The Big Green House

Friday, October 31, 2003

 

No, you smell my feet

Science Girl says that we didn�t even get one trick-or-treater at Science Manor this year. That�s really a shame, because she put a lot of work into decorating the place in an inviting manner: hand-carved jack-o-lantern, pumpkin lights, fake spider webs� the whole nine yards. And not one kid stopped by! Now not only were her efforts in vain (although I think she got a fair amount of enjoyment out of putting up the decorations), but we�re stuck with all that Halloween candy. This is not good, because I will eat it all. This weekend. SG has the willpower to avoid chocolate treats; I do not. Not looking forward to the sugar coma, I�ll tell you now.

Since Halloween will be falling on a Saturday next year, I�m thinking of taking Lucy out for trick-or-meat. You know, you ring the neighbors� doorbell and they give your dog a lambchop � otherwise, they�re gonna be seeing a lot of dog poop on their lawn over the coming year. I figure whatever Lucy can�t eat that night can go into the freezer so we�ve got something to serve unexpected dinner guests.

Given the neighborhood that Science Manor is in, though, we might be better off going the trick-or-liquor route. I�m betting the neighbors have some top-shelf hooch lying around the house, just gathering dust and cluttering up the sideboy. It would be my duty, as a neighbor, to help them dispose of it. I should be able to pull together a Dylan Thomas costume by next Halloween, doncha think?

bmarkey 10/31/2003 10:24:00 PM

 

Boo!

bmarkey 10/31/2003 05:50:00 PM

Thursday, October 30, 2003

 

Callin� from the Fun House

Still sorta flailing around for things to write about. Maybe one of these days I�ll get it together enough to review some CD�s or something. (All I�d be able to give you tonight would be something along the lines of �I liked it/it sucked�, and I don�t really see much point in that.)

Since Brian still hasn�t gotten the My Fat Ass Productions website off the ground (an idea whose time has come, gone, come again, gone out for a long lunch, come back for about fifteen minutes and then immediately gone again, only to come back one more time, a little worse for the wear but infinitely wiser, scarred and tattered around the edges but with head held high, bloodied but unbowed� wait, what was this about? Oh yeah, Brian needs to get a website), I will take this opportunity to tell all three of the faithful Big Green House readers that The Fun House will be opening this weekend! On tap for tomorrow night: Mea Culpa, Graveyard Shift, The Blank-Its, and Electric Blanket. Saturday night, it�s Gas Huffer, The Rotten Apples, and The Goddamn Gentlemen. Both shows are $5, so don't say you can't afford to go.

Science Girl and I will most likely be at the Saturday show. At least, that�s more or less the plan right now. Being the spontaneous, madcap cut-ups that we are, this may change. But we�ll probably go. Although we may not. Chances are that we will, though. Then again, life is uncertain. On the other hand� oh fuck it. Just look for us there. We�ll be the ones with beers in our hands and love in our hearts. Buy us drinks if you see us. If you don�t see us, you�ll have to buy drinks for someone else.

bmarkey 10/30/2003 08:35:00 PM

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

 

Right on the target but wide of the mark

Lotsa month-end work on my desk tonight, so I may not have time for a proper post. I�m taking advantage of a short break in the action to tell you that I�ve had �Poison Arrow� by ABC stuck in my head most of the night. The jury is still out as to whether or not this is good.

bmarkey 10/29/2003 07:12:00 PM

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

 

I got nuthin�

Once again, I�m stuck for something to write about. I asked Science Girl for suggestions, as I do from time to time. All the topics she came up with were political in nature. This is not terribly surprising, as she has a more political bent than I.

I don�t think I write about politics particularly well. I have a tendency for shrillness, frankly. Also, there are only so many ways in which I can say �The current administration is composed of corporate shills, fascists, idiots, warmongers, pathological liars, and pseudo-religious hypocrites. They are deeply evil people whose contempt for the American people and our constitution know no bounds, and they would sell out the entire country for $25 and a pile of Jack Chick tracts. I didn�t think anyone could top the Reagan administration on that score, but I was wrong� and still keep the message fresh.

bmarkey 10/28/2003 08:29:00 PM

Monday, October 27, 2003

 

What doesn�t kill me makes me stronger

It�s not my fault. Let�s get that out of the way right now, OK? If they hadn�t made the wine so damn tasty, I wouldn�t have finished the entire bottle. It would have been wrong, sinful even, to leave anything in the bottle to oxidize into a pale reflection of its former self. I take absolutely no responsibility for this hangover. None.

One of the myriad joys of aging is my increasing inability to drink as I once did. This is undoubtedly a good thing, since I used to be rather fish-like in my beverage consumption. Sadly, though, I sometimes think I�m still capable of putting it away like I did in my twenties, when my worst hangover only lasted until lunchtime. That ship sailed long ago, on a tide of pale ale and sour mash whiskey. These days, I�m generally good for a couple of pints/glasses of wine/cocktails; anything after that and I�m flirting with brain cell Armageddon. At my advanced age, that ain�t a pretty sight. Trying to get through the day with a dehydrated brain and a disgruntled digestive system is no longer the snap it used to be. In fact, it is a painful and, uh, sobering reminder that the clock is ticking.

