Court Anonymous is riding a train through rain.
6:58pm · Comment · LikeUnlike · Show Feedback (10)Hide Feedback (10)
You like this.
Adam Anonymous at 7:05pm April 28
Hopefully not in Spain...or on a plain...and certainly not with Mark Twain.
Crystal Anonymous at 7:08pm April 28 via Facebook Mobile
...in pain?
Sarah Jo Anonymous at 7:17pm April 28
or down the lane...
Sally Anonymous at 8:53pm April 28
with butaine.
Court Anonymous at 8:58pm April 28 via Facebook Mobile
I've nothing to obtain, yet everything to gain.
Sally Anonymous at 8:59pm April 28
on the train, in the rain.
Court Anonymous at 9:04pm April 28 via Facebook Mobile
Thank you all for sculpting this poem with me. It shall be blog'd.
Melissa Anonymous at 11:02pm April 28
i tried in vain to contain the last refrain, but i'm not quite sane
Jayne Anonymous at 3:35am April 29
...and neither is Jayne.
Sarah Jo Anonymous at 8:03am April 29
Glad this didn't turn out lame!
Chris Anonymous at 10:09am April 29
As far as being lame, at least *I* am free from blame.
Sarah Jo Anonymous at 11:07am April 29
^^ was that a remark on my game?
Robert M. P. Anonymous IV at 11:46am April 29
time to drain the main vein
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
hardly anything
I hate times like this, and yet it seems my life is willed with nothing but: I have a lot on my mind, and things half-written in my head (to the point that, by typing them up, they would complete themselves), and yet I have less time than I'd require to do something.
Thing is, it's been lovely here, the weather. And good weather stikes my mood up a notch or ten. I've been sick lately, and yesterday was the first day I've really felt better, and so yesterday and today I've been up & about, early.
Today's goal was to get a Washington State driver's license. My current, TN card's photo looks nothing like me now (the traveling years have done me good... the picture was taken two years ago, and in it I look years older than I do now), so as an ID it's hardly useful. And of course, there's the fact that I've been living in Seattle for nearly a year.
I checked the website, and it said I needed proof of identification, proof of residence, and my SSN. I arrived with my TNDL, a letter from the US Treasury (explaining that, rather than sending me my tax refund, they are applying it to my debt), and my SS card. Turns out, that's not enough.
Proof of ID requires a DL and something else... for example, a high school yearbook. I think that's hilarious. What's really cool is, even though I live thousands of miles from my hometown, I do live with someone I went to high school with, and she does have a yearbook. What's unfortunate is, it's from the year after I graduated. Hurm.
So I dunno what I'll do, but this'll happen.
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
Completely new subject: Twitter. How the hell did it become such a big deal? I considered dropping it when Oprah joined it, mostly because someone I follow twitted about it, and I thought it absurd. But I like Twitter for what I use it for--little haiku-like blogs. I enjoy having to search for just the right words to fit a whole day or story into 140 characters. Oprah can do what she wants; that's not my Twitter.
I do feel a little stalkerish, though, following Neil Gaiman's son. But I do. Because he mentioned his mum. Neil never mentions her on his blog. I can understand why--she probably doesn't want strangers having an insight to her life via some else's words. However, it makes me a little sad. And I'm not sure why. So when I saw Micahel Gaiman make a small reference to her, I twitter-followed him. Maybe that's a little more than stalkerish, though.
There's another account I follow that I really love. Last week I overheard someone on the bus ask someone else if they had rubber tubing. This account, @overheardist, searches for twits using the word "overheard," and broadcasts them. They posted my rubber tubing story, and that's how I came across them. Today's gem: RT @baratunde: "Overheard at dinner: imagine if in your job you couldn't get anything done and what you did get done was f**king stupid."
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
Anyway, now I'm getting ready for work.
Have a good day!
