Friday, July 23, 2004

Feast or Famine
It has been a very bizarre week. I only worked ("for real" worked) 3 days this week, although I did go to that retreat thing which I hang over everyone who matters head as me having worked 12 days in a row (last monday to this friday) ... That was me digressing.

Anway, I'm sitting here listening to Pink Floyd, wishing it was already Saturday and pondering what the hell is going to happen during the next 3-4 months. Lots of strange developments have happened since Wednesday. I've currently got more than a handful of pieces of information in my head that I'm legally obligated not to talk about, but any of which could result in my not living in Seattle come 2005. Too weird. I'll be able to talk about all this stuff later on, but knowing the history of clashes between "Mr. Softy" and dudes with blogs, my lips are sealed. I can't say the same for gawker though (I'll let you figure that one out on your own there super sleuth). Even if you do figure that out, there's something else even more amazing that nobody knows about. Way more amazing. In its effect on me anyway.

alright, alright ... Natalie Portman called me and wants me to father her child. I told her she has to court me first and bake me a cake. I hope she doesn't use those weird, rock hard sugar ball things that look like bee-bee's though. That would spell a definite veto for her.

[edit] ok, so i guess one of the things i'm not supposed to talk about is common knowledge now. I'm still not allowed to say anything more about it. Gawker, Washington Post, New York Times, Seattle PI, News.google.com, [/edit]

The random notes
I picked up the new Harkonen record yesterday. Harkonen is so good. I also talked to Ben Verrellin on the phone, weirdly enough. He's in Texas playing drums for These Arms Are Snakes while they're on tour. "I did not know that!"

I have a hypothetical band called Omerta. We need a bass player. Connect the dots. It'll probably never happen. That band is cursed.

I am officially a pedestrian now. The 'lac is gone. I very unceremoniously signed away the title at the impound lot last night and some police charity should be taking it away today. I got KC to forge my grandfathers signature on the title since he co-signed for my loan however many years ago it was that I stupidly bought that fucking thing. it was pretty funny. The lady at the desk got all weirded out and was like, "If you're going to do that, you've got to leave for a while, because I don't want to know about it." hilarious. Maybe I shouldn't have divulged that information on the internet. Oh well. I live la vida loca twenty-four seven. biatch.

My grandfather doesn't mind. He's a freedom fighter in the Salvadorian Peoples Army.

I doubt that even exists.

check this out: Gum Blondes

This is a pretty cool article too. It's all about crowds; art mobs, flash mobs, etc.

Skateboarding to work is the best thing ever. Some lady on a bike pulled up along side me this morning as I was bombing down this big ass hill on the bike path beside 520 and asked, "shouldn't you be wearing a helmet?" I was just like, "Nah, I don't plan on falling." She gave me this look that communicated something along the lines of, "I have messed up hair because I'm wearing a really ugly helmet, and I'm really perturbed because I'm someones mom and like to boss people around and you're not having it." It was rad. Then I hopped the fence I climb over every day on my way to and from work and seemingly confused her even more.

I'd rather be water skiing.