First hill manages to cater simultaneously to a concetrated population of crackheads and hospitals, which makes it a delightful location for a special date.
Yep, that pretty much sums it up.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
My Pup Sadie
I've set up a live web-cam to watch my dog while I'm at work. She sleeps most of the time, but at least I know she's not getting into trouble. Broadcasts are normally Monday-Friday from around 7:15am-5:00pm.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
What a nice thing to say
I attended PAX this year with a Flip Mino video camera. At a convention, a lot of time is spent standing in lines. I decided that instead of waiting in lines in the exhibition hall, I would just interview women who were waiting in lines or standing about. When I did have to wait in line for panels or concerts, I interviewed or chatted with people around me. I received the following in an email from one interviewee:
Well just wanted to say it was nice to meet ya and you made me feel like I wasn't all by myself for at least a little part of the weekend. Thanks much! You're a pretty cool person.
People are interested in making connections, even if they're temporary. Both my father and sister are charming and I've always felt more socially awkward. They speak to strangers like they've been friends for years, and most people respond in kind. At PAX I decided not to be reserved, to engage people in conversation, and it worked out beautifuly. I should use this approach more often.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Sunday, June 08, 2008
FTP'd Up
My blog is totally FTP’d up at the moment. It seems to be delaying my postings by at least a couple days and then posting them at random. I’ve completely lost my patience with Yahoo Web Hosting and once I make a back-up of my site, I am relocating to have Blogger provide the hosting.
So what have I been up to this week?
Tuesday – William Gibson Reading
Despite the threat of drowning in the rain, I took the bus to the U-dist to see one of my favorite living authors, William Gibson. It was his paperback tour for a book of his I bought in hardcover last year, but I’ve never been to a Gibson reading before and didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. I’m glad I braved the elements and the crazies on the bus (I didn't even know that beards could dreadlock). I used Twitter to micro-blog throughout the reading, hiding my Blackberry behind a bookshelf so that Gibson wouldn’t think I was ignoring him. I like using Twitter during readings as I can capture quotes I would have otherwise forgotten. A few that didn’t get into the Twitter posts that I’m qoting to the best of my memory.
On Cyberpunk – “Cyberpunk is now just a pantone chip in the palette of pop culture.”
On Steampunk – “I love the aesthetics of Steampunk… Brass filigree laptops… My only complaint is they look too new, not like they were built back then… Carry the parts around in your pocket a few weeks with some change and screws to give them that well-worn look.”
Thursday – Joy Wants Eternity
Shane and I went all the way to Ballard to see Joy Wants Eternity play. Sal’s one of the guitarists in the band as well as a bartender with Shane at the Summit, so there were a lot of the usual suspects from the Summit present. Shane was disappointed that all but one of his posse (me) had been too tired to go out that night. We missed the first band, Machete, but the second band, El Ten Eleven, was freaking amazing. It was reminiscent of some 80’s electro bands with modern alterna-rock overtones. Joy Wants Eternity was incredible. I just can’t describer how good they sound live. My ears are still ringing.
So what have I been up to this week?
Tuesday – William Gibson Reading
Despite the threat of drowning in the rain, I took the bus to the U-dist to see one of my favorite living authors, William Gibson. It was his paperback tour for a book of his I bought in hardcover last year, but I’ve never been to a Gibson reading before and didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. I’m glad I braved the elements and the crazies on the bus (I didn't even know that beards could dreadlock). I used Twitter to micro-blog throughout the reading, hiding my Blackberry behind a bookshelf so that Gibson wouldn’t think I was ignoring him. I like using Twitter during readings as I can capture quotes I would have otherwise forgotten. A few that didn’t get into the Twitter posts that I’m qoting to the best of my memory.
On Cyberpunk – “Cyberpunk is now just a pantone chip in the palette of pop culture.”
On Steampunk – “I love the aesthetics of Steampunk… Brass filigree laptops… My only complaint is they look too new, not like they were built back then… Carry the parts around in your pocket a few weeks with some change and screws to give them that well-worn look.”
