships, so Golgi Apparatus could be in the running.

I am way not kick-ass cool enough to be a Mitochondria so I am not even going to go there.

Maybe I am some form of messenger RNA...but that's dangerous too, cause I would be tempted to write my own little piece of fun along the way. We would end up with four unicorn heads and the ability to light things on fire while dying of severe chronic eczema.

Who knows. I am tired.

Question: So who or what in the hell is a Nucleus?
Zeitgeist? Fuhrer?
Mob mentality?
Transcendentalism?
Oprah?

Biden takes a bite out of dog abandonment...er, no...he just plain bites...

2008-12-15T12:44:00.000-08:00

"He is a true dog lover," said the Breeder (which actually qualifies as a derogatory term in this case) from whom Biden purchased his pure bred German Shepherd puppy.

Oh give me a break lady.

Disarraygun.com - Blog - Dual Posting: Raven Over Yonder

2008-12-14T17:29:00.000-08:00

This is a mock-up of Alex's requested tattoo design. I think it's looking pretty good. We'll see what he thinks...

Today's News

2008-12-11T14:42:00.001-08:00

Well, first off, I received my acceptance packet from Cornish today which is very good news and very exciting. After a little celebratory opening of the envelope with Dana, I made my way over to the school to turn in my intent to enroll and speak with admissions.

Better news: According to my admissions adviser Eric, my interview and portfolio review went exceptionally well--apparently he has spoken with Tiffany, the interviewer in question, and has never heard her speak so highly of an incoming design student.

!!

Even Better news: I am already in the running for scholarships!

News as Good as that: Eric is going to pass my name along to a few people he knows for potential employment opportunities...

Eric and I also discussed a couple of important topics. First off, he mentioned that it sounds like I will pretty much be doing solely studio work, as I already have a B.A, and that it should be easy for me test out of any lower division courses that aren't covered by credit transfer. Also, we discussed the importance of a BFA in opening doors for MFA programs, and we discussed tangible options (really really good and tangible options) for eventual grad school on the East Coast should I decide (which I have seriously been considering) to go for the next step.

Holy smokes. It's like the sun burst from behind the trees!

So, I am an eternal optimist, and I know that it has kept me going and helped me to succeed...
even still I feel the need to knock on wood.

And I just did.

Wish me luck!!

The Interweb...

2008-12-01T22:01:00.000-08:00

Is a nasty whore of being that I would like to keep in a cage for regular beatings, but alas it's a beast far too nebulous and none too rewarding at times.

Also, Seattle has managed to snag me in it's various wireless access points and impasses with my favorite cafe, Uptown Espresso, having a network that betrays me when I need it most, and my second choice, Cherry St., being further away with a closing time of 5pm.
Bah!

That all being said, the internet is a bit of a lifeline for me right now. Today, as with many days I spent the majority of the time at one or the other aforementioned cafes updating my website with my figure drawings and a few new images. I then applied for some more jobs and spoke back and forth with some folks over at UW regarding their MFA programs. On Wednesday morning I am heading in to the advising office to speak with both the Visual Communication Design adviser, and the Painting and Drawing Program adviser (the MFA for Painting and Drawing however, requires a BFA in studio Art...bah!).

Tomorrow night Dana, Jonie and I are going to look at a house for rent, and on Thursday I have my admissions interview at Cornish along with my Portfolio review.

Phew...Dana and I just got done watching some antiques roadshow, having some quality conversing and now she is perusing her jewelry while the cats recline all unawares. Apparently it's cold outside.

I was contemplating working out late again tonight before retiring...but feel weird and none too energetic now. I think I will settle for eating a cookie and curling up for the big calorie store.

To be a cat.

Snuggie is a Rapper Handle

2008-12-01T20:25:00.000-08:00

I apologize in advance if you and yours are a family that feel it nothing but appropriate to dress like druids while pursuing mundane, quintessentially American activities such as freaking out at ballgames, getting together for a riveting game of backgammon, or roasting chewy gelatin puffs in preparation for the annual Samhain child sacrifice.

That being said, it may have been 1:30 am, but even at that hour I knew that there was no way in god's green hell that anyone in their right mental capacity would brand their family with the "Would you like to buy some paper flowers?" seal of approval from the Jonestown Academy of About Town Style.

Shudder.
Speaking of people who might think this is a good idea, I am glad my parents--more specifically, my mother (as she imposed most of the "fashion" decisions upon me and my siblings) --did not have much in the way of disposable income...who knows what the hell I would be up to right now...

"Kitty" Gets Family Time with Nova

2008-11-25T23:14:00.000-08:00

When I say "Family Time," I am not referring to the fact that Dana and I routinely come over to our neighbor Jonie's place to cat-sit, watch TV and drink hot drinks and keep her giant ottoman of a cat, Kitty, company while Momma JoJo is on vacation. No.

Rather, I am referring to the fact that tonight's episode of NOVA on PBS featured a profile of other large, fish-loving, blubbery and helpless-looking-while-on-land-and-basically-need-an-ocean-to-keep-themselves-clean creatures: Sea mammals!

It was a spectacularly sad edition all about injured sea lions, seals, and water breathing elephant mutants, and the people that rescue them. Kitty of course sat (because that's pretty much what she does) enraptured at the familial imagery and message, hypnotized in the hope that an unskilled toss would result in a dead fish breaking the fourth wall.

It never happened. But, as Jonie likes to keep the TV ablaze to the CW or E! while out for Kitty's mental stability and couch potato tendencies, tonight's foray into public broadcasting left her with a little something to think about, and a whole lot to say:

She just wants fish. And Candy. And love. There is so much of her to love.

"Live Every Week like it's Bread Week" Week Continues

2008-11-25T23:09:00.000-08:00

Bread!! It does not last here in Seattle. I try and try, but alas, the last three pieces of every loaf always end up looking like this:

Stupid air. I hate it and its harboring face needs to die.

BBBB: Banana Bread Bear Blog

2008-11-25T01:55:00.001-08:00

I thought I might post a pic of my neighbor's cat vomiting, but in a last minute moment of saving grace realized that a simple mention of that affair would be enough. So instead: a cross-section detail of a loaf of chocolate chunk banana bread*, baked in preparation of Dana's arrival back in town yesterday--what remains anyway. Notice the honey bear in the background. He lives an upside-down life as to not waste our time and it serves him right. Bastard honey bear thinks I have all day...

*A nod to Mr. Mike B, as he always made the best chocolate chip banana bead this side of the mississip...

Cabin Fever...(or Dana's Trip to the East Coast)

2008-11-22T19:31:00.000-08:00

It's a creeping disorder, very much in the way MIBs will stroll slowly by your house in their big black Cadillac Sevilles with the suicide doors, yet much faster than glacier trips or slow onset dementia.

When left to one's own devices for a good period of time, in a space void of sunlight or immediate social outlets, anything can happen.

I just feel bad for the innocent bystanders--the crow with the slow uptake on the bustling highway of mental discord, the grandma buying pan dulce right before the drive-by pumps her unintended body full of crazy lead:

Anything can happen...

Milk - It does a body (politic) good

2008-11-19T10:51:00.000-08:00

I went to an advanced screening of Gus Van Sant's new biopic Milk, about America's first openly homosexual politician elected to public office--Harvey Milk, City Supervisor, San Fransisco, 1977--who is later assassinated by a disgruntled colleague.

It is an amazing film, and I would be surprised if Sean Penn does not get an Oscar nod, as his performance is nothing short of mesmerizing, touching, and earnest. It's a definite tear jerker and is amazingly relevant as well. I recommend it for sure, and it will be released officially on 11.27.08.

I probably should not have gone out last night to see it, as now I feel sick again, but it was pretty much worth it.

Ooga Shaka

2008-11-19T10:48:00.000-08:00

"I can't shake this feelin'
deep inside of me!"

It feels like mucous and it won't go away!! I hate being sick. This sucks.

