tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15673300761283570682024-03-12T19:58:10.533-05:00Mad CityTrevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.comBlogger223125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-75055698254247545552011-08-07T23:45:00.003-05:002011-08-07T23:53:00.265-05:00joke of the day #10<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jDLXjc8f6Vk/Tj9qPgEwqsI/AAAAAAAAAwc/zpzurpwfiew/s1600/bowling%2Bball.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 118px; height: 118px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jDLXjc8f6Vk/Tj9qPgEwqsI/AAAAAAAAAwc/zpzurpwfiew/s200/bowling%2Bball.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638342073031633602" border="0" /></a> Q: Why do bowling balls hang out with their friends until the wee hours of the morning, doing tequila shots and going to strip clubs and stuff like that, then get that dozen taco deal at Taco Bell and eat all of them, and then go home and end up puking in the sink while their wives look on with concern from the bathroom door? And all the previous time, their wives were also wondering what the hell they were up to, because the bowling balls never bothered to call home or anything like that?<br /><br />A: Because that's the way they roll.<br /><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Warren/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-4.png" alt="" />Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-18601691825001748942011-06-25T12:23:00.006-05:002011-06-25T12:30:49.206-05:00justin bieber, part I<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fqsBOLSfkic/TgYaxQ7HJHI/AAAAAAAAAwU/O1ip2fPiRnc/s1600/bieber.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622210618477454450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 143px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 139px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fqsBOLSfkic/TgYaxQ7HJHI/AAAAAAAAAwU/O1ip2fPiRnc/s200/bieber.bmp" border="0" /></a> Hey u justin bieber why u be wiggin' kid? Ur hair looks stoopid. My gen had better teen idols like d lee roth & adam ant so suck on that.<br /><br /><br /><div>(137 characters. I'm on a roll, babies!)</div>Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-21619031055087007652011-06-25T11:36:00.002-05:002011-06-25T11:40:16.991-05:00the golden arches, part I<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DVaaWJptCOE/TgYOx2vhCwI/AAAAAAAAAwM/NR3MFtf6i0M/s1600/mcdonalds.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622197434489834242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 168px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 156px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DVaaWJptCOE/TgYOx2vhCwI/AAAAAAAAAwM/NR3MFtf6i0M/s200/mcdonalds.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Hey, why doesn't McDonald's sell corn on the cob? Come to think of it, they don't have corn on their menu at all! That's just ludicrous. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>(136 characters, including spaces ...)</div>Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-22498055173642753362011-06-25T11:21:00.004-05:002011-06-25T11:52:47.544-05:00takin' it to the tweetHey, I've got a new idea for this tired old blog: limiting myself to 140 characters or less. Such a limit should ease the pressure on me to fill this space with prose and beauty, which in turn would I think lead to more frequent entries. And that's what everybody wants, isn't it? Instant gratification? "What have you done for me lately?" Etc.<br /><br />Frankly, I'm tired of all the bitching and moaning about how there's not enough Mad City in you people's lives. (Did I do that right, by the way? You people's? That seems a little off to me, for some reason ...) I mean, it's nice to be wanted, but I've also just a real life to lead, not just this virtual existence. So you're going to end up with just what you wanted: quantity over quality. The monkey's paw.<br /><br />So let's see how that turned out ... 757 characters? 143 words? Is it 140 words or characters that you're limited to on Twitter? Jesus, this is impossible! How do the kids do it these days?!? Those poor bastards. I never realized how tough it was to be part of Generation Y. Guess I've got my work cut out for me ...Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-48359120316032026122011-06-20T01:48:00.002-05:002011-06-20T02:05:37.692-05:00toast is the most<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VJ1yboPOBOs/Tf7teR2WAiI/AAAAAAAAAwE/Nrv3oUpf5QU/s1600/toast.gif"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 118px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VJ1yboPOBOs/Tf7teR2WAiI/AAAAAAAAAwE/Nrv3oUpf5QU/s200/toast.