Thursday – Joy Wants Eternity
Shane and I went all the way to Ballard to see Joy Wants Eternity play. Sal’s one of the guitarists in the band as well as a bartender with Shane at the Summit, so there were a lot of the usual suspects from the Summit present. Shane was disappointed that all but one of his posse (me) had been too tired to go out that night. We missed the first band, Machete, but the second band, El Ten Eleven, was freaking amazing. It was reminiscent of some 80’s electro bands with modern alterna-rock overtones. Joy Wants Eternity was incredible. I just can’t describer how good they sound live. My ears are still ringing.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Walking in the Rain
You are walking in the rain. Not a sprinkle like a fine dust sifting down, nor the typical Seattle rain, the light, constant, dampening rain that plays with you as you decide whether to open or close your umbrella, it’s so light it’s not really worth it, noticeably more dense in passing waves. No. This is a real downpour, the alleys turned into rivers of grubby water, the sidewalks coursing, this is a rain you remember from the East Coast, but there’s no thunder, nor lightning, no just boring, relentless, soaking rain. You don’t have your umbrella, so you’ve pulled your hood over your head, thankful for the hooded zipped sweatshirt and leather jacket. The jacket is holding up so far, protecting you but your legs, your jeans are wet and clinging around your ankles, the tops of your thighs darkening, damp and itching.
Your canvas shoes flood if you step in a puddle, you jump far at curbs to avoid the filthy rivers but you are caught off guard by the hidden puddles in dips of sidewalks where the concrete settled, just so, as it dried or tree roots have swelled the concrete up, and so you look down, always down at your feet unless it’s a corner, then you look for traffic both ways, always both ways. You’re waiting for the light, for the little walking man to show you the way. Walking is waiting. You remember to step back and you do before a bus passes, splashing gouts from the gutters.
You get started again, pick up the pace, you must get there, that’s why you’re here in the rain, what drove you from your condo, leaving it reluctantly like you were being pulled from the encompassing depths of warm honey into the sodden streets. You walk faster and soon you’re breathing audibly in shivering breaths but you don’t care because you keep walking faster. The wet fleece clings to your head, you can still feel your hair’s damp but not wet thank god at least you won’t have your hair dry in that funny way it always does, that others think is so cute but you think looks stupid when you look in the mirror.
It’s not really windy at least, the rain drops straight down and not too cold, but it’s also fucking June and where’s the fucking summer already? You’re glad of the leather jacket but feel where the water’s soaked in the seams. So cold you shiver, but your heart is beating faster, and you know once you get there, once you stop, you’re going to be hot as hell, like you spent 30 minutes on the treadmill, and you’ll start to feel sweaty and you’re still breathing fast, trying to slow it embarrassed to be panting in front of strangers. You’re not there yet, you’re still walking and you can’t wait to shed your coat, strip off the sodden hoodie.
You’ve stopped again and waiting, cooling, and you think how far to go, start to divide it into chunks of remembered streets, you can’t count them but you know them so well, every storefront a reflection of your silhouette flashing past but you don’t look too long, just a peek, just to know you’re there, because your face gets wet and you look at your feet again. You break it down, decompose it, deconstruct how far you’ve come, how far you have to go.
You have so far to go and you walk faster again, skipping to catch the next street light, the orange hand flashing no don’t go, please don’t go but you go anyway and if you were in another neighborhood, like where you work, where the streets unfold into six lane monsters as they approach the interstate, swelling with shopping malls and business parks. If you were there you could play that game where you see the 10 second count down and you try to time it so your foot hits the curb just as it goes to zero.
But you’re in center, in the city, in the core, where it all began, with sidewalks and too narrow for bike lanes or bus lanes that bloat the street, and neighborhood associations to defend against any changes whatsoever no thanks, we like it just the way it is, thanks. So the lights don’t have a countdown because they’d have to start it right as you left the curb, and you’d never see the shining man. You’d also get your face wet if you looked up at the flashing hand while you cross, so you keep looking down, down at your new sneakers gleaming white toes smiling up at you. Too white, too new, so obvious, but you just got them yesterday and they’re so comfortable and you have a long way to walk.