Photo Vomit

2008-11-14T11:19:00.000-08:00

Okay folks, peeps, friends and old work cohorts, here are some pictures, finally. Check em below. In other news, I have applied for jobs at a few local game developers, updated and revamped my website, worked on some new concepts, am finishing up some official school business, and will be applying for even more jobs today. I feel mildly productive, and also a tiny bit more adjusted now, but still having moments. I am sleeping through the night now which is a good good thing.

Meanwhile, Dana and I are blazing through 30 Rock Season 1 - my second time through and it is almost more funny this time around, as I have a chance to catch stuff missed the first time.

Also, head over to my site blog on here to check out my sketch updates, or you can access it from my actual site. With some of my time I am working on building a much more stunning portfolio. It needs to be better!!!
blerg...

Tis all for now.

Courtyard View

Tobey, Mid-Freak

Chamber of Solace

Ye old Eatery

My Workspace

Sleeping Quarters - The bed, she is oh so soft...

Living Room with a View

Where the Streets are Helpful

Blerg.

2008-11-14T10:27:00.000-08:00

So tempted to not leave the house. But it looks so nice out!
My favorite cafe, Uptown Espresso, has shit for a network, so I may head over to Cherry Street, which is farther away and less comfortable.

So much to do. I have to finish my essay and turn in my application for Cornish today, and arrange a tour of UW....rah!

"What's the use of a book without pictures?"

2008-11-12T12:18:00.001-08:00

I haven't had my camera out at all really, so here I am with no proof.
It's a blustery day here, and cloudy--though the forecast calls for a mild and sunny end to the week, starting tomorrow, so that will be a relief. I am trying to not listen to too much music, but it feels very much like a losing battle--like trying to not breath. Eh...

I have a new blog that is attached to my new site. You should be able to find it in my list, or you can check out the new site at disarraygun.com.

I had a dream the other night that Mike brought Juno up here for special, Seattle-only behavior classes, and I collapsed into a puddle of tears.
Intense dream emotions have this very weird quality in that they tend to really stick with you for days, but maybe I am completely wrong and they don't really. Or maybe I am uniquely dramatic...

I will post pictures at some point, once they are taken. For now, it seems that, while things are neat and beautiful up here for a lot of reasons, I kind of feel like they should be left as they are.

So close your eyes if you will, and imagine mild breezes, rain, traffic, fog, space needles looming bright and hazy in the night, sirens, people, lights, shadows, treadmill running, better skin and scalp due to coastal living, coffee smells, cat spats, cozy blankets, crying in the shower, shiny desks, carefully setup computer equipment, laughter, monitor glow, sad music, leaves decaying in the fresh air, fetal positions, friends laughing at sideways hats, cat purrs, best friends crying together, delicious home-cooked meals, the smell of a fresh shirt, and memories pervasive - both painful and wonderful.

I can do no more for now.

Guh!

2008-09-27T22:33:00.001-07:00

I haven't left the house today. But the new site is up! DisarrayGun 2.0 is finally here, though I have a few more things to upload (logos, figure drawings etc...). Take a gander if you would like! Feedback would be great if you have a sec.

I think Mike and I are going to go out now. Fresh Air! I breath it sometimes!

Bees?!

2008-09-13T09:05:00.000-07:00

So I have long been back from my wonderful visit in Seattle, but I feel I must follow-up on our trip to the bee warehouse.

On our way down to Olympia, Dana and I in the backseat of a crayon smelling vehicle--a decidedly pungent and wonderful smell of upholstery and institutionally sanctioned childhood creativity--with two friends in the front seat (not remembering their names I have decided that I may need a refresher, so for now we will call them Veruca and Miss Kitty), I was shocked to finally learn the true purpose of our journey to the bees. Initially there was talk of jewelry making, of gift giving, and eventually of selling this and that. This was all well and good until I bridged the gap of logic, of cause and effect, realizing that our trip to the bees was in fact connected to this very purpose: the acquisition of once-living--or perhaps living!--artifacts for trinketry and profit!

I of course kept to myself. Already a vegetarian in the Pacific Northwest, I didn't want to add to my list of social burdens, nor raise the bar of my ethicometer. "Patron of Bees" is still not a title I see fitting well on my business card, what with "Minister of Planarian Parenthood" and "Ward of the Flies" already occupying so much real estate.

My personal stock was beginning to weigh heavy on my brow, however. I thought of Barry, my little bee friend, with whom I helped to save the world from imminent disaster and famine by delivering the last of the pollinated flowers to New York via LA--my little companion who turned his back on the hive to touch down on my heart, if only briefly. He has of course been re-accepted as Bee Jock and we have since parted ways...but to think of his limp little body hanging from the buttery, rose and honey-scented skin of a debutante's neck made my skin crawl with macabre irony. Still, I was steadfast, and held my tongue with a fist of iron until our arrival.

I was confused. Upon arriving at our destination, it quickly became clear that there were no bees to be found. Anywhere. In there place, however, were millions upon millions of various colored, shaped and sized glass balls, plastic stones and shiny nodules. Pearls of opulent splendor, some hanging from strings and gilded hooks--hooks adorned with lion's heads and other ivory inlaid animals, all exotic in nature and reminiscent of my days hunting yak with Father on the plains. Each little sphere contained an African sunset or a hurricane breeze. Others still had been poured lovingly and gently by head-dressed natives, swathed in silk and iridescent peacock feathers, into aged barrels that had been scented with frankincense and myrrh. Here the well-manicured hands of the aristocracy sank deeply into the polished stones of the indulged taboo or appropriated fetishism, while sticky-toffee child fingers cleansed them with the angelic purity of incorruptible wonder.

My head was dizzy with aestheticism, but the same question called to me through the haze, as though a stubborn wife, weary child at her breast, searching out her husband's name and face among the wasted. A lone vessel, she, in the gloom and fog of an overrun opium den, trudging hard against the pillows and splayed limbs of the fallen. Seeing her work-lined face, the sweat balling upon her gentle forehead, I finally came to. Wiping my own sweat balls from my brow, I screwed up my courage and asked aloud,
"Where are the bees?!"
I asked, first of Dana, then of Veruca and Miss Kitty, and finally of every passerby. The response was eerily the same.
Always with arms outstretched--sometimes with a maniacal flourish--and always with the same cultish, glassy look of abject spiritual surrender, the reply was
"Oh Raul..." or
"Why young man..."
"Look around you! The Bees are everywhere! Everywhere!"

And indeed they were. My soul convulsed. An involuntary tear was shed, and my head, now heavy with the weight of realization, hung low to exam the content of the nearest barrel. There, among thousands of his brothers and sisters, was Barry. His little soul harnessed and reduced, hardened and condensed to nothing but pure decorative stillness. A little black and yellow memento mori, shining and encrusted with the smallest of bee tears. He would buzz no more, and I was not worthy to touch. My mind went black, intoxicated with the spirits of sadness, not coming to until arriving back in the open air of the parking lot.

As we left the bee market, I thought not only of Barry, but of the thousands of bee souls that screamed silently from their little glass prisons. They called to me, and my heart called to them. I thought of mankind's cruelty, and glanced at the others' innocuous looking shopping bags, deceptively white in color, yet brimming with the blackness of this raging bee holocaust.

Miss Kitty turned to me and asked,
"You didn't buy anything?"
"Oh, no. I really am trying to watch my spending." I lied, and smiled. And a genuine smile it was, as my mind dredged upward out of the gloom and towards the sun scarred waste of the battlefield. I smiled and thought of my coming vengeance.

Bees!

2008-09-06T09:11:00.000-07:00

Today, Dana and I are driving an hour outside of Seattle to visit the largest Bee store on the west coast! It's in Olympia, WA, or near there. I hope Colony Collapse doesn't ruin the fun.

