Part I
In Which I Complain
There is a billboard on the south end of the Ballard bridge. (Well actually there is one on both ends of the bridge). The one in question has a picture of a Toyota mini van and it says " VANquility"*.
It makes me want to bang my head against my steering wheel.
But I don't because then I might loose control of the vehicle, veer into oncoming traffic and then drive off the bridge into the water or possibly land top of the "deadliest catch' fishing boat (as seen on TV- the fishing boat, that is).
Or it might just hurt my head, and the advertisement already hurts my head enough as it is.
After several weeks of starting at the billboard sitting in back to back traffic every time the drawbridge went up I began to concoct a plan.
It was a daring, devious and slightly illegal plan. But it was done to save my sanity (and 'the deadliest catch').
Also, I had just read the "Monkey Wrench Gang" by Edward Abbey.
Yes, my friends, I concocted a plan to perform the second act of vandalism of my otherwise well bred existence. (peeing in the park does NOT count).
* Toyota wants you to know that by buying their product you will also be purchasing 'peace of mind**' There will be no nasty recall with this product, the breaks will not malfunction and you will not loose control of you vehicle and veer into oncoming traffic and drive off the bridge.....
** 'peace of mind' is actually a little hippie/elf version of yourself that lives in the trunk of your car with rainbows and unicorns. I know this because I saw it on TV.
---------------------------------
Part II
In Which Some Art Happens
I really like the muralist Henry. You, know the one whose paintings are scattered through Fremont, Ballard and elsewhere?
http://www.seattlepi.com/visualart/400609_muralist19.html
Well it is irrelevant, I suppose, because Henry is a well known muralist and would probably not consent to being part of an obvious act of vandalism. It was a good idea though....
My friend Priscilla is a pretty good artist though, and her boyfriend has a really big ladder and some window washing equipment.
At first we wanted to paint right over the advertisement, Banksy style, but Priscilla said, no, no way could she do that and make it look good with out getting caught. And the point was to make it look really good. Actual art, not just graffiti.
In the end we made several large strips of painting that Priscilla and Scott glued over the advertisement at 3 in the morning while wearing "official" dayglo orange vests. I held the ladder.
It lasted for about a day. Now I think there is a an ad for beer up.
But. It was really beautiful for a day.
10 December 2010
She can read, she can read, she's ba-ad
I was sitting in the bathtub yesterday reading the back of the shampoo bottle and my first instinct was to turn it around on the shelf so I wouldn't have to read about my hair type and the amazing nature of my product.
But then I thought, what an amazing thing, the way I can read. The way I absorb the meaning of those combinations of little letters almost instantly. The way I cannot NOT read something in front of me.
Reading....a book, a newspaper, a blog. It might be near to an addiction for me, because I get a better than chocolate or caffeine rush from shutting out the world to a captivating turn of phrase.
I can't really comprehend what it would mean to be illiterate/ preliterate. Would my mind be me with out those symbols attached to every word?
And I wonder if it is analogous to how I never learned to read music. All of the notes are merely dots and bars and I've got the tune in my head but I could not tell you which mark is which sound.
This doesn't stop me from singing in the bathtub, but once the sound bounces off the porcelain it is gone.
I am wondering what I am missing by not knowing how to read.
But then I thought, what an amazing thing, the way I can read. The way I absorb the meaning of those combinations of little letters almost instantly. The way I cannot NOT read something in front of me.
Reading....a book, a newspaper, a blog. It might be near to an addiction for me, because I get a better than chocolate or caffeine rush from shutting out the world to a captivating turn of phrase.
I can't really comprehend what it would mean to be illiterate/ preliterate. Would my mind be me with out those symbols attached to every word?
And I wonder if it is analogous to how I never learned to read music. All of the notes are merely dots and bars and I've got the tune in my head but I could not tell you which mark is which sound.
This doesn't stop me from singing in the bathtub, but once the sound bounces off the porcelain it is gone.
I am wondering what I am missing by not knowing how to read.
26 October 2010
Raven
Speaking of birds.... I am pretty sure that a bird followed me home from the grocery store last week. I decided to walk the 10 blocks because it was a beautiful fall day and the leaves were turning all sorts of orange and yellow and brown. With the leaves that had fallen and the leaves on the trees it made a sort of golden tunnel as I walked down the sidewalk.
On the way home, bag in hand, a raven or a crow started screaming at me. They do that, and I didn't pay it much mind, just kept walking. But about a block later a really magnificent leaf caught my eye and when I turned to pick it up I noticed the bird, or at least another large back bird a few feet on the pavement behind me. It was just sitting there staring, but it flew away when I turned around.
When I got home there was another raven perched on my balcony and Annabel was having a fit trying to claw through the glass window pane to get at it. It looked exactly like the first bird and it sort of made me nervous. I shut the blinds but Annabel would not calm down until it got dark.