None of this seems to stop me, though. It slows me down a bit (especially the dry brain thing), but I still love wine with dinner, or a beer or two after work, or a martini when it�s martini time. I don�t see that changing any time soon. I just have to watch out for the yummy stuff.

bmarkey 10/27/2003 08:57:00 PM

Friday, October 24, 2003

 

Nothing stands the pressure of the Clash City Rockers!

I purchased the new Joe Strummer album the other day. It�s very good, by the way; much more rock&roll and less world music than the previous one. I defy anyone who ever liked Joe in any capacity to listen to his cover of �Before I Grow Too Old� and not puddle up. And if any white man could pull off a cover of �Redemption Song� (a doubtful proposition at best), Joe would be it. The originals are pretty rockin�, as well.

But that�s not where I�m going today. When I mentioned to Science Girl that I had picked up the CD, she said that she�d awakened that very morning with �Clash City Rockers� in her head. If you�re unfamiliar with the tune, it appeared on the US version of the first Clash album. When the dimwits at Epic decided to re-release band�s catalog they just re-released the two albums separately, rather than combining all the songs originally released on the US and UK versions of The Clash, which would have made much more sense. They make more money this way, I guess.

She very much wanted to hear the actual song itself, but her tape of it is buried somewhere in one of the moving boxes at The Big Green House. Being the devoted fianc�e that I am, I decided to pick up a copy of the CD for her on my way over to Science Manor that day. Tower Records is right on the way, so I figured I�d just pop in there, grab it, and be on my merry way.

Way back in the early Mesozoic, when I worked at Tower�s main office/warehouse complex, they were very proud of the fact that they carried just about everything. My, how times have changed. They last few times I�ve attempted to buy something at Tower, I�ve either been driven off by the price or the miniscule amount of stock they keep on hand these days. This time was no different. They had one copy of London Calling, and a few copies of Essential Clash - which does have the song in question on it, but we already have most of the other albums on CD already, so buying a Greatest Hits two-disc set for one song would have been kinda silly. And I didn�t have time to go anywhere else to look for it that day, of course, so I had to show up empty handed

But I wasn�t gonna just let this thing drop. I loves my SG & want at all time to make her happy. I went out today in search of the US version of The Clash. It�s a fairly basic album, nothing obscure by any means. So why did it take me an hour and a half and visits to four different stores to track it down?

I ended up having to go to the mall, fer crissakes! How pathetic is that? I mean, yeah, it�s great that everybody else had the UK version if they had it at all. (I�m not gonna get into the relative merits of the two versions; they both have their good points.) But if you�re gonna have one, you gotta have the other. I just wish Epic would pull their collective head out of their collective ass and issue a compilation of the two. I�m sure they could get the whole enchilada on one disc. I�d even be willing to pay a little extra for it, as I�m sure a lot of other music geeks my age would, too.

While I was in the mall, I noticed a store called something like Hollister Surf Shop; I think it�s the real-world equivalent of this. It was the same kinda young men�s clothes, sub-Abercrombie & Fitch. Remember when those guys used to sell sporting goods? Me neither.

Anyway, what set me off was their feeble attempt to tie the town of Hollister in with surfing. Last time I checked, Hollister was an inland farming community. I haven�t been there in something like fifteen years or so, but I don�t recall a lot of surfing going on. It�s gonna take the long-rumored Big Earthquake to pull that off.

No, it�s just another ignorant attempt by some coke-addled executive back East to sell some half-witted fantasy to quarter-witted mall-rat boys. Listen up, rest of the world: most of the inhabitants of California DO NOT SURF. I myself lived there for 33 years and never touched a surfboard. Not even once.

And while we�re at it, there is much more to the state than LA. In a perfect world, the state would be divided in two, somewhere around Monterey. Then we could saw off the southern portion and let it float out to sea.

bmarkey 10/24/2003 06:44:00 PM

 

I have lost the will to live

As an American, I understand that I live in a world of advertising. I don�t like that fact, but I do accept it as reflective of reality.

I also understand that retailers will try to tailor their marketing campaigns to any upcoming holidays. It�s almost an obligation for them.

But I swear, the next time I see the phrase �Spooktacular Savings�, I am not going to be responsible for my actions.

bmarkey 10/24/2003 11:33:00 AM

Thursday, October 23, 2003

 

We are what we are

Cartoons will never be the same for me.

(Via Boing Boing)

bmarkey 10/23/2003 11:08:00 PM

 

In the winter everything is different

Somebody has finally gotten it together to re-release the Dumptruck catalog. I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. Positively Dumptruck is among my top ten favorite albums of the Eighties. It is a beautiful and moody album, which meshed pretty well with my occasionally beautiful, always moody personality back then. I found it very cathartic, in the way some folks found The Cure. (Never much cared for them, myself. Robert Smith�s voice annoys the holy living fuck out of me.)

I have a tape, somewhere, of the first two Dumptruck albums. The side with Positively on it has gotten the most play, by far. It�s been awhile since I�ve listened to it; I think the last time was during a trip Science Girl and I took over to the Olympic Peninsula a couple years ago. (That was the trip during which we decided to get married, so now I have a much happier context for those songs. Let that be a lesson, kids: live long enough and things will eventually turn around.) So I�m looking forward to hearing my old friend again and seeing how it holds up, now that I�m so much less miserable than I was back in the day.