A Toast

2008-08-26T09:33:00.000-07:00

As I am an Iron City Fishing Club Outsider, I am going to offer you a bit of personal history.
I first met Anna Marie Cooper and Eric Sloan in Eugene, OR--though I initially met "Minkie," as Marie is affectionately known by most of us *gestures to the bridal party table*, earlier, circa 1999.

During those days, DJ Shadow was our soundtrack and the techno anthems of our circle somehow managed to be both happy and hardcore at the same time. Pokemon was all the rage and Marie's extensive collection of My Little Ponies littered the landscape of her dorm room. She lived in a veritable Saturday Morning stable.

It was quite sometime before she first smiled at the man seated next to her today. Before their meeting (and of course afterward) there would be countless lunches together, covert food thefts from the dining hall, and tons of Sunday morning sunrises, us and all of our friends sweaty and exhausted, having danced the night into oblivion. That special day was coming however, when another brilliant individual would walk in our midst.

Crammed into the elevator of Carson Hall on move in day, second year, Eric and Marie defied gravity for the first time together--as strangers, but together nonetheless. I would of course hear all about that "beautiful boy" in the elevator and just how cute Marie's mother also found him to be.

In the weeks and months to come, introductions were made, friendships were formed but a few things dragged out just a bit:
She was pining. He was pining. They were pining for each other.
I was sighing.
Being the go-between I helped as best as I could. I composed sermons and pep talks for the both of them.
One was entitled,
"She Loves You, Ya Ya...Ya...no really...or..at least I think she likes you a whole lot..."

Another, "She Strangles Ponies: A Case Study in Romantic Frustration"

I still imagine there to have been a large number of plastic-bodied, neon haired, technicolor casualties leading up to that fateful day on the cusp of Winter's end, upon the bank of the mighty Willamette river. It was this, a place of legends where our fair Maiden Minkie finally threw caution to the beguiling wind, fought off the sharks of shyness in the deep waters of potential rejection and yelled from the tree tops in a voice that could command a coming dinosaur revival,

"Eric...I really like you...or something."

Prince Eric too, now ringing out his socks, having been shocked into the raging river's torrent by Minkie's sudden proclamation, extended a well-manicured hand, brushed back his andalusion mane and roared from the depths,

"I really really like you too...something something"

Groundhogs everywhere convulsed and withered.
Spring had come early that year.

Lots of springs have come since them. Lots of summers. Camping trips. Holidays with Tofurky and Candlelights. Cakes in fun shapes and drunken piggy-back rides through downtown Portland, laughing,
sprinting,
running, feet foward zooming it seems,
towards ourselves.
Toward today.

This, I think, hints at the strange and beautiful quality of a wedding, and to the power of a relationship such as the one we see before us today. It is a force. It moves us. It compels us.

Eric and Marie, you compel us,
all of us here,
past,
present,
and future,
to be together,
and together with you on this very special day.

To say thank you will never be enough.

To Eric and Marie!

May the best always find you, as we have found the best with you.

Creepy Thought of the Day

2008-07-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

If you are inclined to think of time in a non-linear fashion, then somewhere out there your life is already over. What did you do? Where have you been and what have you seen?

ewww. Shudder.

Not a poem

2008-05-12T23:14:00.001-07:00

Mike and I were cuddled up and waiting for the next episode of Heroes to load on Netflix..

Mike *Jumping up frantically and running out of the room*: Oh shit!!!
Me: Huh-what!?...what!?
Mike: I forgot to get some ice cream.

I love Mike.

BTW

2008-04-28T11:39:00.000-07:00

- We named her Juno.
- I am up in Portland right now and have been for about a week visiting with Marie and countless other friends, as we have all come together to celebrate her visit to this side of the planet. She arrived, unfortunately, without Prince Eric or the royal canine Haley, but we take what we can get when best friends are dearly missed.

So far it has been a wonderful week full of various activities. Some of which have included house parties, karaoke, strip clubs...yikes..., beach trips, city walks, coffee drinks, bridesmaid dress shopping--not for me, but being the Bride's man of honor or whatever, I will have to find some type of fancy dress for the occasion at some point--and lots of Little Britain watching.

Little Britain, for those of you not familiar, is one of the funniest shows I have ever seen.

Better seen than explained...

Tonight Mike is driving back up after having to spend his Monday back at work. We will be attending the Cut Copy/Black Kids show at the Doug Fir, and then heading down to Eugene with Minkie and Nessa in tow.
Marie returns to the East Coast on Friday...but let's not think about that right now...

Puppy Crash

2007-12-15T10:21:00.000-08:00

A woman came in to the clinic two days ago to get a weight on her dog and some flea prevention. As her puppy was a 12 week old yellow lab puppy, I had to come out to the lobby to say hello.
According the client, they sought the puppy as a gift for a friend who turned her down and she casually said to me,
"If you want her, you can totally have her."
Of course I didn't really believe that someone could be so casual about such a thing--one look at her and it's hard to imagine that anyone could turn her away--but I instantly succumbed to the idea of adopting her. Over the course of the last couple of years, when entertaining the idea of eventually adopting a dog I always imagined a Labrador and have always been drawn to them (or Lab mixes when I have encountered them--Haley my love!!).
When I took her back to get her weight--21 lbs already--Danylle, one of the clinic managers, let her jaw drop upon hearing what the woman told me.
"What's the client's name?" she asked, and when I told her the name she shook her head.
"You have to take her, or someone has to take her. That woman is a nut!"
Apparently the woman was pregnant, has a bunch of cats and was simply unsure of what to do with a puppy aside from kind of wanting to keep her--I think.

Everything next happened so fast from there! The entire time I was discussing with the managers the possibility of taking the little one home she was in my arms, giving me the occasional kiss and grunting all puppy-like. Meanwhile the woman was in the exam room crying her eyes out, apparently aghast the she was giving away the puppy she was going to give away two days earlier and making plans to call the clinic an hour later to let us know that she wants the harness and leash back when the puppy outgrows it. What was she planning to do with it I wonder? How far along is she again?
In any case the harness was pink, ill-fitting, and not the point of the story.

After speaking with an excited Mike, a very accommodating landlord and excited staff at the clinic, the puppy-formally-known-as-Maddy was waiting patiently in the kennel for the ride home!

Yes, there are pictures, but before we get to them...
...

oh what the hell-

She is so well-mannered, is really taking to her kennel and responding very well to her crate-training, is slowly learning to go outside for potty breaks, looks so good in her new red collar and is honestly just amazing!!! All she needs now is a name, of which we have a few options but are are waiting to get one that fits her just right:

Juno
Margot
Alice
Laurel
Beatrice
Emma
Cedar

We are not sure yet! Although it's hard to consider naming a puppy without having met her, what do you think?

P.S. There will be plenty more pictures to come.

From Wentz He Came

2007-10-13T09:46:00.000-07:00

Fred Wentz has a Cocker Spaniel named Charley...or Chunky...or something.

This first week was pretty fantastic over at the vet clinic. I had reasonably paced training the first three days and had a little hands on stuff to work with, and on my first day the good doctor gave me a tour of the new facilities that are located across the street. The new clinic is scheduled to open in 4-5 weeks and it already looks amazing! It is huge--about 4 to 5 times the size of our current facilities--and is totally wired. There will be LCDs, electronic white boards and LAN ports all over the place. The current clinic has a network setup, but this place will be insane! There is also a boarding facility for dogs and cats that will be wired with web cams so our clients can go online and check on their pets 24 hours a day!
The people I work with are great--every last one of them--and it is amazing the number of animals that have come in this week.

There have been tons of Ferrets!

SO it has been fantastic with certain exceptions involving Friday.