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620190489448153634" border="0" /></a> I'm not gonna lie to you people: I really like toast. I eat it just about every day. And not just for breakfast! It's one of my favorite nighttime snacks, with lemon curd or a good raspberry jam and my daily protein shake.<br /><br /> And here's something else: when I make a sandwich, I make it on toast. Ordinary bread just doesn't "cut it" for me, ha ha. It's gotta be toast.<br /><br />Two reasons for the toast post: a public acknowledgement of my love for toast was long overdue. Also, I haven't blogged for about a month, and I just had to bang something out. And when you're in a situation like that, you usually end up turning to something close to your heart.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-64832099106204573742011-05-15T00:53:00.005-05:002011-05-15T01:00:16.499-05:00stale pbj<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n87O2CGUcR8/Tc9qtsBjIpI/AAAAAAAAAv4/ZrUDHHZlLQs/s1600/PBJ.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 120px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n87O2CGUcR8/Tc9qtsBjIpI/AAAAAAAAAv4/ZrUDHHZlLQs/s200/PBJ.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606817394243871378" border="0" /></a> Sometimes I get CD's from the library. I'll just browse through the CD section, grab a few that I've heard about, and then listen to 'em at home. The problem is that sometimes I listen to something once, put it aside, and then forget exactly what I thought of it before returning it to the library. So, before I forget, just a quick reminder to myself: Peter, Bjorn and John, you totally suck.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-79618550247580161752011-05-10T01:06:00.002-05:002011-05-10T01:24:22.918-05:00T-Bone's spa therapy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EeHZja9fbgw/TcjWfzefBsI/AAAAAAAAAvw/1JrJSDNAtro/s1600/dentist.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 169px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EeHZja9fbgw/TcjWfzefBsI/AAAAAAAAAvw/1JrJSDNAtro/s200/dentist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604965578144941762" border="0" /></a> I've never had a professional massage. I'm not shitting you; I shit you not. There are some people out there who get a massage every week, you know? Hell, you can get a massage at the airport, for christ's sake. But I'm just not a self-pamperin' sort of guy. Except ...<br /><br />Every 6 months, I schedule an appointment and go to a local place for my own little special therapy. I get to sit in a comfy chair, put some shades on, kick back, watch a little TV on the ceiling, and let someone else take care of me for a while. And where is this magical haven, you ask? Why, it's my dental hygienist's office!<br /><br />Seriously, for me, getting my teeth cleaned is the closest I get to a sort of man-spa session. And if you think carefully about it, the comparison is apt. In addition to the chair, and the sunglasses, and the comforting elevator music, you're also getting your teeth cleaned. When I leave that office, my smile is looking like a million bucks, and it stays that way until I eat a burrito or something like that and get a bunch of chicken shreds caught in my teeth. But even then, I know that in another 6 months, the dental hygienist is going to pull those shreds out.<br /><br />What about the discomfort, you also ask? Ah, let's face it: it's not that bad. OK, getting the mini-water jet on an exposed nerve is bad, and I guess I don't like that thing that makes the high-pitched whine. And spit sinks. Why did they ever do away with spit sinks? They had 'em when I was a kid; and back then, going to the dentist for me was like spending the day at an amusement park. Suction sucks! If I can find a dentist around here who still has a spit sink, I'll be happier than a pig in pig heaven.<br /><br />So there you have it. That's how I roll. I bet most of you Mad City fans never saw this one coming.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-11584259031594808532011-05-05T03:02:00.005-05:002011-05-05T03:23:23.475-05:00hallie bateman, superstarSome people believe in eating locally. I believe in consuming local art. My latest and maybe greatest find occurred not too long ago, when I stumbled across an art exhibit at Beyond the Bridge Cafe in Tacoma. It's not even my usual coffee house hangout! I've been going to Metronome mostly. But for whatever reason I went to Beyond the Bridge that day and saw the exhibit by local artist Hallie Bateman.