Thing is, it's been lovely here, the weather. And good weather stikes my mood up a notch or ten. I've been sick lately, and yesterday was the first day I've really felt better, and so yesterday and today I've been up & about, early.
Today's goal was to get a Washington State driver's license. My current, TN card's photo looks nothing like me now (the traveling years have done me good... the picture was taken two years ago, and in it I look years older than I do now), so as an ID it's hardly useful. And of course, there's the fact that I've been living in Seattle for nearly a year.
I checked the website, and it said I needed proof of identification, proof of residence, and my SSN. I arrived with my TNDL, a letter from the US Treasury (explaining that, rather than sending me my tax refund, they are applying it to my debt), and my SS card. Turns out, that's not enough.
Proof of ID requires a DL and something else... for example, a high school yearbook. I think that's hilarious. What's really cool is, even though I live thousands of miles from my hometown, I do live with someone I went to high school with, and she does have a yearbook. What's unfortunate is, it's from the year after I graduated. Hurm.
So I dunno what I'll do, but this'll happen.
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
Completely new subject: Twitter. How the hell did it become such a big deal? I considered dropping it when Oprah joined it, mostly because someone I follow twitted about it, and I thought it absurd. But I like Twitter for what I use it for--little haiku-like blogs. I enjoy having to search for just the right words to fit a whole day or story into 140 characters. Oprah can do what she wants; that's not my Twitter.
I do feel a little stalkerish, though, following Neil Gaiman's son. But I do. Because he mentioned his mum. Neil never mentions her on his blog. I can understand why--she probably doesn't want strangers having an insight to her life via some else's words. However, it makes me a little sad. And I'm not sure why. So when I saw Micahel Gaiman make a small reference to her, I twitter-followed him. Maybe that's a little more than stalkerish, though.
There's another account I follow that I really love. Last week I overheard someone on the bus ask someone else if they had rubber tubing. This account, @overheardist, searches for twits using the word "overheard," and broadcasts them. They posted my rubber tubing story, and that's how I came across them. Today's gem: RT @baratunde: "Overheard at dinner: imagine if in your job you couldn't get anything done and what you did get done was f**king stupid."
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
Anyway, now I'm getting ready for work.
Have a good day!
Monday, April 6, 2009
One day you will be nostalgic for now.
All I see is the bill of my cap, the maroon of the blanket, and my girlfriend's hair. I'm laying face-down on Kite Hill at Gasworks Park. The sun is setting, and as soon as it's left us in the shade the temperature has dropped dramatically. I'm just laying here, enjoying my own, personal cap-ground-body cave, and listening to my breath, and I probably seem to be sleeping. Behind me is Lake Union, and beyond that, the Seattle skyline. Rolled over on my back, I can see nothing but blue sky, with two dispersing contrails from planes long-gone. I wish I could draw in a breath and, by holding it, stop time. I want to get up and examine every little thing, and see it for what it is right now, which it wasn't a moment ago, and it won't be a moment later. Everything is as it is, was as it was, and will be as it will.
There's no keeping up with it, so best just to take it in and appreciate it as immediately as possible.
At this point in the day, it's enough. It's been so beautiful outside, and now Jenny and I are laying on a blanket. She's reading, while I'm restless and exhausted. Before that, we enjoyed the UW campus. Her friend Lisha introduced us to the library; to the Largest Book In the World. We walked under cherry blossoms, and we admired Mount Ranier.
We had burritos, and I remembered the first time I settled for Chipotle, in Tucson, with Scott. And I missed Blue Coast Burrito, as I always do when I have to settle for Chipotle.
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
It's earlier in the day, and I'm timid. I'm embarrassed and I'm shy.
I'm walking around a room filled with tables. At each table, there is a person. Some people are getting attention; indeed, there are lines of people waiting to see them. Other people, at other tables, are looking neglected, or are drawing, or are both. I don't allow myself to make eye contact. I want to talk to them about their comics, but I can't. I don't know their work. I know four of the people, and there are lines at their tables. Of course tere are--EVERYBODY knows THEM. Mike Mignola, Tim Sale, David Mack, Rob Liefeld. Rob Liefeld... is it worth it to stand in line to spit on someone? I decide not.