On the way home, bag in hand, a raven or a crow started screaming at me. They do that, and I didn't pay it much mind, just kept walking. But about a block later a really magnificent leaf caught my eye and when I turned to pick it up I noticed the bird, or at least another large back bird a few feet on the pavement behind me. It was just sitting there staring, but it flew away when I turned around.
When I got home there was another raven perched on my balcony and Annabel was having a fit trying to claw through the glass window pane to get at it. It looked exactly like the first bird and it sort of made me nervous. I shut the blinds but Annabel would not calm down until it got dark.
Rainy Day
One lone seagull perched on the peak of the roof next door.
Impervious to the rain that drives against my window, bends the trees,
He fluffs his feathers, lifts off.
An awkward flap of wings transforms to graceful glide.
A slow arc and then away.
Impervious to the rain that drives against my window, bends the trees,
He fluffs his feathers, lifts off.
An awkward flap of wings transforms to graceful glide.
A slow arc and then away.
28 September 2010
Girl with Dog
The first time I saw her she was standing downtown by the corner of Nordstrom, almost obscured by the throng of busy shoppers bustling in and out and along the sidewalk. I probably would not have noticed her except for the dog.
There are so many people standing on the street corners downtown, every one asking you for something at every corner, that I often, avert eyes, rush by, too. By the time I walk two or three blocks I really just want to hang a sign of my own that says “ No, I don't want to save the children, contribute to Greenpeace, give you my spare change or take your advertising coupon....please, please don't talk to me at all!”
But there she was. a small girl anywhere from age twelve to twenty in a brown oversize coat beside an enormous furry dog. She had the ubiquitous small cardboard sign asking for help, and she was reading a small book.
What I really wanted to do was ask her where she was from, and what she was doing, and how she ended up on the corner of 7th and Pine with her large, large dog. I wanted to ask her to explain her story in her quiet, polite voice. But I didn't, I just jumped out of the car, handed her the $5 I had in my wallet and said 'good luck with whatever you are doing' and ran back to the car.
I saw her again, a glimpse from the bus, as I passed by lower Queen Anne and then again a month later walking along the back-roads in Ballard. Where was she going? How did she travel around the city? Where did they stay? Who is she? Is she still ok?
There are so many people standing on the street corners downtown, every one asking you for something at every corner, that I often, avert eyes, rush by, too. By the time I walk two or three blocks I really just want to hang a sign of my own that says “ No, I don't want to save the children, contribute to Greenpeace, give you my spare change or take your advertising coupon....please, please don't talk to me at all!”
But there she was. a small girl anywhere from age twelve to twenty in a brown oversize coat beside an enormous furry dog. She had the ubiquitous small cardboard sign asking for help, and she was reading a small book.
What I really wanted to do was ask her where she was from, and what she was doing, and how she ended up on the corner of 7th and Pine with her large, large dog. I wanted to ask her to explain her story in her quiet, polite voice. But I didn't, I just jumped out of the car, handed her the $5 I had in my wallet and said 'good luck with whatever you are doing' and ran back to the car.
I saw her again, a glimpse from the bus, as I passed by lower Queen Anne and then again a month later walking along the back-roads in Ballard. Where was she going? How did she travel around the city? Where did they stay? Who is she? Is she still ok?
16 August 2010
A gentle F.U. to contemporary airline travel
Part I
"No thanks, I would rather suffer in a small cramped space than pay you for fucking extra foot room"
I have found myself traveling quite a bit lately. Doesn't really matter where, but I find myself being shipped par avion fairly frequently. I am not one of those people with a secret dread of flying, I actually like it. The smaller the plane the better. Prop plane? Sure! Private mini jet, Helicopter? Yes, please! Seaplane? Secret dream of mine.
Unfortunately, I normally travel in the coach section of a commercial jet plane. And recently I have been finding it to be an experience analogous to injecting mercury into my soul.
Numbing and fucking annoying.
(as an aside may I commend myself for biting my tongue the whole time I stood in the Philadelphia passport control line in front of an American couple and spoiled teenage daughter while they complained "Chill OUT mom! I don't see the no phone sign", that the non- US passport line was shorter, that they would probably have more rights if they were US citizens, and why were these stupid non US passport holders in the US passport [and legal resident] line?)
All security, passport lines. overpriced airport food, poor quality actual airline food, cranky flight attendants, small filthy bathrooms aside, my patience sort of snapped when I was handed my small plastic drink cup, (food for $$$$$ only), put down my tray table and found myself staring at an advertisement.
My "be polite and friendly and you will get what you want" mantra broke.
The "Fuck You" part of my brain broke free. I did not pay lots of money and squeeze everything into a carry on bag to sit in a small seat and be captive audience to advertising.