<br /><br />Not sure if you've checked out the link to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Ridiculous Sister</span> website (it's right over there), but that site belongs to Hallie and has plenty of her cool art. She's currently a senior at University of Puget Sound, which is less than a mile away from my crib, and will be graduating real soon. The piece that I liked the most at her art exhibit (a crocodile in a wedding dress) was already sold, which distressed me, but soon thereafter I came up with the idea of commissioning an art work for my friend B-Phat's "man cave" (check out the link for <span style="font-style: italic;">Concords Are Better</span> - it's right over there). I got in touch with Hallie and sold her on the idea, so to speak, and the results were staggering. Just look at that smile on B-Phat's face! You can tell he likes his man cave picture.<br /><br />At any rate, check out her website, and think about commissioning something for yourself. It's the gift that keeps on giving ...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3n_CmUSuSE/TcJZub6ZGaI/AAAAAAAAAvY/QQsxdEGW3IQ/s1600/wolves.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 261px; height: 191px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3n_CmUSuSE/TcJZub6ZGaI/AAAAAAAAAvY/QQsxdEGW3IQ/s200/wolves.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603139540703844770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B0mS9NZyasg/TcJZ6DaWsBI/AAAAAAAAAvg/ZC9Km6fbau0/s1600/brian%2Band%2Bman%2Bcave.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 216px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B0mS9NZyasg/TcJZ6DaWsBI/AAAAAAAAAvg/ZC9Km6fbau0/s320/brian%2Band%2Bman%2Bcave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603139740285448210" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pg2Myj2GI6E/TcJdn5uN6hI/AAAAAAAAAvo/-D7436SQKMw/s1600/brian%2Band%2Bman%2Bcave_edited-1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 386px; height: 306px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pg2Myj2GI6E/TcJdn5uN6hI/AAAAAAAAAvo/-D7436SQKMw/s320/brian%2Band%2Bman%2Bcave_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603143826493270546" border="0" /></a>Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-76673793046505376232011-04-24T17:49:00.003-05:002011-04-24T18:02:49.550-05:00michael medved<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XCWjab6oUcc/TbSpNwaTznI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/FN87byDqfDE/s1600/Michael-Medved.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 152px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XCWjab6oUcc/TbSpNwaTznI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/FN87byDqfDE/s200/Michael-Medved.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599286290527014514" border="0" /></a> As I've made my way through this crazy adventure called life, I keep stumbling over this one fact which can't be avoided: Michael Medved is a complete ass. Not only the worst movie critic of all time, but also a hard-right political commentator (who used to be a liberal activist! And then talked about how he'd "seen the light" or some shit like that, and became this right-wing dick). And I think he lives in Seattle! If I'm not mistaken. I guess his radio show is broadcast from Seattle. Probably lives in Bellevue ...<br /><br />Remember that movie "Kangaroo Jack?" About some mobsters who get stranded down in Australia, and then have to chase this animatronic kangaroo because somehow all their money got in its pouch? Clearly one of the worst movies of all time, right? But Michael Medved <span style="font-style: italic;">liked</span> it! Because it was family-friendly, and didn't have sex or violence or naughty curse words, etc etc. But then he decided he couldn't write a good review of it, because the director contributed money to Democratic political candidates. I shit you not.<br /><br />Is Michael Medved gay? (Not that there's a problem with that; I have no problem with anyone being gay) He strongly gives that impression, no? But if he is, he's one deeply closeted son of a bitch. Maybe that's why he took that hard-right turn in his life: he didn't want anyone to guess his true sexual identification. Just like Ted Haggard and Larry Craig.<br /><br />Give it up, Michael Medved! You completely suck. In fact, I can't think of anyone in America who sucks more than you.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-72533477821450376372011-04-24T03:06:00.006-05:002011-04-24T03:20:44.535-05:00the name game<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YPruNLouBcc/TbPdEHZd59I/AAAAAAAAAvI/UvE6Dts1fcg/s1600/cream%2Bpuff.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 108px; height: 81px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YPruNLouBcc/TbPdEHZd59I/AAAAAAAAAvI/UvE6Dts1fcg/s200/cream%2Bpuff.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599061824526739410" border="0" /></a>Ideas can be a dangerous thing. For every Bill Gates out there with a crazy idea about something like "software," there are probably 99 people who drive themselves into financial and psychological ruin by pursuing their dream. And I have to say I'm teetering at the edge of the abyss right now.