Now if only someone would re-release Big Dipper�s Heavens. Anybody out there listening?

bmarkey 10/23/2003 10:23:00 PM

Wednesday, October 22, 2003

 

The Persistence of Woofers

Every day as I drive to work, I pass a high-end stereo shop. They have a large sign hanging from their storefront with the name of the shop and a reader board, with that marquee* lettering I�ve always dug so much. Last week I noticed that the reader board said something to the effect that they had Dali loudspeakers in stock.

Dali loudspeakers? Are they melted over a tree branch? Or are they shaped like Gala? Do ants emerge when you turn them on? I was intrigued by the possibilities, and have been so since I saw the sign.

Then I did a little googling. As always, the truth turns out to be much less interesting than my imagination. I�m sure it�s a fine product, but�


*This seems like as good a time as any to give y�all some comparative pronunciation:
marquee = marKEY
bmarkey = bee MARkey

bmarkey 10/22/2003 08:59:00 PM

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

 

Splish splash

Contrary to popular belief, five inches of rain in a day is not normal for Seattle. One or two inches is considered a good, hard rain; five is just silly. I�m happy to report that neither The Big Green House nor Science Manor experienced any flooding, sliding, or slumping. Lucy, however, was very disappointed with all the rain; when I opened the door for her walks, she would blink twice, turn, and run down into the basement.
bmarkey 10/21/2003 10:05:00 PM

 

This is Radio Clash

For as long as it has been around, there have been people lining up to declare to anyone who�ll listen that rock & roll is dead. They push and shove in a most unseemly manner, vying to be the first to leap up onto the casket and dance a merry little jig. Problem is, the casket is always empty, as the guest of honor is off making a great deal of noise somewhere else. R&R is often hung-over and occasionally comatose, but reports of its death are greatly exaggerated.

It�s a resilient style of music, and not one easily characterized at this late date, some fifty-odd (very odd indeed) years after its inception. It�s kinda like pornography that way � you might not be able to really define it, but you know it when you hear it. (Also, when it�s played right it will get you hot.)

There is vital music being created in towns big and small all around the world this very night, my friends. Your mission, should you choose to accept it (and if you don�t, why are you here?) is to get out there and find it. Because you�re sure as hell not gonna hear it on American radio. I don�t know what the radio situation in other countries is, but here in the US it is dire, to say the least. Commercial stations nationwide are increasingly owned by the same corporations, foisting the same tired playlists on a public which might well respond favorably to new music, if only they got the chance to hear it.

Take a look at the Arbitron ratings for Seattle. Christ, it�s a scary thing indeed. Infinity Broadcasting owns five stations, Entercom owns seven, Sandusky (who apparently don�t have a website) four, Clear Channel two.The only local owner with more than one station in town is Fisher Communications.

Where is the local content? Why are there six radio stations in the Seattle market alone devoted to �classic rock�, oldies, or music from the eighties? (One of them runs an ad supposedly quoting a listener, to the effect that he bought his radio in 1962 and never changed the station. He�s probably still hearing the same music.) Why do the stations that do play newer music all play the same tracks? How, exactly, are we being served by this arrangement?

Public radio, non-commercial radio, is all that is left for those who don�t want to hear the same 20 cuts over and over again. And may the various gods bless KEXP, but there are times when they go into an electronica/ambient/triphop/whatever coma and I just can�t listen to them. KBCS and KSER are both interesting alternatives, but I often find their formats to be fairly limiting.

Meanwhile, the FCC is busy cracking down on pirate radio stations with micro-transmitters rather than going after the monopolistic greedheads responsible for the shitty noises emanating from your receiver. Fuck that noise. The suits don�t own the entire spectrum, although the FCC might try to convince you otherwise; the public does.

Support local music and non-commercial radio. Take back the airwaves. Eat your vegetables. And kick out the jams, brothers and sisters!

bmarkey 10/21/2003 09:21:00 PM

Monday, October 20, 2003

 
Nothing to report tonight. We�re all still sorta decompressing from last week.

I suppose I could write about the woman who told me today that her multi-millionaire relatives were telekinetically injuring her and her spiritual children, but frankly she�s got enough problems as it is without people poking fun at her electronically.

bmarkey 10/20/2003 08:42:00 PM

Friday, October 17, 2003

 

Near-death by chocolate

The last couple of days have truly been one of the weirdest, most stress-filled periods I can think of. (Well, on a personal level, anyway. I can think of other, more generally stressy times, but you probably read about that in the newspapers & stuff.) I�m not going to be able to tell the whole story right now, and I�m going to change a name here and there, for reasons which will become obvious in just a moment. But I�m not making any of this up.

Wednesday morning, Science Girl told me of a large crack in the basement of Science Manor which appeared to be larger than it was previously. Naturally, she was concerned about this, so she called a structural engineer to come out and have a look at it. He wouldn�t be able to make it out until Monday, but there didn�t seem to be any rush necessary. Still, she was a little on the nervous side, since it�s been raining quite a bit lately and Science Manor sits on a hillside. I did my best to reassure her that the house wasn�t going to go sliding into the neighbor�s. Not the best way to begin the day, but nothing unmanageable.