So I .....took a nap.....
well, I HAD just taken an 11 hour flight previous to this one and even at the most awake of times the "Fuck You" part of my brain never quite makes it past the "be respectful and be dignified!" barrier.
On my last flight I was able to at least break through the "be dignified!" barrier.
PART II
With a little bit of effort you can simultaneously make a spectacle of yourself, eat well, and even enjoy airline travel.
I found a nice sturdy picnic basket for my 'personal item' and packed two white linen napkins, one china plate, some (slightly tarnished) silverware -no knife, one china tea cup, nice tea, and a thermal container.
Next I stopped by my favorite takeaway and filled the thermos with Panang curry. When placed over rice in the thermos the curry does not constitute as a liquid.
On board, I politely declined the offered Lipton and poured the hot water over the Jasmine tea in the china tea cup. I spread one linen napkin over the offending advertisement and set the plate. I then proceeded to devour the curry while ignoring the alternating weird and jealous looks around me.
Next time I might try Lasagna.
"No thanks, I would rather suffer in a small cramped space than pay you for fucking extra foot room"
I have found myself traveling quite a bit lately. Doesn't really matter where, but I find myself being shipped par avion fairly frequently. I am not one of those people with a secret dread of flying, I actually like it. The smaller the plane the better. Prop plane? Sure! Private mini jet, Helicopter? Yes, please! Seaplane? Secret dream of mine.
Unfortunately, I normally travel in the coach section of a commercial jet plane. And recently I have been finding it to be an experience analogous to injecting mercury into my soul.
Numbing and fucking annoying.
(as an aside may I commend myself for biting my tongue the whole time I stood in the Philadelphia passport control line in front of an American couple and spoiled teenage daughter while they complained "Chill OUT mom! I don't see the no phone sign", that the non- US passport line was shorter, that they would probably have more rights if they were US citizens, and why were these stupid non US passport holders in the US passport [and legal resident] line?)
All security, passport lines. overpriced airport food, poor quality actual airline food, cranky flight attendants, small filthy bathrooms aside, my patience sort of snapped when I was handed my small plastic drink cup, (food for $$$$$ only), put down my tray table and found myself staring at an advertisement.
My "be polite and friendly and you will get what you want" mantra broke.
The "Fuck You" part of my brain broke free. I did not pay lots of money and squeeze everything into a carry on bag to sit in a small seat and be captive audience to advertising.
So I .....took a nap.....
well, I HAD just taken an 11 hour flight previous to this one and even at the most awake of times the "Fuck You" part of my brain never quite makes it past the "be respectful and be dignified!" barrier.
On my last flight I was able to at least break through the "be dignified!" barrier.
PART II
With a little bit of effort you can simultaneously make a spectacle of yourself, eat well, and even enjoy airline travel.
I found a nice sturdy picnic basket for my 'personal item' and packed two white linen napkins, one china plate, some (slightly tarnished) silverware -no knife, one china tea cup, nice tea, and a thermal container.
Next I stopped by my favorite takeaway and filled the thermos with Panang curry. When placed over rice in the thermos the curry does not constitute as a liquid.
On board, I politely declined the offered Lipton and poured the hot water over the Jasmine tea in the china tea cup. I spread one linen napkin over the offending advertisement and set the plate. I then proceeded to devour the curry while ignoring the alternating weird and jealous looks around me.
Next time I might try Lasagna.
18 May 2010
Laundromat
In books and movies laundromats are always the setting of some romantic meeting or misadventure. The dryers hum, the washing machines spin in unison. Eyes meet over folded linen, hands brush as a stray item is returned. An excuse is made to meet again.
The only person who talks to me at the laundromat is the old woman with thinning hair. She is always there on Tuesdays. She asks me how my cat is doing. "fine" I say and scrape the cat hair out of the lint trap. "yours?". She launches into a story that I can't quite hear due to the noise from the tumble dryers. I nod and smile. We fold our laundry, say goodbye.
The only person who talks to me at the laundromat is the old woman with thinning hair. She is always there on Tuesdays. She asks me how my cat is doing. "fine" I say and scrape the cat hair out of the lint trap. "yours?". She launches into a story that I can't quite hear due to the noise from the tumble dryers. I nod and smile. We fold our laundry, say goodbye.
07 May 2010
Art Faliure
(he)Art Failure.
White gallery walls, bare wood floor.
[You] and your projector in the empty space.
Cord plugged into the metal outlet on the floor.
The images flicker, are slow, superimposed with type. Drab colors. Basic font.
Overhead the voice speaks in a measures tone, continues. The reel keeps going.
I left.
Were you trying to convince me to listen to what you had to say?
White gallery walls, bare wood floor.
[You] and your projector in the empty space.
Cord plugged into the metal outlet on the floor.
