is this a face you can say 'we reject your proposal' to? I don't think so.

oh, for the love of all things furry, cute and feline.

that's it. that is the nail in the friggin coffin. I mean, I knew these people had it all funny, their priorities, what with their love of all things singularly auto and their overt disdain for the real -as in not that glossy mag pretty- life creature of motion that is public transportation. and just when I thought they were to redeem themselves with the construction of what is to be the hopefully oh so useful cap hill light rail station, the rug is unceremoniously yanked out from under me.
what am i talking about? well, I answered their sirens call for artists to transform their work space into a thing of beauty by submitting a beautiful, eloquent proposal for a giant banner of BABYSEAL (in a spoof of the Chloe apartment advertisements) and it was summarily REJECTED. I, BABYSEAL, have been rejected. nobody puts BABYSEAL on the corner of john and broadway. and that person is SDOT.
it is time to implement. . . PLAN B. (as in BABYSEAL).
stay tuned.

does it kill the funny? explaining it?

last weekend, on my way out the door to work (folklife2010), I tried to lock my apartment with my festival key. ha! wait'll I tell my coworkers, i chuckle to myself. fast forward a few hours, we, me my coworker, are sitting around in our makeshift break room/hide out and I relay the morning's hilarity. he blurts out his reply, book-ended by laughter: 'I did the same thing! and then,' he adds, 'I tried to radio it in to tell everyone.' our shared laughter was cut short by a radio call of someone needing a key assist in the next room. ah, festivals. . .

for reals, the above incident is in fact ridiculously funny when you work 12+hour days back to back to back to back with a radio strapped to your shoulder, squawking in your ear like an orphaned parrot. trust me words on it.

the pull of PUSH

thru the magic that was my 6 month enrollment at Bent Arts writing institute, I was exposed to many an unfamiliar author. one poet in particular who generally left me slightly slack jawed, the words 'what the f***' falling from my mouth like ripe fruit off a tree was Saphirre, of PUSH the book/Precious the movie fame.

I saw the ads for Precious in the paper when it came out but never heard anything about it. nor did I know anyone who had seen it. the book, I just got a 'yeah it's really intense' heads up. if it was anything like her poems, I was in for it. but not purely satisfied with knowing of its very existence, curiosity and the library colluded together and I found myself with a bright shiny paperback copy of it.

and it's been a while since a BOOK REPORT so here we go:

AHHHHHGGGGG DON'T READ THIS BOOK!!!!!!!!!!! and I'm not trying to reverse psychology you. ok, actually, do what you want, fellow americans. read it, dont read it. you want my opinion, keep reading: holy moses that book is, well, just as I was warned, so very much intense! yeah and I guess the back cover does a little heads up, but a banal promotional paragraph breezing over a plot about incest, abuse, poorest of poor education and some kind of unforgettable journey doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of the emotional raking over hot coals that is reading an entire book dedicated to the topic, the set up, the play by play, the consequences of it all. jesus. h. christ. granted/thank you universe, it is FICTION. but non writers, here's a little secret: all fiction is based on, ahem, TRUTH. uh, yikes.

brings up the little issue of what is the value of bringing into this already difficult at many times such an intense wrecking ball of a book. why bring the people down? what is the point? how does this further the people/world towards a better future?

answers I do not know. or rather, I have not the time left at work where I am writing this (dance belt teaches 20 people of the world to dance thriller) to delve into so deep a philosophical convo.

but I do know/have time to say that it did serve as a sort of existential point of reference. it had kinda a HOTZONE effect. in that, no matter how bad things are for me right now (I was feeling a little emotionally wrecked before i started it. maybs not the best time to read it. (kinda like the time I watched DANCER IN THE DARK whilst deep in the throws of depression. file under I've had better ideas.) I forced it finish in two days while at work. lucky for me, it was folk life and I had the healing powers of several hundred hurdy gurdies (sp?), fiddlers, scottish dancers, balkan singers and crusty jug bands at my disposal.), it's really not all THAT bad. in fact, in comparison, my life is a walk on a flat trail in a beautiful nature preserve. my feet are dry and cozy, my lighter than air backpack is full of nourishing snacks. i am a lucky son of a gun.

thanks saphirre, for the friendly, albeit slightly traumatic reminder.

1 peach does not equal 1 seal.