<br /><br />I have no experience in running a Vietnamese restaurant - hell, I've never run <span style="font-style: italic;">any kind</span> of restaurant - but when out of nowhere the greatest name ever for a Vietnamese restaurant strikes you ... well, what are you supposed to do? Just forget about it? And just as it would be very difficult to imagine what our world would be like if Microsoft had never came along, I think someday people will be asking themselves how they ever got by without Pho Sure.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-6167686428286762272011-04-03T02:49:00.003-05:002011-04-03T03:02:25.135-05:00road rage<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfIHxEdB_uE/TZgnvLk7zwI/AAAAAAAAAuw/dn8zjVUGsp8/s1600/road%2Brage.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 92px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfIHxEdB_uE/TZgnvLk7zwI/AAAAAAAAAuw/dn8zjVUGsp8/s200/road%2Brage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591262628895510274" border="0" /></a> I'm generally a pretty even-keeled guy, but I do get kind of pissed off at times on the road. More than is healthy for me! And typically I just feel embarrassed and stupid about it later. But I came up with two ways to address this: A) I give myself more time to get to places now. Running late is a surefire recipe for stress and B) I just consider that other people don't drive as well as me. I may not be the greatest driver in the world (I'm no A.J. Foyt) but I'd say I drive better than 95% of the people out there. And looking at it that way, allows me to forgive them.<br /><br />Feel free to borrow these driving tips! Namaste ...Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-7981245551756589102011-03-25T00:35:00.004-05:002011-03-25T00:49:57.753-05:00cherry, cherry, quite contrary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aBcBCInhOUc/TYwp1v1ZeRI/AAAAAAAAAuo/F-wV-TAiLDw/s1600/IMG_0206.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aBcBCInhOUc/TYwp1v1ZeRI/AAAAAAAAAuo/F-wV-TAiLDw/s200/IMG_0206.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587887241010182418" border="0" /></a>Spring in the Pacific Northwest means one thing: drizzly rain. Wait: it also means the blossoming of cherry trees. Two things.<br /><br />Right now there's cherry trees blossoming all over my neighborhood. Looks great, smells great. Who can complain, right? Well, I've got my hand in the air. I'm not complaining exactly, but I want to ask you all how things are going to look in another week or two. All those blossoms will be gone, and we'll be stuck with a bunch of skinny old nothing-special trees.<br /><br />Now don't get me wrong: I love trees. So much, in fact, that I question why we can't have other trees besides these cherry trees everywhere. How about some macadamia trees? It would be so cool to be just walking along and find a whole bunch of macadamia nuts under some tree. I love macadamias! Or maybe some banana trees. I actually don't like eating bananas, but I've seen lush banana trees in real life, and they look so damn bountiful! I'd just like to see some of that in my neighborhood. And we've got palm trees here - there's a couple right around the corner, as a matter of fact - so don't tell me banana trees won't grow in Tacoma.<br /><br />Hell, I'd even take some apple trees. I love apples. Maybe a nice Jonamac tree, or even a basic old Macintosh tree. I don't care! I just want to be walking down the street, and see an apple tree over there, and just go over and gorge to my heart's content. Can you do that with a cherry tree? No. At least, not the ones around here. You're not gonna eat anything off of them. I'm not even sure if they all ARE cherry trees - maybe there's some other kind of blossoming tree that people cultivate - but let's call them cherry trees for convenience's sake. I want something to eat.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-68025685890950554292011-03-01T01:00:00.003-06:002011-03-01T01:16:14.204-06:00happy family<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yVZh4NZJzJQ/TWyZ33CrSkI/AAAAAAAAAug/YE5Ss5rtHOU/s1600/happy%2Bfamily.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 155px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yVZh4NZJzJQ/TWyZ33CrSkI/AAAAAAAAAug/YE5Ss5rtHOU/s200/happy%2Bfamily.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579003223352232514" border="0" /></a>Who the F#*%!! came up with the idea for Happy Family??? You know what I'm talking about: that Chinese restaurant dish with chicken, beef, shrimp, pork, lobster, and just about every other meaty item on the menu, tossed together with some lo mein-type noodles and maybe a little bit of broccoli. Whoever it was, I bet they congratulated themselves afterward. You know, something like, "Yes, I did pretty good here. This is a groundbreaking innovation."