The images flicker, are slow, superimposed with type. Drab colors. Basic font.
Overhead the voice speaks in a measures tone, continues. The reel keeps going.
I left.
Were you trying to convince me to listen to what you had to say?
04 May 2010
taxi porn/taxi scorn
So, I have crossed the line into criminal and made my first foray into the world of vandalism. Graffiti by way of a size large black sharpie pen.
Shhh. I know, a terrible thing defacing someone else's property, and without any artistic value either.
But let me tell you about the Yellow Cab taxi advertisements. All of the taxi's have advertising boards on the top and recently they were all bought by a chain of strip clubs in the city. Now wherever you go photos of scantily clad women follow you around the city trying to entice you to visit a "gentleman's club". Downtown, in residential neighborhoods, next to the school, on the freeway, in the 7-11 parking lot.
Finally it got to me, I was walking to the grocery store late last night only to be faced with yet another cab-with-pole-girl. So.
I casually added a black sharpie to my shopping basket and once out in the empty parking lot, tiptoed up to the empty car. The marker made a satisfying squeak on the billboard paper and then I was carrying my shopping bag home, heels clicking on the pavement. The picture of innocence.
Shhh. I know, a terrible thing defacing someone else's property, and without any artistic value either.
But let me tell you about the Yellow Cab taxi advertisements. All of the taxi's have advertising boards on the top and recently they were all bought by a chain of strip clubs in the city. Now wherever you go photos of scantily clad women follow you around the city trying to entice you to visit a "gentleman's club". Downtown, in residential neighborhoods, next to the school, on the freeway, in the 7-11 parking lot.
Finally it got to me, I was walking to the grocery store late last night only to be faced with yet another cab-with-pole-girl. So.
I casually added a black sharpie to my shopping basket and once out in the empty parking lot, tiptoed up to the empty car. The marker made a satisfying squeak on the billboard paper and then I was carrying my shopping bag home, heels clicking on the pavement. The picture of innocence.
22 April 2010
Discovery
I was walking in the park on the wooded paths on one of those very blue days last week. Way out past the abandoned restrooms, locked and overgrown. On to one of the lesser used trails not teeming with runners and dog walkers, quiet, just trees, birds, and an occasional unseen rustling in the undergrowth.
At first I thought it was a statue, obscured by branches in a small ravine. Large and craggy in the form a rhinoceros. Then a gust of wind rippled the leaves and one of of the eyes blinked, slowly turned to look at me and, unimpressed, back to the foliage at hand.
Rhinoceros!
I had thought I was alone on the trail but as I looked around in shock I saw a blue tarp and an old man just a few feet away off of the trail. He was sitting on a log and almost blended in to the woods in his tattered brown jacket and greenish-gray trousers. He was what one might classify as a "bum". Two brown beady eyes looked at me from under a squishy battered hat. He winked, almost imperceptibly and then turned and disappeared behind the tarp, somewhere into the woods.
The rhinoceros paid me no more heed and I skittered back into the sunlit clearing and back to the populated trails, to the happy dogs, the joggers intent on their cardiovascular rhythms, measured pace.
At first I thought it was a statue, obscured by branches in a small ravine. Large and craggy in the form a rhinoceros. Then a gust of wind rippled the leaves and one of of the eyes blinked, slowly turned to look at me and, unimpressed, back to the foliage at hand.
Rhinoceros!
I had thought I was alone on the trail but as I looked around in shock I saw a blue tarp and an old man just a few feet away off of the trail. He was sitting on a log and almost blended in to the woods in his tattered brown jacket and greenish-gray trousers. He was what one might classify as a "bum". Two brown beady eyes looked at me from under a squishy battered hat. He winked, almost imperceptibly and then turned and disappeared behind the tarp, somewhere into the woods.
The rhinoceros paid me no more heed and I skittered back into the sunlit clearing and back to the populated trails, to the happy dogs, the joggers intent on their cardiovascular rhythms, measured pace.
12 February 2010
In which city budget cuts lead to my arrest.
Well, ok, I didn't actually get arrested. Just a strong reprimand from an SPD officer who told me in no uncertain terms that I could get arrested for public indecency if I urinated in the wooded area of the park again.
Why was I peeing, discretely, or so I thought, in Golden Gardens park? Not because the name suggested such an act was permissible. Rather, I found myself for the second time this week in a Seattle park on the day that it happened to be closed for furlough i.e. not staffed, i.e. locked bathrooms.
On Monday I held it, today I could not.
Why was I peeing, discretely, or so I thought, in Golden Gardens park? Not because the name suggested such an act was permissible. Rather, I found myself for the second time this week in a Seattle park on the day that it happened to be closed for furlough i.e. not staffed, i.e. locked bathrooms.
On Monday I held it, today I could not.
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