Things stayed calm until about 10:00 PM Wednesday, when I received a call at work from my friend, who, for the purposes of this post, I�m going to call Sarah. Without going into too much detail, Sarah was involved in a pretty scary domestic dispute with an ex-boyfriend (oh, we�ll call him Robespierre) and wasn�t sure what to do; she wanted me to come over to her place after work and check things out. I suggested that she might not want to stay at home, since the police had been involved and Robespierre might come back looking for trouble once he made bail. Instead, it seemed a better idea that she stay at The Big Green House, since he would surely be checking out her best friend�s place if he came looking for her. She agreed.

So it was that after work that night (11:30 PM), I found myself loading her suitcase and dogs (she has a couple) into her car, with one eye out for Robespierre the whole time. We arrived at TBGH without incident. Sarah and her dogs took the bedroom, and Lucy and I were on the couch. (Science Girl is over at Science Manor, remember? And before anybody freaks out, she was cool with the whole thing.) It�s a nice couch, great for reading or watching TV, but it�s a little short for sleeping on. My knees were cramping up all night. Plus, I was half expecting Robespierre to come busting in at any moment. Not a restful night; let�s put it that way.

I finally got to sleep around 3 or 4, I think. I can definitely tell you that I was awakened at 9 AM Thursday by a phone call from someone that knows better than to ring me before 10, at the very earliest. At that point, I began feeling the tension in earnest. I was just able to keep from biting the head off the early morning caller.

Sarah came out when she heard the phone ring. After a short discussion, I was finally able to convince her that getting a restraining order against Robespierre was her priority for the day. (I�d been telling her that for about a year, as had several of her other friends, as it turns out.) She agreed, provided I would go along and provide moral support. OK, fine.

Within five minutes of making that agreement, Science Girl called. She�d gone down into the basement that morning, and the crack appeared to have grown overnight. Consequently, she was very concerned about the house either collapsing or sliding down the hill. Could I come over and take a look at it? I explained the new situation, and we eventually decided that, once the paperwork on the restraining order had been completed, I would call over to Science Manor and, time permitting, zip over there before work.

In the meantime, Sarah had some errands that needed to be dealt with. While she was out, I walked all the various dogs. Do I have to tell you that one of them peed on one of SG rugs? �Cause he did. Ack! OK, I put the rug into washing machine, walked the other dogs, and threw together something for lunch. I could just choke it down, since by this time my guts were a-churn.

Sarah returned, had a little lunch herself, and then we headed downtown. We spent something like two hours filling out the required paperwork for the restraining order, only to find out that it would take another two hours to get it signed by the judge. Neither of us had that much time available, as we both had to get to work, so it was decided that Sarah would come back the next day (Friday, for those of you who�ve lost track by now).

A quick call to SG revealed that she was able to get a structural engineer out that afternoon, and that he didn�t think that collapse was imminent. Yay! Further study was a good idea, though, which was fine, since SG wanted to get a second opinion anyway. But at least she didn�t have to worry about the house falling in on her anytime soon.

So. Since it was swiftly approaching the time I needed to be at work, Sarah said that she would go back to The Big Green House, pick up one of her dogs who had a vet appointment, and go from there. Great. I headed off for work, feeling a sense of relief come over me: we�d all gotten through the day with no more catastrophes.

If this were a horror movie, we�d be at the point where everybody thinks the serial killer is dead, only to be surprised when he appears behind one of the lesser stars and sticks a knife through his/her head.

When I arrived at work, there was a message waiting for me. Apparently Sarah had left a chocolate bar on the kitchen table when we left for the courthouse. Lucy, being the little piglet that she is, got up on the table and ate the entire bar.

For those of you who aren�t that familiar with dogs, chocolate is deadly poison for them. Dark chocolate, being relatively undiluted, is especially bad. Lucy weighs about 11 pounds. She ate an entire 4 oz. bar of dark chocolate. You do the math.

Fortunately Sarah, as a dog owner herself, recognized immediately what had happened and what needed to be done. She called ahead to her vet, bundled both Lucy and her dog into her car, and raced off. The vet took Lucy right in, induced vomiting, and started IV fluids. She stabilized fairly quickly.

Of course none of that was in the message, just that Lucy had eaten a chocolate bar and that Sarah had taken her to the vet. I think it would be fair to say that I fucking well snapped when I got the news. I bummed a cigarette from a co-worker (I don�t smoke) & went outside to get some air. I was pretty useless until I spoke to the vet myself. He said that while she had ingested more than the toxic amount, he believed that they had gotten it out of her in time. He wanted to keep her on the IV overnight just in case, and of course I agreed.

To shorten an already-too-long story, I�ll just say that the rest of the night was an extravaganza of frazzlement and worry.

All�s well that ends well, though. Science Girl is relaxing herself by conducting online research into soil stability in the neighborhood. She�s Science Girl for a reason, you know. Sarah is out of The Big Green House; she�s staying in Seekrit Hiding Place #XJ-7, with a restraining order in her hand. Lucy is fine; she�s sleeping in the chair next to mine as I type this.

And me? I�m planning a nice, quiet weekend of soothing binge drinking.


bmarkey 10/17/2003 08:47:00 PM

Thursday, October 16, 2003

 
AAAAgh! My head�s on fire! Oh, here, I�ll douse it with� kerosene!?! Oops! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

No post tonight kids. Far too much weirdness to assimilate at the moment. Look for a doozy tomorrow, though.

bmarkey 10/16/2003 05:17:00 PM

Wednesday, October 15, 2003

 
Talking shit behind people�s backs is just a bad idea, kids. Take it from me. It�s one of the myriad reasons I left the theater � anybody not physically in the room was fair game. That got old really quick.