You’re as wet as you’re going to get, you’ve reached a perfect state of equilibrium, the singularity, where your clothes can’t get any wetter in this rain, not unless this plodding rain increased into a tempest of biblical proportion, a rain that would cause the hills to shear and the whole neighborhood to come sliding, crashing into downtown, a slow moving unrelenting fist of ancient crumbling bricks and mud smashing into buildings, pushing it all out to sea, leaving a swath of rubble. It’s not that kind of rain today. You’ve accepted this stalemate, grudgingly, but what is your choice in the matter as you’re still not there yet, still have so far to go. You walk faster.
Your canvas shoes flood if you step in a puddle, you jump far at curbs to avoid the filthy rivers but you are caught off guard by the hidden puddles in dips of sidewalks where the concrete settled, just so, as it dried or tree roots have swelled the concrete up, and so you look down, always down at your feet unless it’s a corner, then you look for traffic both ways, always both ways. You’re waiting for the light, for the little walking man to show you the way. Walking is waiting. You remember to step back and you do before a bus passes, splashing gouts from the gutters.
You get started again, pick up the pace, you must get there, that’s why you’re here in the rain, what drove you from your condo, leaving it reluctantly like you were being pulled from the encompassing depths of warm honey into the sodden streets. You walk faster and soon you’re breathing audibly in shivering breaths but you don’t care because you keep walking faster. The wet fleece clings to your head, you can still feel your hair’s damp but not wet thank god at least you won’t have your hair dry in that funny way it always does, that others think is so cute but you think looks stupid when you look in the mirror.
It’s not really windy at least, the rain drops straight down and not too cold, but it’s also fucking June and where’s the fucking summer already? You’re glad of the leather jacket but feel where the water’s soaked in the seams. So cold you shiver, but your heart is beating faster, and you know once you get there, once you stop, you’re going to be hot as hell, like you spent 30 minutes on the treadmill, and you’ll start to feel sweaty and you’re still breathing fast, trying to slow it embarrassed to be panting in front of strangers. You’re not there yet, you’re still walking and you can’t wait to shed your coat, strip off the sodden hoodie.
You’ve stopped again and waiting, cooling, and you think how far to go, start to divide it into chunks of remembered streets, you can’t count them but you know them so well, every storefront a reflection of your silhouette flashing past but you don’t look too long, just a peek, just to know you’re there, because your face gets wet and you look at your feet again. You break it down, decompose it, deconstruct how far you’ve come, how far you have to go.
You have so far to go and you walk faster again, skipping to catch the next street light, the orange hand flashing no don’t go, please don’t go but you go anyway and if you were in another neighborhood, like where you work, where the streets unfold into six lane monsters as they approach the interstate, swelling with shopping malls and business parks. If you were there you could play that game where you see the 10 second count down and you try to time it so your foot hits the curb just as it goes to zero.
But you’re in center, in the city, in the core, where it all began, with sidewalks and too narrow for bike lanes or bus lanes that bloat the street, and neighborhood associations to defend against any changes whatsoever no thanks, we like it just the way it is, thanks. So the lights don’t have a countdown because they’d have to start it right as you left the curb, and you’d never see the shining man. You’d also get your face wet if you looked up at the flashing hand while you cross, so you keep looking down, down at your new sneakers gleaming white toes smiling up at you. Too white, too new, so obvious, but you just got them yesterday and they’re so comfortable and you have a long way to walk.
You’re as wet as you’re going to get, you’ve reached a perfect state of equilibrium, the singularity, where your clothes can’t get any wetter in this rain, not unless this plodding rain increased into a tempest of biblical proportion, a rain that would cause the hills to shear and the whole neighborhood to come sliding, crashing into downtown, a slow moving unrelenting fist of ancient crumbling bricks and mud smashing into buildings, pushing it all out to sea, leaving a swath of rubble. It’s not that kind of rain today. You’ve accepted this stalemate, grudgingly, but what is your choice in the matter as you’re still not there yet, still have so far to go. You walk faster.
Monday, June 02, 2008
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