(note the reference to lack of internet access at the time of writing this blog which was sometime last week)
a friend is out of town for 2 weeks and I find myself with access to wheels and internet if I could figure out how to make it work on this computer. along with this, I am at the mercy of one tiny, many clawed calico creature by the name of peaches. to peaches, I quadruple as a scratching post, snack machine, summoner of fun (in the form of a red invinsible dot and a bodyless plumey bird, also invinsible), and letter inner to the house. as I write, she is demanding of my attention. as I write, I must take breaks and -ow! claws to the thigh! - to point the laser.

ok I'm back. red laser dot ate peaches' food, drank her water, got high off her cat nip then disappeared with out so much as a goodbye. hmmm. I feel like, except for the getting high part, that describes me in certain situations with certain people. ah, relationships. . . my ankles are being devoured. her kitten status is simultaneously the source of the problem and her get out of jail free card. I have distracted her with a noisy orange birdmouse. my stocking feet are stinging.

this cat has more energy than all the other cats I've ever lived with. combined. specifically, she has moved more in the last half hour than I ever saw BABYSEAL move in, well, the entirety of me knowing her. oh, my sweet SEAL. ow peaches get off me! where was i? SEAL, BABY: I tried to get peaches to lay on my chest like you do when I lay on my back on the floor to meditate. to no avail. where are you when I need a warm feline body pillow? a giant ball of love that leaves more fur behind than seems physically possible? and biscuits? where are my biscuits? sigh.

my black pants are suspiciously free of dander. my eyes, when I rub them from time to time, do not puff up or itch or redden. to console me in your absence, I have only that one dude in my yoga class who hasnt quite gotten the hang of oo-jai (sp?) breathing so that it sounds less like karmic asthma and exactly like you snoring.

basically, in not so many words, and I know I only moved 8 blocks from you, I miss you.

some may call it a weakness, i may call it get out of my way before someone gets hurt

so i was in the theo chocolate factory the other day (for those who have not been, it rules. they have these alluring displays proffering up FREE samples of all their chocolate to all who enter.) and i totally got busted! the lady behind the counter, in the tender raw moment that existed between me inquiring about the availability of vegan confection samples and me picking out the 2 confections that i was yes, actually going to buy, asked if i lived or worked around there, implying that im in there OFTEN. and more OFTEN than not, i, after making the rounds, sneak out empty handed, half a chocolate bar worth of samples melting in my stomach, beginning to infiltrate its way into my bloodstream.

in my defense, both my acupuncturist and my therapist are within 3 blocks of the joint, im fremont once a week or so anyways, the factory just happens to be on my route. sometimes i need a little pick-me-up/smile in velvety brown bar shaped form. and sometimes i dont feel like eating an entire bar. if i wanted an entire bar, i would buy one. the samples are plenty for me right now, thank you, lady for your keen observance. and for my continued peripheral patronage, you may thank me in broken pieces of candied cacao nibs. no rush, i will just stand here and wait while you restock, you are doing a tremendous job. thank you, now move aside.

aging with grace. mostly.

(i wrote this a few days ago)

in the cool (as in awesome) wake of my 31^st birthday, i seem to have undergone another one of life's rites of passage. a lesser known, not quite as esteemed milestone as others out there, but, uh, er, which puts it kinda on the uneasy edge between curious and ever so slightly troubling. with a tinge of 'oh, that's what they mean by that.'

the road of life mile marker of which i speak of is none other than this: sleeping wrong. apparently, there is a correct and incorrect way to participate in this activity. i had, in my earlier years, heard of such potential but dismissed it as something with which i needn't concern myself with. until now, apparently. this particular instance of non success evokes the distant but clear voice of my high school english teacher and her encouraging, catered to high school thespian words of wisdom life advice: 'if you're gonna fail, fail big.' somewhere in the suburbs of portland, a high school theater director (eh, let's assume for the sake of this blog that she is in fact still there) is beaming with pride.

well, i suppose that after getting it 'right' 11,023ish times (not counting naps), one off ain't all that bad. in fact, i will go out on a limb and proclaim that those are pretty effing good odds. nonetheless, my 0.00908% deviation was painful enough for me to chauffeur myself via metro transit to my massage therapist whose diagnosis was, indisputably, comically, 'yeah, you probably just slept wrong.' deepest of tissue manipulation ensued. the result of which shall enable me, as soon as the soreness subsides, to once again bend at the waist (aka deepest hip flextion(sp?)) beyond a 90 degree angle (aka sitting) without considerable wincing or calling down of the saints/jesus christ. to that i say amen.

(NOTE: my MT, jen rice (aka the muscle whisperer) is a friggin' genius).