Over the course of the last two days, three different people (two clients and a co-worker) have tried to get me to badmouth various co-workers. This is a game I refuse to play, even if, as in at least one case this week, I agree with the disparagement. For one thing, I still have to work with the subject(s) of the attacks. I learned this particular lesson a long time ago: if you cap on co-workers, they will find out about it. Learned it a couple of times, actually. The last time, it finally sank in. Now, I keep that stuff to myself. Or, if I absolutely must vent, I do so to Science Girl, who is a great sounding board and also pretty patient with me while I�m blowing a gasket.

Also a bad workplace idea: fishing off the company pier. I learned that one the hard way, too. Benefit form my horrible mistakes, you young �uns. Do as I did with Science Girl: wait until the object of your desire quits, and then ask them out.

bmarkey 10/15/2003 07:19:00 PM

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

 

Post-game analysis

At the risk of over-sharing, I feel I should mention that the disjointed nature of last night�s post was due to some lower GI tract anarchy which distracted me throughout the night. As things are (mostly) under control today, I thought I might make a few clarifications and add a few things I forgot to mention.

First off, the title is a bit misleading. Under ordinary circumstances, Coors Light would indeed qualify as �cheap beer�; at $6 a pop, not hardly. I mean, you can just about buy a keg of that horse piss particular brand for $6. How the folks around us managed to get as hammered as they appeared to be on $6 watered-down �beer� is beyond me, unless there was some pre-game tanking-up. Which, of course, is a time-honored tradition, one I�d wished I�d followed after paying for my $7 Heineken.

Also: �Upon further review, it is the judgment of the entire officiating staff that the writer�s claim to be �decidedly working class� is inaccurate and should be amended to �working class with middle class pretensions�. A penalty of 15 words and loss of down will be assessed against the writer, making it third down and 2,015 words to go.�

Maybe I should punt. Ah, what the hell.

The stadium itself is very nice. It was completely unnecessary, of course, since the Kingdome still worked, but I have to admit that the �Dome was a dreary, depressing place in which to see a game. Picture attending a major league sporting event down in somebody�s dank basement and you�ll have an idea of what it was like. Seahawk Stadium is light and airy and has lots of places dedicated to the purveyance of expensive fatty snacks and drastically overpriced alcoholic beverages. Thank the various gods that Paul Allen didn�t have Frank Gehry design it, as he did for the Experience Ugly Architecture Project. One multi-million-dollar pile of polychromatic dog shit in this town is more than enough.

One tiny complaint I had was that the sound quality was horrible. This was probably due to the fact that we were down in the corner of the end zone, I guess, but I couldn�t make out any of the announcements over the PA system.

Finally, I was amazed at the number of Niner fans in attendance. It seemed as if � of the people sitting in the east stands were pulling for San Francisco. I guess you could chalk that up to the relatively quick flight between SFO and Seatac, although that would still be a pretty expensive weekend. But then I suppose a lot of them are just gonna write it off on their taxes anyway.

Oh yeah � final score was Seattle 20 � SF 19.

Damn. I knew I shoulda punted.

bmarkey 10/14/2003 06:02:00 PM

Monday, October 13, 2003

 
Hey, while I�m at it, what the hell happened in Boston Saturday night? I have absolutely no use for the Yankees other than as a target for scorn and contempt, but nobody, and I mean nobody, fucks with Popeye like that. It just ain�t right.
bmarkey 10/13/2003 09:21:00 PM

 

Further adventures with testosterone and cheap beer

Through a series of events, circumstances, and coincidences that would be far too exhausting to attempt to relate to you here in any semblance of coherence, I went to see the Seahawks play the 49ers last night with the father of an ex-girlfriend. (And right up front I�m going to say thank you to Science Girl for refraining from throwing cutlery at my head when the idea was first floated. Ain�t she a good sport, ladies an� gennelmen? Give the li�l lady a big hand!)

The last time I saw the Seahawks play, it was not long after I�d moved here. They were playing at Husky Stadium because the tiles lining the roof of the Kingdome were falling off. The Hawks were soundly beaten by the Chargers, who I believe went on to win the Super Bowl that year. One of the nice things about Husky Stadium is that if the game stinks, you can look out over Lake Washington at the boats, puffy clouds, ducks, etc. That�s how I spent most of the fourth quarter of that game, as I recall. Since the game took place on a college campus, there were no beer sales on the premises. Let me repeat that: professional football with no beer.

Last night�s game was a little different.

Our seats were in the corner of the north end zone. (In the second picture here, we would have been in the right-hand side of the first deck, directly behind the end zone.) If I had to characterize the crowd, I�d have to say that it was decidedly working class.

Before anybody jumps down my throat, let me remind you that I consider myself to be decidedly working class, as well. I�ve spent a lot of my adult life working in places like warehouses and, um, other warehouses, with folks like those who were in attendance at the game. (Sorry, I didn�t get to see who was in the luxury boxes.) Some of the guys I�ve worked with over my checkered career have been fairly smart people, doing what they could to provide for their families. Some of them have been decent enough guys who just weren�t all that clever. Many, however, were what I�ve heard described as �willfully ignorant�. OK, I have described them that way myself. These guys think Tom Leykis is the pinnacle of erudite social commentary, they wish they were as �witty� as Howard Stern, and they�d vote for Arnold Schwarzenegger in a heartbeat � if they ever voted at all. The thing is, if you take the first two groups and liberally apply alcohol, you often end up with the third group. Not always, and not in every case, but often enough to make it noticeable, anyway.