Carrie, the other girl who was supposed to work with me yesterday, called in sick while Anita was out of town--and thus couldn't come in to help relieve the pressure--leaving me to basically hold down the front with little help. Kristina was up front with me for the most part, but as she is a Vet Tech and also pretty new to the clinic we both pretty much only had one paddle to work with. I love a challenge but that doesn't mean I don't get stressed out when things get a little too crazy.
All of this would have ultimately been manageable however, without the major hell-spawn freak out episode on the part of the good doctor. Voila, you have yourself a relatively disenchanting day!

I am not sure who he was on the phone with--from what I could decipher from his screaming, it was a bank related issue regarding the new building--but he was so pissed off that his wife came running up to the front office from the back of the clinic. I seriously don't understand how someone can get that angry in a professional environment, and I think he was pretty fortunate that we didn't have any clients in the lobby. How awkward and disrespectful.

Some of my co-workers assured me that they have never seen him do something like that, which was a little reassuring (and I say a little because new trends are started everyday) but it still took Kristina and I a good half an hour to calm down, regain our productivity and get talking again.
I am also kind of wary of the guy now too. He must be pretty stressed out about the new clinic and what have you but getting that angry in front of other people isn't going to accomplish much. In fact it may do just the opposite.
In the end he did apologize to us in a relatively passing manner but I wonder if this is going to be addressed more formally later.

sigh. We will see.

I really really love this job...like get up at six in the morning excited to go to work-love this job. I hope this kind of thing doesn't happen again soon because I am not sure if I will have had enough experience to easily slide into another vet clinic, and I doubt there is another one in Eugene that is this fun to work in otherwise. In the meantime I have a three day-break from the place and start all fresh on Tuesday.
Phew.

Scrub Life

2007-10-07T13:43:00.000-07:00

Updates updates! It has been a bit since I have updated, but here is a brief rundown on the current going-ons.

The late-birthday trip to Seattle as sponsored by Michael and Dana was a treat and a half. Any curious onlookers will be better suited looking in this direction:

A Very Merry UnBirthday in Seattle

In other, likewise exciting news, I have never in my life been this excited to start a job!
I begin start work at the Emerald Valley Veterinary Clinic on Tuesday in a full time position manning the front desk. I had previously planned in starting over at Professional Credit Services, working for the legal department, marketing editors, and call center (they had all sorts of stuff for me to do apparently) but I received a phone call on Thursday from the animal clinic and had an interview on Friday. Needless to say, the interview went well and they offered me the position on the spot. After a phone call to Mike and some deliberation (it makes a few dollars an hour less than the other job)I decided to go for it. In the end it really was not a tough call, for I fell in love with the place immediately: It is a family-owned local business with a great staff and a brand new facility opening across the street next month. One of the technicians who interviewed me, Brandy, started out in my position so this looks like a pretty great opportunity to explore a career in veterinary care/medicine.
There are also to resident pups who greet the new hires! It all just felt so right!
So here I am, with my scrubs folded nicely in the dresser drawer and ready to start my job working with animals and the people who love them.
Tuesday can't come soon enough.

BUH!?

2007-09-08T14:45:00.000-07:00

A KNRQ DJ who was doing a duck game party at Track Town just gave me a pair of Muse tickets for the Monday show!!!

I am now taking requests apparently:

2007-09-05T08:30:00.000-07:00

A couple of songs I have begun randomly singing to people in my old man's voice follow:

The first came up randomly when I was talking to Eric on the phone.
"Silver Bells, Silver Bells,
Soon it will be Daddy's Day"

The second arrived while driving Mike to work this very morn.

"Hot cheese on a buttered roof, Hot cheese on a buttered roof,
Hot cheese on a buttered roof. I'm gonna eat it...with muh tooth."

Alex thinks that these are moments of me regressing into past lives.

Baby Paisley has Landed!!

2007-09-04T12:00:00.001-07:00

Finally! Without further ado, I introduce the newest member of the Villalobos-Thompson Family. Paisley Anne Thompson!!

I took the bus there and back and boy was it a busy busy weekend in Sacramento full of babysitting, diaper changing, breakfast making, house-cleaning, and visiting with the family. The stress was definitely tempered by the chance to hang out with my sister and her family, but yes, it was a busy busy weekend.

PS. Remind me to tell you about the gin-soaked Lady at the Sac bus depot. She wanted to be my best friend.

Below is a link to the online Photo Gallery for all of you interested!

paisley's birth

Chick(en) "Tracks," A Post Befitting a College Grad:

2007-09-03T23:05:00.000-07:00

Feces.
I arrived at work this evening to find this--

(click me for a bigger view)

--hanging above the hand-washing sink in the kitchen. Apparently thrust upon us by the visiting health inspector the day before, this particular morality tale is supposed to remind us members of the unwashed masses that cleanliness is next to guiltlessness. I for one find it particularly insulting.

This girl, who is undoubtedly a friend of a friend to all of us, presents her tale of woe with all the subtlety of a Chick Tract. I am inclined to think that the Jack Chick people themselves were commissioned for this piece of work. The format is strikingly similar, from the stark black and whit illustrations, to the moral punchline driven home by the shot of the graveyard, headstone, or body in the throws not of spiritual torment, but rather "the crampies."
But aside from these formalistic qualities, I personally love the way in which the narrative swings widely between the vague and the oddly specific:
Location: A Restaurant; more specifically, "Restaurant."
Subjects: A dirty and diseased everyman/woman; more than 221 ill; a 53 year-old dead woman.

Why is the DHS being so shifty and inconsistent with the details? Are they hedging their bets? For example, if you are going to take the time to cite 221 specific casualties you could at least feign absolute confidence, and leave no room for error. Maybe one of those victims is still there, trembling under one of the long condemned "Restaurant" booths. Or is it that victims 222 and above are simply not worth mentioning, whether out of exasperation or personal shortcoming? Should you foolishly decide to partake once two hundred-twenty one of your community members have collapsed with the truffle shuffles just outside the local food trough, you probably get what you deserve--and that certainly wouldn't be an honorable mention here. Whatever the case may be, we have all been left wondering what in the hell "more than 221" even means. Were there 227, 223, or even 598 people fallen ill because of this thing--whatever the hell it may be--which found its way from one warm place to the next and caused a ton of "unimaginable" havoc?

What's more, if this poor chicken wrangler's story is so ultimately "unimaginable" then why is the DHS wasting its precious resources attempting to make us lowly wage-earners strain and bend our underdeveloped innerspace, especially while burdened with the task of washin' up our hands good?

"Picture if you will...the unpicturable..."

Aside from all of the obvious inanity this advisement peddles, what really gets me is the placement. Why is it not actually in the bathroom? Why post it in the kitchen, leaving the older multilingual notice, so bland and technical, to live out its lonely existence over the urinal in the men's room? Truth be told, this old DHS notice has only served us as something to practice writing on with our non-dominant hands, and had this new bit of scaremongering been more strategically placed, it may have actually jolted some hand-washing sense into the simple minds of TTP.

Seriously though, by the time most of us emerge from the bathroom at Track Town Pizza any damage to be done is well on the way to the 5 o'clock news and subsequent DHS notices. Yesterday alone I managed to handle a salad, wipe out a soda cup, finger-check a Combination pizza for thorough cooking, stock the straws and examine a baby for teething all before I even managed to make it from the bathroom to the kitchen. If I hadn't actually managed to wash my hands beforehand all of the ill-placed Chick Tracts in the world would not keep history from repeating itself. People all over Eugene would be clutching their body cavities and wincing with ease; and that poor 53 year-old woman? She would be squeezing out that same unimaginable death over and over and over again.

Sigh. Perhaps it really doesn't matter where they place the damned thing. I suppose they expect the threat of involuntary manslaughter to loom over us unabated throughout the work-day. She will follow, like the shadow of a ruler-clutching mother superior, occasionally taking the time to rest its pointy, accusatory chin painfully into our once-relaxed shoulders, clearly undaunted by our pleas of,
"Do you mind?" Or, "What are you looking at?"

"It isn't much from my vantage point," she replies. "By the way, the blood of that poor woman is all over your filthy little hands."

