| How Dr. Phil Got His Start |
[Jul. 6th, 2009|06:00 am] |
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http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/archives/019790.html Young girl: See, I was right! And you said I was stupid.
Young boy: No, I didn't. I said you had a problem, and that ain't changed.
--Central Park West
Headline by: Lusus Naturae
Runners-Up:
· "Fortunately, Most Young Girls Are Stupid, Otherwise Young Boys Wouldn't Ever Get Laid" - Young, Dumb, & Full Of ...
· "Testfiy, Brother, Testify!" - Jakal
· "The Education System Is the Problem, Stupidity Is the Outcome" - Teacher's Spouse
· "Yep, It's Infected" - benji
Click here to see the new Headline Contest
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| Grocery Club Cards / The Safeway on 15th |
[Jul. 6th, 2009|12:46 am] |
( A story (tl;dr) )
So, Seattle. In the back of my head I seem to recall something about a Washington State law forbidding grocery stores from with holding sales prices from non club card holders, but ye olde google fails me - memories: naught for two.
Ultimately I would take a club card, but I don't really want one - I just want the fucking sale price.
Tomorrow I will try entering 206 867 5309 and see if Jenny will give me a discount; I will report back. |
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| Further Unexpected Developments |
[Jul. 6th, 2009|12:52 am] |
Spent weekend in Portland.
Had a terrific amount of fun with Portlanders.
Portland seems to want me to move to Portland, very badly.
I have a hard time arguing when a city seems to be so aggressively demanding my presence.
I will probably not stay permanently. I am thinking right now just a month in Portland, then back up to Seattle. Sure, just an extended visit, right?
Right?
Ooof. I love Seattle, and I'd come here with the intention of putting down long term roots, but I've been having well-documented difficulty connecting with people here, and the Portland people appear to've embraced the hell outta me, so how can I say no to that?
I think the question of whether or not I stay in Portland will depend on how solid my Portland connections turn out to be when I am actually down there long term, rather than just for a weekend. The vast majority of my Seattle connections certainly turned out to be a damn sight more tenuous than I had imagined they would be, maybe it'll be the same down there.
Contrary-wise, all else being equal, Portland's a hell of a lot cheaper, and I do take a lot of pleasure in getting to know a new city.
Sometimes I feel like I don't really have a say in these things, I don't decide-- the universe just tells me where I'm supposed to go, and I either go willingly, or end up getting dragged along.
So, Portland, now. Huh.
I feel... weird, about this.
I get the feeling I'm gonna be spending a lot of time in Portland, but I don't think Seattle's quite done with me yet either. I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, still.
All is basically well right at this exact moment, but I am... uneasy. |
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| The Lord Giveth, and the Lord Taketh Away |
[Jul. 6th, 2009|02:00 am] |
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http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/archives/019736.html Tacky girl #1: Why do I feel like every time I gain a friend, I lose a friend?
Tacky girl #2: (silence)
Tacky girl #1: It's like AIM buddy lists, like when you max, you know? You have to delete a friend to add a new one, you know? My friendships are all like that, you know?
Tacky girl #2: I don't think it works like that.
Tacky girl #1: Yeah, you're right.
(pause)
Tacky girl #2: Well, if it was like that, who would decide?
Tacky girl #1: Umm...god?
Tacky girl #2: Well, maybe whoever's deciding is telling you to look at the friends you do have, and, like, see if they're worth it.
Tacky girl #1: Ohmigod! You are so good. How did you get so good?
--Metro-North
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| Jeweler question |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|11:11 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | ecstatic | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Sonic Youth | ] |
I need to get a vintage ring resized cause the woman who owned it previously was a mammoth. I havent asked around too many places since its only my first full day of being engaged but I do know that the fredmeyer jeweler next to my house resizes rings but it would take at least a week because they have a guy who comes from outside and is only there every other couple of days and then leaves and comes back with the ring.
I just dont have any experience with jewelry or jewelers so I was hoping for some recommendations.
I was wondering if anyone could recommend to me a jeweler that actually makes their own jewelry and doesnt use an outside company who is in the north king county or snohomish county area preferably but otherwise is fine too.
Thanks in advance! |
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| The Darcy Connection by Elizabeth Aston |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|10:45 pm] |
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"Her voice was so husky with emotion that she was barely audible, and when she finished, she was beyond words. It was as though her world had shrunk, leaving her nothing but this box of a room and future which held uncertainly unhappiness and probably ruin. She lifted her hand and rubbed it over her eyes. There were no tears in her eyes, she was trying to wipe away an immense weariness." |
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| Mmmm |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|10:27 pm] |
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I'm looking for the best place to buy cheap(but still good), frozen bags of edamame still in the shell. If there is some place that sells them in bulk that would be great. Do you know where I can get that? |
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| Experiments |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|11:48 pm] |
I've decided to try out a cobbler recipe, substituting mulberries for blueberries. I should add salt to this recipe, I think, as mulberries are so much sweeter than blueberries and not tart at all. |
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| it's about perspective, and respect |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|11:07 pm] |
It's one thing to shoot fireworks on the "night" of the Fourth, stretching into 1:00 a.m. or later. That's being patriotic and silly and fun and stuff.