And that�s who showed up last night: regular (almost entirely) guys who, through the magic of Coors Light, became raging belligerent assholes. Seriously. I expect the hometown fans to give the visitors a little good-natured shit, but this was pretty ugly. Seattle has a rep as a very polite town, and on the whole it is just that. So I was a little taken aback when the cretin in front of me began the old �San Francisco = faggot� routine before the first quarter was over. Maybe I just need to get out more.

I�d been a little conflicted as to which team I should root for; I�ve been in Seattle long enough to, as Science Girl put it, �go native�, yet I spent my formative years in the Bay Area. (That I spent them as a Raiders fan is not important. Raiders owner Al Davis finally pissed me off enough to drive me over to the Niners, which was somewhat akin to the local leader of the Knights of Columbus suddenly converting to Judaism.) Given the mood of those around me, I thought it would probably be easier all around if I went with the home team.

Anyway. The Hawks actually looked pretty good in the first half. The offense was very sharp, and the defense pretty well shut down the Niners completely. This was something of a shock. You have to remember that the last time I followed football with any kind of regularity, the 49ers ruled the universe and the Seahawks were everybody�s favorite doormat. Times change. The score at the half was 17-3 Seahawks.

After halftime, though, it was kinda like old times. It was as if the Hawks only had so many good plays in them & had used up the game�s quota in the first half, �cause boy they sure did suck in the second half. Poor execution, stupid penalties, etc. The Niners were only too happy to take advantage of the apparent collapse, pushing the score to 19-17. A missed point after touchdown, a fumble by Garrison Hearst, and a Seahawk field goal with three minutes and change left were all that saved this one for Seattle.

Oh, and Terrell Owens? Meh. He could just as easily have stayed home and gazed in adoration at the life-sized poster of himself tacked up on his bedroom wall for all the difference he made in this game. San Francisco should be grateful that this particular tumor will be a free agent & thus someone else�s problem next year.

bmarkey 10/13/2003 08:43:00 PM

Friday, October 10, 2003

 

Everything flows

Feeling much more well-rested today, thanks to our old friend diphenhydramine. (The active ingredient in Benadryl.) 25 milligrams before bed and it�s eight hours of the deep and dreamless for me. Or it would have been if Neighbor Dog, who seems very keen to find out firsthand if all dogs do indeed go to heaven, hadn�t started barking his fool head off at 5:30 this morning. Fortunately, I was prepared this time � I stuck my Rock & Roll Earplugs under my pillow before I went to bed. (Wow, there�s an album title waiting to be used. Do you think I could sell Rock & Roll Earplugs to Lemmy?) As the echo of the first bark was dying away I stuck the plugs in my ears, rolled over, and finally awoke for good at the crack of 10:00 AM, as god intended.

The upshot is that I came in to work all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today. No, really, I did. Then The Man went and crushed my soul, thereby killing the buzz I�d generated for myself by listening to Four Thousand Seven Hundred and Sixty Seconds: A Short Cut To Teenage Fanclub at dog-frightening volume and singing along. All those lovely harmonies (the band�s, not mine), all those jangly guitars� all for naught, as I am now in a fairly shitty mood. It will be my weekend in about three hours, though. Fear not, my friends, for I will soon be gettin� my groove back on.

And regardless of all that, I still think My Morning Jacket sound like the Outlaws.

bmarkey 10/10/2003 09:16:00 PM

Thursday, October 09, 2003

 
Another source of crankiness is that The Fall-outs are playing the Sunset Tavern tonight and I�m stuck here at work. Frankly, this sucks. Brian had mentioned to Science Girl that he�d booked this show, but I was hoping it was going to be on a weekend.

Anyway, here�s an interview with Dave Holmes. (Note to those of you who don�t live in Seattle: the Monkey Pub holds maybe 100-150 people, and even then the fire marshal probably wouldn�t be very happy.)

And while I�m at it, here�s a piece on Brian, from an issue of The Stranger that came out in May. (Zak�s did indeed close, but Brian is booking various places around town until The Funhouse opens up.)(Brian, it�s time to get a website.)

Finally, just because I can, here�s the story of Tommy Tsunami and Ernie Earthquake. (Science Girl gets all the credit for finding this one.)

bmarkey 10/09/2003 09:19:00 PM

 

My (possibly unfair, certainly sleep-deprived) opinion

I�m in a variably cranky place today. My dog woke me up at 8:30 this morning by barking at some invisible thing outside, and the neighbor�s dog barked continuously from 11AM to 1PM while I was trying to nap. Now, anybody who knows me knows how much I love dogs, but I�m just enough behind on my sleep that I�m beginning to suspect some sort of canine conspiracy. It�s all a horrible plot to weaken me. They�ll keep it up until I fall over on the kitchen floor in exhaustion, see. Then they�ll climb atop my prostrate body so they can get at all the dog snacks stashed away in the cupboard. And then they�ll drink all my liquor and steal the car so they can drive around menacing cats and squirrels� I can see it all. They�re just looking for a sign of my vulnerability, and then it�s �See ya later, sucker, and thanks for all the walkies!�

What were we talking about?