Or maybe it's as Mike put it: "Your bloody, shitty little hands."
All I know is, remorseful as I am going to be, I am literally itching to get those hands dirtier in some warm, delicious home cooking.

2007-08-27T20:03:00.001-07:00

Deathly Hallows...again...

2007-08-03T15:03:00.000-07:00

I finished book 6 for the second time this morning and, wiping my eyes just a tad, thought to crack right in to book 7 for the first time, but something stopped me...
Instead, I did a bunch of chores around the house, went to work out, came back, showered, shaved and ate a delicious tempeh sandwich. Now, with a clean apartment and self, I am going to head into the glorious weather in hopes of finding a nice spot under a tree and that is where the reading shall begin.
It is a special occasion isn't it?

Here we go!!

Everything. Everyone. Everywhere. Ends.

2007-07-24T11:30:00.000-07:00

We finished Six Feet Under last night. I am so utterly at a loss. This series has left a very big mark on me, and has to be one of the best examples of emotionally, deeply introspective story-telling on television or otherwise. The finale was moving, beautiful, terrible, depressing, enlightening, terrifying...
Mike and I cried together for a good twenty minutes after the show was finished, and as I write this I have to admit I am pretty tearful (probably because I am listening to the soundtrack...). I think it's painful to say goodbye to these characters because they are so reflective of who we are, and how trapped we are in these constraints of time and space. They are us: so deeply flawed as to be perfect by negation and like us, they end.

Mike says, "I don't want life to end up as just a montage of events, and key moments. It all goes by so quickly and I want it to be more," but what else is there? We are all walking slide shows, but that doesn't take away how wonderful it all is--how awesome an experience life really can be. Who knows what happens afterward...
It's frightening and wonderful to think about.

I told him that, "we will always have the now..." I am so grateful for that.

Deathly Hallows

2007-07-21T02:03:00.001-07:00

I now have book 7, and am in the middle of book 3. Will I have to sequester myself? Either way I am very excited...

Geology Final Tomorrow!!

2007-07-19T17:08:00.000-07:00

I really want to go see the Channeled Scablands!! Dana, I am talkin' to you...
:D

The Order of the Phoenix

2007-07-12T23:07:00.000-07:00

Well I must say that the latest Harry Potter movie is probably the best yet doing the book full proud. Books 3 and 5 have always battled for the number one spot in my opinion, but after seeing what a great movie they managed to create, I am inclined to say that 5 really does manage to tell a very good story.
See it!
Dolores Umbridge is magnificent. Alex, you will love her office.

Update Numero Dos!

2007-07-11T22:49:00.000-07:00

So the Sunday after graduation Dana and I zoomed up to Seattle! It was a wonderful three day adventure that involved relaxation, city tromping during Dana's work day, bed assemblage and rat buying.

There are pictures and pictures

Visit with Dana

(Pablo) Picassa (Honey), I Adore Thee...

2007-07-11T19:51:00.000-07:00

Yes it is true, Google's Picassa is a wonder of streamlined photo album goodness and I am aghast at myself for not having ventured down the path of image management any sooner than today. Today!!!
And now without further adieu, let us flash backwards to a simpler time: a time without stressful job interviews, house hunts, geological studies and money-making.
My dear friends, I am of course talking about,

The Degree-Getting of Raul Villalobos:

Graduation Weekend

IGoogle's Buddhist Thought for the Day. It's my favorite so far...

2007-06-28T11:07:00.000-07:00

Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha...

The Rundown.

2007-06-18T13:26:00.000-07:00

Phew! This last week has been insane!!
The end began with my honors thesis defense, which was an insanely mind rattling experience. I basically underwent an intense interrogation at the hands of two of my favorite profs in a sparsely furnished room on the 4th floor of PLC. Having read my thesis--which ended up being 35 pages of Carrollian intrigue--they came ready with questions flying. Ugh. It was intense, but I did pretty well and in the end it all worked out great. Congratulations were extended along with handshakes, and eventually a nice fat "A" was stamped on my transcript.
After finishing up with my last minute revisions I completed my project for ENG 407, Superheroes and turned both in at the English building. Upon getting my final copies of my thesis in (nicely printed on 25% cotton stock) I received a signed letter which enabled me to go and purchase my honors cords. I was done!

My mom arrived on Thursday, my sister Frances and family arrived during the day on Friday, my friend Jenny drove into town late Friday evening and by the time the rest of my family arrived on Saturday my head was ready to cave in from sheer busyness. It was really great to see everyone but boy is it alarming when so much happens in the space of a few days!!

Saturday was commencement and it went pretty much without a hitch sans the inconsistent pronunciations of my name. The weather was lovely, as were the friends and family in attendance. Pictures will arrive very soon.
Meanwhile, I must extend a deep thank you to all that made it or sent their well wishes. Your support means a lot to me:
Mom, Dad, Frances, Terry, Taryn, Ethan T., Angie, Gionni, Dale, Frank, Maurene, Gloria, Brendan, Aunt Sharma (don't squeeze her!), Mike B., Dana, Michael M., Alexander M., Jenny and Dave, Ethan, Max, Mollie, Eric M., Anna Marie, Eric Sloan, Haley Pup, Tobey the Majestic, Dean Jansen, Jessie W., Sterling, Alex Toeves, Allison, Lance, Ed, Jacque, Shannon, Dillon, Jasmine, Susan and Tom, Cameron, Neal D., Montia, The Track Town workforce and so many others... you all rock the socks, and I love you very much.

Ah, it's over (aside from one more summer course). Now I have many plans and things to do to procure a new job, more money and a new place to live for Mr. Michael and me. Phew. Here's to you mister! :D

Afterword:
Here I am at a cafe in Seattle where I will be visiting with Dana the great until Wednesday when I ride the choo-choo back into Eugene. We drove up together last night, giving us ample time for deep and rewarding conversation and catching up! The trip was quick, fun and without mishap aside from my spilling of trail mix all over the driver's side floor of the rental car--imagine our shock this morning as daylight revealed a veritable sea of nuts and fruit bits waiting to attack.
AS for now, she is at work working hard while I relax elsewhere and play on my new laptop!! That's right!!
A very special thank you for the Grad Gifts of technology from friends!!!
I received a new digital camera from Mr. B, and this fantastic sleek little beast from Mr. M, Miss D, and co:

You guys are amazing!!!
O_O
There will be more to come, and pics!!

P.S. There is a man in this cafe that looks eerily like my recently deceased Grandfather. How strange.

Only the best poem I have ever written:

2007-06-07T13:31:00.000-07:00

I am done with my thesis.
It is handed in.
I finally took a shower,
and that is that.

So close...

2007-06-07T00:12:00.001-07:00

so very close...
By noon tomorrow I will be one ball and chain lighter.
Oh god was it heavy...

Why now!!

2007-06-06T11:55:00.000-07:00

I am actually going through caffeine withdrawals!!!! I couldn't tell what was happening to me, but I realized I hadn't had coffee in a couple of days and decided to have a touch this morning.
It was great! I felt wonderful and mentally intact...for about two hours.
Now I feel like crap again.
Do I dare drink more? I can't function particularly well without it it seems.
My eyes are diverging.

Today:

2007-06-05T11:23:00.000-07:00

I momentarily forgot that "from" is a word, wondering why spell check had not caught on to my misspelling of "form." I asked myself (read the following phonetically), "Is 'fraum' a word?"

What is happening to my brain?
Waht is hpenpniag to my barin?
?niarb ym ot gnineppah si tahw

*shudder*

"You had me at 'wassup'..."

2007-06-02T09:25:00.000-07:00

So far, I am the only member of my household who finds this picture hilarious:

A fiery trip down memory lane:

2007-05-30T09:11:00.001-07:00

Strawberry Habanero Jelly, purchased from the Seattle Fisherman's Market: Burns the day you ate it, and then, the day you didn't.