But 11:00 p.m. that Sunday, when people have to get up the next morning for work? Not so much. |
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| tweet: on the morning bus |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|08:03 pm] |
Years is chains. Hands is keys. Talk is shit. Action is hearts. Tighten kicks or get off the path. Love walks the walk. Tightrope artists just dance.
Flying saucers touched me. I remember flying saucers. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|10:47 pm] |
1999
by Kevin A. González
We were driving to your funeral
& our father was not crying
because he has a way
of tying ribbons around grief.
It was the year we learned
the piercing that prefaces the blood
holds the most delicate of darknesses.
Then it was the year we opened
all our faucets & waited for the sea
to bleed to death. Then it was the year
we set fire to your mitt. Then, suddenly
the year we started to believe
every thorn was just a bridge.
Then the year all we talked about
was boxing. Then the year
my stomach hurt all year, & then
the year no one spoke of you.
If there were an antonym for suicide
we could all choose when to be born.
I would have been born after that day
so I could not remember you.
So my fingers would stop pointing
at all the things that aren't there.
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| in which i celebrate my weekend (and comics?) |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|08:53 pm] |
This weekend was lots of things that I needed it to be. 3 days is always a good place to start. Spent Friday (with the laydees who weren't roadtripping or entertaining family) eating schnitzel and spaetzle at Cafe Vienna and then wandering through the treasure trove that is Dallas Vintage. Spent the 4th at my dad's farm, and the drive down and back made me realize even MORE just how much I need a real roadtrip. Luckily, one is in the works: I am eagerly anticipating a September jaunt to the Monolith festival.
Also spent a surprising amount of time talking about comics: Chris sent me a link to this Dinosaur Comics, a strip I'd seen before but not regularly, and I hadn't realized how much I liked it:
I've decided I have a crush on this person (what does one call comic strip creators?), because he is cute and funny, and I adore cute and funny. Don't be jealous, xkcd boy (whose name I don't know). I still love you, too, but sometimes your strips are filled with a little too much math and physics and I have to shake my head and admit I don't always understand you. That's okay -- we don't always understand the ones we love. I'm pretty sure I always understand T-Rex, though. T-Rex gets me.
But back to Cute Comic Boy. Obviously I have to stalk him now. Well, not really. But I had to read his livejournal, because that's how I stalk people (just ask ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) bollix), and he had a really interesting entry about how the death of newspapers (sorry, Shannon) is actually going to be really good for comics. Because when most people think of comics, they think of the really, REALLY bad comics(or, as Big Bang's Sheldon puts it "optimistically named 'funny papers'") found in newspapers. And I'd forgotten just how BAD THOSE ARE. Until I clicked over to a link from his entry to Joe Mathlete Explains Today's Marmaduke which wasn't necessarily hilarious, but was shocking because it was probably the first time I've read Marmaduke in decade(s) and HOW IS THAT GETTING PUBLISHED? How?
Today I read and napped and etsy'd and baked chocolate chip cookies. And it wasn't 100 degrees, which is more than can be said about most of the days so far this summer, so I am happy. |
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| Place Message Here // Richard Jackson |
[Jul. 5th, 2009|09:56 pm] |
I knew that somewhere Jesus wept.
--Larry Brown, Dirty Work
That was when our love began for me, though late,
the way a flock of darkness settles over your shoulders.
I remember the muted reflections that smudged the water
prowling among the lingering rocks, a snail crawling
out of its shell, the drizzle of light, the blackened windows.
It was when that the sun peeled away the dark from the air,
the surface of the water, then the soul. It was only then
that I could read the shadows that followed our words.
It seemed that the whole planet was taking aim at our future.
I thought, then, that I could see your own soul in the constant
waves tearing unconcerned at the impenetrable dunes.
I wanted, then, to believe the moon is a flower,
fragrant, its stem tossed across the water. It was then
that I entered some other world, the way your life wakes
suddenly in the middle of the night to find your own
worn-out dreams lying in sheets around you, an empty bottle
on the table, and yet some voice stumbling down the hallway
of the wind trying the locked doors of the heart, calling out your name.
It was then on that shore after I heard the news of my friend's
heart tearing open like a wet paper bag. I was standing
where Marconi sent his messages which seemed to fill the air,
still, like swallows. There is always another life in the corner
of our eyes, one that begins because our poor words have never
said what we meant at the time. Today, here, ladybugs fill
my porch screen trying to reach the early sun that radiates
through the fine mesh. They halt there like messages never
received, empty husks of some abandoned future we can never know.
Why is it we love so fully what has washed up on the beaches
of our hearts, those lost messages, lost friends, the daylight stars
we never get to see? Bad luck never takes a vacation, my friend
once wrote. It lies there among the broken shells and stones
we collect, a story he would say begins with you, with me,
a story that is forever lost among the backwaters of our lives,
our endless fear of ourselves, and our endless need for hope,
a story, perhaps an answer, a word suddenly on wing, the simple
sound of a torn heart, or the unmistakable scent of the morning's fading moon. |
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