Oh yeah, I�m tired and cranky. Anything I say should probably be read in light of that fact.

So, anyway� I keep hearing all kinds of praise for My Morning Jacket. I�ve heard them on a few magazine compilations, and on the radio every now and again. I even saw them* on Conan O�Brien a week or two ago. I�d have to say that my MMJ experience was summed up nicely today as I was driving to work: I heard �One Big Holiday� on the radio and found myself wondering when they were gonna segue into �Green Grass & High Tides�.

Which is my roundabout way of saying that I don�t see what the big deal is. I don�t think that they�re awful or anything.** I just don�t get why everybody is so all-fired het up about these guys. Admittedly, I�m basing my reaction on a fairly small sampling of their work, so it could just be that I haven�t heard the good stuff yet. I�m not in any hurry to run out and buy the album, though.

*In a world where so many men are bald or losing their hair, it seems somehow unfair that these guys should have so damn much of it.

**There is a tiny part of me, way deep down in some dark squishy place, that still kinda likes �Green Grass & High Tides�. I don�t seek it out, but if I happen to hear it on the radio once every couple of years I�m not gonna fall over myself trying to switch the station.

bmarkey 10/09/2003 08:23:00 PM

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

 
We�re sorry; bmarkey is unavailable at the moment. He went to bed at 3 this morning, only to be awakened at 8:30 by the phone, which, due to various intra-and-extra-familial emergencies, would not cease ringing until sometime around 11. Consequently, all of bmarkey�s higher brain functions tonight are being handled by a 12-year-old Chihuahua named Paco.

Paco would like to assure you that, after a good night�s sleep, things will most likely be back to normal. Please try again tomorrow.

bmarkey 10/08/2003 07:49:00 PM

Tuesday, October 07, 2003

 

Oh dear

This is one of those times when I�m very glad to be from California. The state of my birth has a lot of really cool things going for it, but an intelligent, informed electorate ain�t necessarily one of them. They�re the state that gave you Ronald Reagan, after all.

Maybe I can convince my folks to move up here, now that it appears that the state government is going to be run by a half-bright, inexperienced, Republican, talent-free actor AGAIN.

Jaysus H. Cheesenrice on a pogo stick.

bmarkey 10/07/2003 08:59:00 PM

 

Smash Yankee hegemony!

OK, the Giants are done for the season. Since the A�s went down in flames as well, that�s not so hard to take.

Anybody who�s not a robot is rooting for the Red Sox against the Yankees. I don�t remember who it was that said being a Yankee fan is like being in favor of breathing oxygen, but I�d sure like to buy him/her a drink. And how can you not like the Cubbies? Especially against the Fish. Expansion teams were never meant to get to the Series, much less win it, within their first twenty years of existence. I thought that was some sort of law or something. If not, it should be.

So, we need a Chicago � Boston Series, preferably seven games. What we�ll probably get is NY � Florida, in which case who cares how long it goes. Feh. Should that happen, it would just be further proof that the game is irretrievably fucked.

Speaking of which: how about those Mariners?

bmarkey 10/07/2003 06:08:00 PM

Monday, October 06, 2003

 

Semi-magic bus

OK, that last piece was pretty weak. It wasn�t even funny, really, just kinda� weird. I get these things in my head and I gotta get �em out, one way or the other. Sometimes they go and sometimes they blow, as they say in the world of drag racing.

*shrugs shoulders*

Well, let�s move on, shall we? Let me take you on a bus ride with bmarkey and Science Girl. (Who could resist such an offer? I�m picturing you all swooning in anticipation. Careful not to hit your head on the monitor.)

We decided to take the bus from Science Manor down to Pike Place Market, to do a little shopping. Parking there, if you can find it, costs an arm and a leg. The trip took about 10-15 minutes, I�d guess, possibly as long as twenty minutes. Some times it just seems longer.

A couple of days ago, SG was out running errands. Since she doesn�t drive, and since I was at work, she took the bus. A guy got on the bus and sat in front of her, gently singing a song she almost but didn�t quite recognize. It wasn�t until he stood up and sang, �Is this my stop? Oh shit, it is!� that she realized that he was singing his thoughts. Anyway, that guy got on the bus at the same time we did. No singing this time, though, since he was with someone else.

Was I disappointed? Would a cow lick Lot�s wife?

One stop after we boarded, a young guy with one of those idiot trucker caps and a sad, lonely little mustache got on and sat down opposite us. He promptly curled up in a semi-fetal ball, with feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, got out his cell phone and, in a classic stereotypical stoner/surfer drawl, began one of the dimmest conversations I�ve ever had the misfortune of being unable to avoid overhearing.

What did stupid people do on the bus before cell phones were invented? Did they just have to ride in silence, thereby tricking the rest of the passengers into thinking that they might have more than two brain cells to rub together? Grab a clue, people � you have zero privacy on a cell phone. Don�t subject the rest of us to the emptiness of your lives, I beg of you. (At least here you can hit the Back button; sadly, that�s not an option on the bus.)

Anyway, there was a lot of rambling on about whether or not his friend had a 20-foot-long patch cord for his playstation, followed by repeated demands that the person on the other end of the line get his/her ass down to the front door and let him in. Laundry was somehow involved, too; his triumphant �I�ve got bleach� caught the attention of both SG and myself, but it was soon followed with �I�ve got bleach and laundry soap� It�s a service of the building where I live�. Really? Wow.