And now it's time for your daily under-handed Marketing tactic:

2007-05-30T09:09:00.001-07:00

"I am Computor [sic]!!! LOL@Me.Com!!!!"

2007-05-30T08:33:00.001-07:00

"I will sit and await to see if you go this message, if not then I will scream"

Six Feet Under

2007-05-19T11:08:00.000-07:00

I am not sure what is going to happen when we finish the series, but as of now, Six Feet Under has pretty much reclaimed its place as my favorite dramatic television show of all time. The two episodes Mike and I watched last night were absolutely amazing, and had us crying our eyes out! I can't believe how good, if not better these first two seasons are the second time around, and I am amazed at the writer's abilities to build such endearingly flawed, touching and consistent characters worthy of every hour spent with them. Sometimes the emotional payoff is astounding.
I can't wait to watch more, and Season 3 is on the horizon!

Frisbee.

2007-05-14T19:55:00.000-07:00

Lewis Carroll has infected my brain. Today I sat in the grass, taking a short break as my 5 o'clock yoga class drew near. It was a beautifully sunny afternoon, complete with a cool breeze and the obligatory game of Frisbee. Back and forth the disc flew, between the two indiscernible individuals, with every throw different but the same.
It reminded me of language, and conversation.
Back and forth.
Sometimes the western facing man would overshoot his aim, causing his partner to strain or jump upwards to catch the wayward disc, but overall they seemed rather proficient.
Other times a particularly strong breeze would carry the disc off course.
I thought of conversation.
Back and forth.
Two people, well versed in the same language, sharing ideas, often times agreeing, sometimes straining to understand what the hell the other person is talking about. But for the most part proficient, and privy to the rules of the game:
-No talking out of turn, for there is only one disc for the two of them, and breaking it into pieces will serve no one in the end.
-Organize your thoughts and words, and keep on the level as to keep your point aloft and trajectory clear.
-Be attentive, or the crux of your partner's argument might pass you by.
-Throw correctly. Flippant remarks will only leave your opponent/partner scrambling frantically, arms outstretched as your rhetoric rolls in angry circles on the ground; you will also endanger/involve the occasional passerby.
-Flourishes are nice, but unnecessary.
-Environmental irregularities are to be expected: runaway dogs, skilled/interested eavesdroppers, and emotional gusts may momentarily hijack.
-You don't have to catch every toss to complete a game.
-Victory is subjective.

Yup. Carroll was a marksman.

Click, Click, I am the Lame...

2007-05-14T11:55:00.000-07:00

I have two drinks sitting by me here while I type away in the library: a Nalgene bottle filled with delicious, sparkling untouched water, and a 16 oz cup of iced coffee. Which one do you think I just emptied a packet of raw sugar into?

Click, Click, I am Robot...

2007-05-14T11:36:00.000-07:00

Updates! Updates!
Well I have five weeks before graduation. This is it! The last stretch of academia for me, and probably will be for some time. Sigh.
In the meantime, I have a hell of a lot of typing to do, in an effort to finish up my thesis in a more than timely fashion. Man, I wish Lewis Carroll, or Nonsense literature in general wasn't so darn shifty. I have had to wade into the realm of linguistic study a bit more than I was expecting too, but in the end I am learning quite a bit more than I was expecting to as well.
Yay.
Oh the weather taunts me from beyond the glass.
Soon.

Deride Me Baby!!

2007-05-01T22:19:00.000-07:00

Derision is my new favorite word in all of its forms (but mostly I prefer the noun)!
I love the flow, sound, and possible usage.
Thusly:
Save a horse, deride a cowboy.

Babooshka, Babooshka!

2007-04-29T12:05:00.000-07:00

I just discovered Kate Bush. Rejoice!

Six Strange Things About Marrying my Dau- erm, uh about Me...

2007-04-28T02:57:00.000-07:00

Catching up on Susan and Tom's respective Blogs, I realized that I had neglected to partake in Susan's invitation to cast an illuminating light upon six of my possibly weird personality quirks.
The odd thing is, I am not quite sure if this is necessarily the fruit of objective research seeing as I am myself declaring these things as strange. For all intents and purposes however, I will throw caution to the wind, (perhaps even employ a few more cliches...without counting my chickens) and just assume that no one else in the immediate and nay-saying vicinity of this blog has these particular attributes (or handicaps?):

1. I talk and or sing, as well as laugh at or to myself while driving at work (especially after having any form of stimulant, such as caffeine or whatever else may be lurking at the bottom of a can of Red Bull). If I am in a Track Town car without a radio altogether, the amount of self-entertaining at times can startle even myself. Oddly, this only happens while driving for work. On long trips flying solo (say driving to Grants Pass or Portland), I am generally very silent and introspective.

2. I am not sure how strange this is per say, but I have a seemingly endless stream of connected dream locales stored somewhere in my head. If I meditate on remembered dreams, each location seems to connect somehow to another and I can sit for possibly hours just thinking about dreams that I have had in this fashion. I don't know what to make of it, but it is fun.

3. The whites of my eyes were a pale blue color for about the first year of my life, and a couple of years ago, they turned blue again for a day or so. I am not sure if the two episodes were related.

4. I can tell the sex of a cat (probably to an accuracy rate somewhere between 96 and 99.9 percent) without having to inspect it's nether regions. I think it may just have to do with a sensitivity to/familiarity with the difference in body types. I am told this is strange, and I cannot do this with any other type of animal in which sex distinction isn't visually obvious (e.g. peacocks, lions, conservatives).

5. I will habitually pick single leaves off of plants and trees as I am walking, breaking each one into smaller pieces until it's time to pick another, I run out of available resources, or I reach my destination.

6. I had my gallbladder removed at the tender age of 16. Those of you privy to Raul History 101 will remember my brief two hour appearance at school two weeks after the unexpectedly intense surgery (there were some complications) in which the always tactful (at least with me) Richard Keating remarked, "You look gaunt," and I told my "the gallstones look like neon yellow nerds in neon yellow-green nerd juice story" at least once, but not for the last time.

"If man is five, if man is five, if man is five
Then the devil is six, then the devil is six, then the devil is six, then the devil is six..."

The People Mover

2007-04-25T11:39:00.000-07:00

Man. The last six months have been rife with change. It seems like the passing of my Grandfather over Thanksgiving/Christmas time unhinged a cog in the works of the Stability Machine. Either that, or it blew a fuse in Stability Machine Mirage Generator: the one that replicated those nice and subduing ocean/womb noises at the foot of my bed every night.

Many people have gone, and there has been a gentle smack to the cheek to the tune of me waking up--awake to change as sometimes tangible, not just theoretical. You can taste it sometimes--and I don't just mean that salty tinge that creeps into the corners of your mouth. It's kind of metallic, sitting there in the back of your throat, dragging you down into your stomach to sit for a bit; sit and meditate on the nature of things.
I guess that's kind of where I have been for the last few months: in my stomach, mulling over/digesting change, and trying to keep things from going any further, from breaking down too much. Maybe that's why I find it so hard to get any work done, and to really dedicate myself to sitting in front a screen, or a text. People are leaving, and I can't stand the thought of not having them at arms length anymore, or having them obscured in my periphery, nose in a book.
But I can't give in. And I can't stop or quit now.