I'm walking around, outshone by the knowledge and confidence of all these comic book fans. I never knew how little I knew about comics until now. I was not worthy to pay the admission price but, generously, they took my money. And now I'm in so over my head. A glance to the left breaks my shoe-gaze, and it catches my eye: a tattoo, and one I know.
Her name is Lyxzén Suicide and Erica Danger, and she is tiny--a full foot shorter than I might have guessed. I've seen her naked; I've seen her six friends naked too, but this is the first time I've met them. Still embarrassed and shy, I shake their hands and we all introduce ourselves. I manage to compliment Lyxzén's tattoos, to let her know they're, I think, the coolest tattoos I've ever seen, and she shakes her ass, tells me she's wagging her tail because I've made her happy, and I'm soooo out of my element. I buy a DVD (which the girls all autograph, even though
some of them were minors when the DVD came out; even though none of them are featured on it), a deck of cards, and I leave.
I return a moment later to ask if I might take a photo.
Soon after, I leave the Emerald City Comic Book Convention altogether.
Next week, Jenny and I will return to the convention center, where she'll be as embarrassingly excited over Dragonball Z relics as I was of exclusive Hellboy and Heroes artwork.
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
Good morning.
I love you.
Good morning.
I love you.
There's no keeping up with it, so best just to take it in and appreciate it as immediately as possible.
At this point in the day, it's enough. It's been so beautiful outside, and now Jenny and I are laying on a blanket. She's reading, while I'm restless and exhausted. Before that, we enjoyed the UW campus. Her friend Lisha introduced us to the library; to the Largest Book In the World. We walked under cherry blossoms, and we admired Mount Ranier.
We had burritos, and I remembered the first time I settled for Chipotle, in Tucson, with Scott. And I missed Blue Coast Burrito, as I always do when I have to settle for Chipotle.
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
It's earlier in the day, and I'm timid. I'm embarrassed and I'm shy.
I'm walking around a room filled with tables. At each table, there is a person. Some people are getting attention; indeed, there are lines of people waiting to see them. Other people, at other tables, are looking neglected, or are drawing, or are both. I don't allow myself to make eye contact. I want to talk to them about their comics, but I can't. I don't know their work. I know four of the people, and there are lines at their tables. Of course tere are--EVERYBODY knows THEM. Mike Mignola, Tim Sale, David Mack, Rob Liefeld. Rob Liefeld... is it worth it to stand in line to spit on someone? I decide not.
I'm walking around, outshone by the knowledge and confidence of all these comic book fans. I never knew how little I knew about comics until now. I was not worthy to pay the admission price but, generously, they took my money. And now I'm in so over my head. A glance to the left breaks my shoe-gaze, and it catches my eye: a tattoo, and one I know.
Her name is Lyxzén Suicide and Erica Danger, and she is tiny--a full foot shorter than I might have guessed. I've seen her naked; I've seen her six friends naked too, but this is the first time I've met them. Still embarrassed and shy, I shake their hands and we all introduce ourselves. I manage to compliment Lyxzén's tattoos, to let her know they're, I think, the coolest tattoos I've ever seen, and she shakes her ass, tells me she's wagging her tail because I've made her happy, and I'm soooo out of my element. I buy a DVD (which the girls all autograph, even though
some of them were minors when the DVD came out; even though none of them are featured on it), a deck of cards, and I leave.
I return a moment later to ask if I might take a photo.
Soon after, I leave the Emerald City Comic Book Convention altogether.
Next week, Jenny and I will return to the convention center, where she'll be as embarrassingly excited over Dragonball Z relics as I was of exclusive Hellboy and Heroes artwork.
- -- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- -
Good morning.
I love you.
Good morning.
I love you.
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