The woman in the blue raincoat sitting directly in front of Playstation Dude lifted her nose from her collection of Cathy comic strips several times to roll her eyes, presumably in response to his conversation. I was afraid she was going to sprain her eyeballs, so vehement was her reaction. She and her sparsely-bearded companion had been standing across the street from the bus stop for about ten minutes before the bus arrived. At first I though they were just waiting for the light to change, but they stood there through several traffic light cycles, crossing only when the bus was about a block away.

We arrived at Playstation Dude�s stop. I don�t know if he was successful in getting whoever it was off their ass and down to the front door. One can only hope.

Getting on the bus as PD left was a tall, elegant African-American woman, very well-dressed. Her companion� ah, well, let me just describe his outfit. Starting from the ground up, we had: fire-engine-red patent leather shoes; red socks; a red suit with red shirt. I couldn�t tell if he was wearing a tie, because his full-length white fur coat was blocking my view. He did, however, have a natty white hat.

Now, given this gentleman�s mode of dress, I suppose that one could jump to a lot of conclusions. If I had to guess, I�d probably say that they might have been returning from church - although I should note that most churches I�ve attended would have frowned on the crimson nature of his attire, red being the color of the devil & all. Then again, it�s been a long time since I�ve set foot in a church, so maybe things have changed. He must have been quite warm in that fur on a seventy-degree day, but since wearing fur is evil, that would only serve him right.

We reached our stop not long after that. Both of us were dying to get the other�s reaction to our fellow passengers. God only knows what they made of us.

bmarkey 10/06/2003 08:50:00 PM

Friday, October 03, 2003

 
NEW YORK (AP) � Viewers of NBC�s �Today� show were surprised when a swarm of carnivorous flies issued forth from the mouth of Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld during an interview this morning, terrorizing host Katie Couric before landing on Rumsfeld�s head and stripping it of flesh.

Witnesses reported that Couric had just asked Rumsfeld about the escalating number of American casualties in Iraq. The Secretary stared silently at the popular television personality for a moment, and then emitted an eerie buzzing noise. He then opened his mouth and, according to the estimate of one entomologist who did not wish to be named, some 10,000 � 20,000 flies of a previously unknown species emerged. After briefly circling the startled Couric, the insects settled on Rumsfeld�s head and consumed the flesh down to the bone within approximately two minutes.

Couric�s attempts to brush the flies off the stricken man with her interview notes were thwarted when Rumsfeld turned his bleeding skull toward her and bellowed, �Mine!�. The flies then re-entered his mouth, and Rumsfeld swallowed; seconds later, his musculature and skin appeared to begin regenerating. Within a minute or so, the Secretary�s appearance was normal. NBC cut to commercial at that point. When the show resumed, a visibly shaken Matt Lauer was interviewing weatherman Al Roker, who was trying to explain the intermittent rain of three-legged toads over the nation�s capitol.

When questioned later about the morning�s events, Rumsfeld was quoted as saying, �Does this happen from time to time? Yes, it does. Should you forget you saw anything? Oh my, yes. Absolutely.�

Couric could not be reached for comment.

bmarkey 10/03/2003 07:58:00 PM

Thursday, October 02, 2003

 
WASHINGTON (AP) � During a seemingly routine press conference today, the White House press corps lost one of their own. Jeremy Spengler, a 26-year-old reporter for the Sacramento Press-Terrier on his first major assignment, was asking National Security Advisor Condoleeza Rice a question regarding the continued absence of any evidence of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq when Rice leapt a distance of some thirty feet from the podium to the back of the room where Spengler was standing, stuck her talons deep into Spengler�s chest, and ripped his heart from his body. Rice then devoured the still beating organ. White House aides hurriedly called an end to the conference.

As reporters were quickly led from the room, Rice was seen to hike her skirt up over her hips and grind her pelvic region into that of the still twitching corpse. Witnesses heard Rice scream �Make me feel good!�, as her eyes rolled back in her head and the dead man�s blood frothed on her lips.

A White House spokesman later denied any knowledge of the incident, claiming only that Rice had been �misquoted�.

bmarkey 10/02/2003 05:34:00 PM

Wednesday, October 01, 2003

 
Bush Staff Examines Records in Leak Probe

Attorney General John Ashcroft ruled out use of the FBI Ouija board employed in the investigation into the assassination of Martin Luther King. Instead, agents will be instructed to �pray really hard� for clues.

When asked if there were plans to press potential witnesses, Mr. Ashcroft replied, "Not at this time". He added that under the proposed PATRIOT II act, that practice would be permissable. At that point, presidential advisor Karl Rove gave what was later described as a "soul-curdling" hiss. Rove then turned into a black cat and leapt out an open window.

The Ouija board is believed to be in use by US armed forces in Iraq, although this could not be confirmed before press time.

bmarkey 10/01/2003 09:27:00 PM

 
Officials Say Bush Seeks $600 Million to Hunt Iraq Arms

An unidentified source in the Bush administration said that once the imaginary weapons of mass destruction are found, the President has ordered the Iraq Survey Group to be airlifted immediately to the North Pole to begin the search for Santa�s workshop.

bmarkey 10/01/2003 07:50:00 PM