So, here's to the long list of goodbyes--some more permanent than others--and I think it started earlier than I thought:

Alex McMillan - You made me build a new foundation. Twice. Once with help. Once again with only two bare hands--but it made me stronger.
Grandma Rios - You always laughed. That was your strongest trait I think. You made us laugh too.
Grandpa Rios - You had a strong and endearing silence. It put as at ease. We will miss the both of you.
Eric Murray - You left, but didn't go too far away, and now you are back! Phew.
Alex McMillan - Again, you said Goodbye. Were you ever here? Sometimes it all feels like a (pretty darn good) dream.
Luther Johnston - You made sure Oregon treated me well from the beginning, and your passing has reshaped the landscape. I hope my gratitude will reach you somewhere out there--out in the big world. You will be missed.
Hailey - You big furry lick-beast: have fun with those other rowdy four-leggers. I hope to hug you again soon, for you are still my favorite canine companion.
Eric Sloan - I will miss your mischief, and your laugh, and your fucking awesome cooking. Your political angst, and your always entertaining eye-rolling. I know you secretly love our own particular band of scatology. You are one major piece of the Eugene puzzle, and campfires won't burn nearly as bright without you here. Thank you for everything.
Anna Marie Cooper - I think we (along with Eric) kind of made Eugene together, and I am wondering when--if ever--we graduated from big pants and glowing plastic. If Spring Break is any indication, I don't think we ever did, and never will, and that's a good thing.
I think it says a lot when I can't bear to elevate a single stand-out moment: there were far too many and they were all way too great. But there will be many more right? Soon I will be able to hang out with "The Sloan-Coopers" :D and I am so proud to have been there from the beginning. Now that I think about it, "Thank you" doesn't even cut it.
I love you both. I wish you the best.
(Can't we have just one more cup of tea? please?)

Jeez. Compounded by the fact that I am a petri dish of plague, I have just degenerated into a leaking mess... :/

Some Hello's:
Michael Ryan Butcher - Thank you for your patience, understanding, and for sharing unconditionally. You are amazing, and I love you very much.
Dana Ponte - You and I seem to be twin tugboats tied to the same beset rock. Our laughter can be heard like foghorns. Our friendship means the world to me.
Michael McMillan - I am constantly in awe of your ability to juggle all of those plates, make calm and collected sense out of this Escher-like maze and all of its traps, and still have time for a chat, a car bomb and a laugh. Thanks for your constant support, your openness, great sense of humor and unrelenting hospitality. I always wish the best for you.
Eric Murray - Dude, you make me laugh like nobody else. I will always love you for that. Thanks for being a friend and helping me stay sane when I need it the most. The funny thing is, I don't think I am even aware of it when I do...but maybe you do.

And this list could go on. But thank you.

*clutches award and walks of stage*

2007-04-09T22:25:00.000-07:00

I didn't feel like doing anything today but drawing...so I didn't.
I will post with an update regarding this weekend very soon. It was intense.
Meanwhile here are some images:

Her name is Lily. She has secrets.

Sam, short for Sammangelof.
As for secrets, he is not allowed.

No less than seven

2007-04-01T01:43:00.000-07:00

Seven days on the coast, in a beach house with friends galore: that was spring break for 2007. We just got back today, and boy are our wings tired.
But, there will be pictures, and updates at a later date: In other more pressing news, Dana informed me today that our friend Luther passed away on Tuesday. I am at a loss for description as to how I feel, but heavy might have to suffice for now. The memorial service is on Saturday and I plan on making the trek down to GP.

Luther was a great guy. This is all so strange.
And very very saddening.
All to say the least.

ZING!

2007-03-14T11:40:00.000-07:00

I had thought that "minimalizing" was a word, but Office seems to think that "mineralizing" and "minimal zing" serve as more lexically appropriate options.

Robin Williams and Plane Wrecks

2007-03-14T11:13:00.000-07:00

I had a dream that I met Robin Williams, and we walked around campus talking about favorite movies! I shook his hand and told him that his role of Genie in Aladdin was truly inspired, and that he had been favorite of mine since childhood. Strangely, we never touched on the subject of Popeye, the Musical film of '84 (or 3), but that may have been for the best. All in all he was very nice.
I then had a dream that I was watching a family eat at a Mcdonald's in the middle of a large field, with their 4 healthy and friendly golden retrievers. I soon got bored and made a plane crash into the ground nearby. It was a spectacular sight to behold, made all the more eerie by the fact that I think it was a lucid moment.
Why would I want to MAKE something like that happen?

Hoo Hah!

2007-03-06T13:25:00.000-08:00

I have been running rather consistently for the past two months, and here is my progress for those interested parties:

I can now run a 6:30 mile, and can keep a good 7-8 minute/mile pace for at least a half an hour.
This means I am up to about and average of 4 miles per workout, and 15 to twenty miles a week!

Hooray for me.

icky...

2007-02-28T09:11:00.001-08:00

Ugh... I feel moderately gross. I can't seem to kick this cold/infection for some reason, and sinud medication only makes me feel swimmy and dizzy. I even tried not taking a full dose.
Bah! I have a meeting at 3, and I don't know if I can go...

See Change. See Change Run.

2007-02-28T08:56:00.000-08:00

I am totally addicted to Beck's album, Sea Change. I had heard bits of it before, but I am quite amazed by it upon listening to it recently. I have looked up reviews for it, and it is apparently the highest rated Beck album (Rolling Stone gave it 5 stars for example), and is really my personal favorite of his.
I especially like the first five tracks culminating with track 5, but the whole album really has a folksy lull that dips in and out of melancholy, all while retaining an unrelenting beauty.
Bah! It's just really good.
That is all.

Yes, Finally! An update!

2007-02-26T15:59:00.000-08:00

Cool your collective jets my many fans, I am here to assuage your fears and anoint you with the sweet oil of currency as detailed upon my canvas of creative expression:
not much goin' on.
Yes, my own personal brand of currency has a relatively low exchange rate apparently, and with not much to report on I am finding myself severely threadbare here in the rich tapestry of blogland.
So, let us see if we can't take out a loan:

1. I just went base-jumping yesterday, and man was that an insanely mind-jumbling experience...I was mere inches feet from the cliff wall at one point, and was contemplating unscheduled rhinoplasty when I found my mouth filled with a rather foul substance. Literally, the substance was foul...and feathery.

I had actually eaten a bird.

2. Upon my first Palme d'Or winning feature, "Jacques at the Fair," arriving on DVD shelves (both on and offline) my latest opus, "Wine Country Bloodfest," is now scheduled for a July 27th world-wide theatrical release. A journalist reporting for the entertainment section of Entertainment Weekly inquired in an interview:
EW: Anything but a summer release would seem inappropriate for a movie laden with explosive action and Hitchcockian intrigue, even with a screenplay so replete with high drama and literary poignancy such as this one.

Me: Umm Hmm.

EW: That being said, what is your opinion of the decision to go up against such juggernauts as The Transformers and, Homer Simpson?

Yours Truly: I haven't given it a second thought, the first of which was more of a synaptic blip than a thought besides--probably involving not more than one or two if that... synapses that is. Of course, thanks to you, I can't really say that now, can I?

EW: Umm.

Me Me Me: ...

EW: And what about Harry Potter? Book 7 is scheduled for release less than seven days prior to your movie. Do you think interest in your film will wane as space-time kicks up its feet to take in the latest and final adventures of the plucky magician?

Yours and Yours Alone: Rowling can suck it...

EW: ...

Me: ...Hard.

3. I was up in space last week thinking to myself: I don't miss dropping stuff on my foot.

4. George was talkin' in his sleep again. Normally the problem is easily solved with a nudge or a warm wet cloth to the face, but this time he was giggling and curtsyin so courtly-like I felt it necessary to gather a witness or two. I tiptoed out of bed and over to Cheney's bunk for to get him to see, and Condy would have come along but she was making a sundae. We had a good laugh, and I drew a picture on my hand.

5. Sterilize the milk. Even though your milk has been pasteurized, it will still contain bacteria. Pour a quart of milk into a pot and use a metal spoon. Heat the milk until it is almost boiling. You'll see small bubbles form around the edges and steam beginning to rise. Checking the temperature is a good idea. It should be around 180-185F (82-85C). A candy thermometer comes in handy. Remember to heat slowly and stir often to prevent scorching. A double boiler may also be used.

6. Well. Nobody out there knows it--not a single person--but I totally saved each and every one of their tight little asses! At least they don't know it yet--ooh, that's a nice ring he's got on.
What a silly bald man he was.
Nice rings don't make you quick on the draw apparently. I don't understand it. Why did it take him so long to press down on the button. I guess I can't complain now that his head is over there.
Time for a sexy drink.

7. My pants are wet? I wish they weren't.
Agnes?
Who are all of those people screaming, and why is that short person pounding on the hood?
...
Wet...

That is all for now.

"I do Yoga and Pilates, and the room is full of hotties" *

2007-01-18T07:53:00.000-08:00

Alas, the first portion of that statement rings truer than the second. Seeing as the head of any given class lends more sway to the overall "hotness" quotient of the room than the catalog of fresh young pupils before them, I am left to primarily ask how it could be that all of my respective Yoga and Pilates instructors have had quite the pudge going on. Haven't these particular brands of east meets pop west exercise fads taken firm enough root to fully embody everything that late night tv has promised.

Damn you Mari Winsor. Damn you straight to...

hell?

Considering my first yoga instructor did his best to avoid not looking like a turbaned and grizzled Michelin man, I shouldn't say I am all that surprised. He was even gracious enough to try and befoul any romantic notions I, and perhaps any of my fellow Kundalini Yoga 1'ers may have had about the practice of yoga, with a nice and crackling fart, legs spread, spiritual center aimed right at the lot of us.

God Bless you central air...

My pop cultural training still persists however, and I think I may know why. As strong as the olfactory gland may be, visual memory and repetition is hard to overcome. Perhaps my years at Barnes and Hobble, covering the occasional shift in Music, while men on the yoga video loop who look like this,

did things with their bodies that resemble this,

and this,

had overly sweetened me on the potentiality of floor bound body shaping. This is, of course, yet another manner in which corporate America and I have failed to develop a working relationship, and another manner by which ugly people in ties have soured the milk with window dressing.

My bitterness comes almost entirely in jest.

In all honesty I am otherwise quite fond of the exercises, and the revitalizing aspects thereof. They not only supplement my more strenuous workouts (running and rowing), but also allow for ample stretching time and helps me maintain a more solid schedule.
That really is the point of all of this saat naam joyousness right? It shouldn't be the idea of seeing a Chris Evans look alike, do the Yogic equivalents of "the snatch," or "clean and jerk"(at least in namesake). Besides, being happily and beautifully taken, I suppose there is only so much I could really do with the ceiling bound pelvic region of a sweaty neighbor, especially considering the fact that I would have to pick from quite the awkwardly realistic selection.

But part of me still persists. Maybe there is hope out there after all. Maybe pop culture hasn't deceived me entirely. I think this whole sourly deflating Michelin man thing may be a ruse to jade us all, and Maybe I am really just the victim of some regime of Regeanomics-minded yoga withholders, dangling the hot bits just out of reach, and allowing the gristle to trickle down into Gerlinger 220 every mon/wed.
That must be it! There really must be a sculpted lotus flower of a man/woman out there, waiting to set us all adrift upon a stream of well being and hot damnedness.

Otherwise,

what hope have we?

*God bless Madonna and her atrocious 9th grade lyrics...

A response to Dana's post, and an ode to a breakfast f(r)iend

2007-01-16T14:39:00.000-08:00

How Breakfast Popped a Cap’n in my Ass

This mornin I was look'n for some action.
My homies and I were straight jack'n,
when homes took out the pipe to put some crack'n:
all of a sudden we saw the Cap'n!

He came creepin' like he just stepped off a cruize ship--
not shuffle board and grannies nursin' bad hips--
more like ill'n rats and ho's with nasty bruised lips.
He grabbed my 40 from my hand before I took a sip…
(CRASH!)

He said,
"Yar'll be getting no tidin's,
for in that shite yor little sister’s hidin':
Powdered sugar and spice— it makes a cap’n gag,
Ya’ll are schoolgirlin’ up like a TigerBeat mag.”

I walked right up to his cold 2D stash,
his breath deathly sweet, like candy cane ash.
I cracked a knuckle or two, glanced at a cohort,
and then made to present my witty retort:

"What!?,” I said, “You givin’ face Cap’n Kanga?!
Tryin’ to play me off as if my name was Jenga?
Think you’re hard Mr. Stubing? Then where’s the ice grill?
With your fancy blue hat, you ain’t Jack but all Jill.
And yo, wassup with havin' two legs!?
And two able hands that ain't tappin’ any kegs”

He then sized me up with a big cartoony eye,
drew in grizzled breath, let out a deadly sigh...
...and straight clocked us all hard, to the left and to the right.
He lacked a dimension, but could put up a fight!
My homeboy Stew, he put his head in a death vice,
brains ready to pop, just like a bowl a rice.
Legs were busted, fingers bent, and heads were curbed,
My homies were sore and I a bit perturbed.

“Ye cold arsed muthers don’t know nuthin’
‘boot hard sea-farin’ gangstah lovin’.
Ya’ll are water babies, with soggy panties,
So step up, be a man, and come over to me shanty.
That cotton candy fluff y’all been smokin’
Has nary the meat of the shit I been tokin’.
Me rocks are pure white, they got punch, they got soul,
So ye best be puttin’ this here crunch in yer bowl.”

Today is not a day of rest.

2007-01-15T12:53:00.001-08:00

Hurray for Numerics

2007-01-12T13:37:00.000-08:00

Another year! Licky number 7 even! Let's all hope for a good one, for the last couple can be filed under C for "Change," "Complicated," or "Chulupa-Cheeny" if you'd like.
This year I will have to undergo the process of redefining the place in which I live before I leave it, for it is no longer Eugene, but some foreign landscape filled with a strange emptiness, and bittersweet possibility. Would I rather have alien life forms?
For now there is a big white world that has to be re-written.

Today, i am going to go to a Rec center, a place called Track Town, and then "Home" again. I hope they treat me well, whatever they may be.

The Creeky Wheel Gets the Hobo Camp

2006-10-24T23:28:00.000-07:00

So a year ago, Mike worked for a company called ColdwaterCreek--see their lovely selection of garments for the middle-aged to elderly woman with more "discretionary income than free time," in which discretionary income means "money to blow," and free time stands for, "any semblence of fashion sense."

So he was telling me about his job, in which he did tech support/customer service, and briefly familiarized me with the clothing line, employees and customers.

Outstanding individuals included:
An annoying and smelly woman named Erin Kueter (pronounced like "goiter" for all of those overly concerned) aka Dirty Sanchez and eventually known as Sitnky Dias (she really had an odor problem)

And a costumer named Something-or-other Haebich...(this one is pronounced just like you would hope).

So, Mike told me about this one coat that he called the "Hobo" coat, because it looked as if it had been desperately fashioned out of carpet samples and bits of rope (all of this talk was instigated, by the way, when we came across a hideously random auction for the couple of items in the previous entries). The hunt was on, and on to the website we went in search of something to wear by the fire-barrel side.

We had no luck, but Mike was undeterred, and told me to go ahead and log onto the chat help line, where we were aided in our search by the industrious Carol S (yup, he knew her...and had a few things to say as well).
Oh I wish I had the option to save that chat...but I basically had the chance to live out my dream as an elderly woman in search of a beloved hobo coat.

After much fruitless hard work on the part of Carol S, it was finally revealed that I was really in want of this coat because,

"Mine was ripped clean in half...it got caught in a door...bus drivers can be so inconsiderate sometimes."

Other highlights included:

"Yes."
"..."

"Yes. Yes."

and

"Thanks be to you! Huzzah and Kudos to you!"

After much strangeness, I had to further lie and tell Carol S. it was a gift, and that I didn't know the last name of the gift-giver because,

"I found it under the tree...at work. At the big party"

"Oh. Did Santa give it to you?" she asked.

"...no Santa didn't give to me," I replied. "Santa doesn't exist..."

"..."