<br /><br />Hey, I've got a new idea for a breakfast cereal! It's got Grape Nuts, and Wheaties, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and Cocoa Puffs, and those little marshmallows from Lucky Charms. And while I'm at it, I've got a new baked good as well: part pie, part cake, and part donut, it's glued to the back of a <span style="font-style: italic;">petits four</span> and will surely revolutionize the culinary world. And here's one more for you: a container of ice cream with THREE FLAVORS inside. That's right - vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry sitting right next to each other, just waiting to be devoured.<br /><br /> But what's that you say? Tripartite ice cream already exists; or at least, it used to, but they stopped making it because<span style="font-style: italic;"> no one gave a damn</span>??? Wait, wha - how can that be? Isn't it 3 times as good as ordinary uniflavor ice cream? Just like Happy Family is 8 times as good as regular lo mein? These are crazy times we're living in, I tell ya ...Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-18781282291506510902011-02-19T20:57:00.003-06:002011-02-19T21:14:44.454-06:00old friends I've visited in the past 2 years, and where I visited them- Chud and Melissa (Austin)<br />- Elizabeth and Dan (Boston)<br />- Matt (NYC)<br />- Chris and Christine (NJ)<br />- Brian and Cindy (Seattle, multiple times)<br />- Dean and Caroline (Vermont, several times, also Chicago and SF)<br />- Jim (SF)<br />- Dan and Danielle (LA)<br />- Suzanne (Minneapolis)<br />- Sabrina and Truman (Cleveland)<br />- Jed (Oberlin)<br />- Tom and Jamie (Bellingham)<br />- Mike (Bellingham)<br />- Troy and Shannon (Louisiana)<br /><br />This doesn't count family, so trips to see my sister and her family in Chicago and Charlotte aren't included. Also doesn't include my college reunion last Memorial Day weekend, or seeing extra friends on one of these trips (ie, having lunch with someone in Seattle when I was there primarily to see Brian and Cindy), or seeing friends in Mad City. Almost without exception, these were people I hadn't seen in a number of years.<br /><br />When you consider that I was enmeshed in fellowship training for most of this period, I'd say it's a pretty good list. Never let it be said that I don't go out of my way for friends! I am one traveling wilbury.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-68584935827751234562011-02-11T23:16:00.005-06:002011-02-11T23:55:32.099-06:00deja entendit<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3THPSD07ViY/TVYZh5i4WWI/AAAAAAAAAuA/Zwdb8VPXpiM/s1600/mc-hammer.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 128px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 136px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572669659091065186" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3THPSD07ViY/TVYZh5i4WWI/AAAAAAAAAuA/Zwdb8VPXpiM/s200/mc-hammer.jpg" /></a> One of my biggest grievances about rap (and I have many) is the age-old practice of "sampling" - basically, taking part of someone else's song and sticking it in your own. It can be relatively small and benign, or be used to build a great song (Cantaloop by Us3, or a lot of the brilliant stuff that Public Enemy has done), or it can be blatant and really suck ass (most of MC Hammer's body of work). The problem is when it becomes endemic to a genre, and leads to the sacrifice of creativity for the sake of familiarity.<br /><br />Now, I know that sampling and covering are also done in other areas of music, including rock (right now I'm in a coffee shop, listening to an American Idol wannabe do an overwrought version of Jeff Buckley doing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah"). But I've always considered rap to be the biggest offender. It wasn't until I started to listen to KPLU, the jazz station in Tacoma, on a regular basis that I realized how much borrowing goes on in jazz as well. I'm not just talking about Kenny G's Christmas album (the impetus for one of the greatest lines by Norm Macdonald, or anyone for that matter, of all time: "Happy birthday, Baby Jesus! I hope you like crap!"). No, no - it seems like <em>every other song</em> being played was done by someone else before. Whether it's Vijay Iyer playing Michael Jackson, or Denise Donatelli doing Sting, it usually strikes you the same way: you listen for a few seconds, start to get excited, and then realize why that melody sounds so familiar.<br /><br />Of course, jazzmen and women do it a little more skillfully than most hack-ass scratch-rappin' DJ's, and some would say that re-worked covers have had a vital role in the history of jazz. Think about what John Coltrane did with "My Favorite Things," or Miles Davis with "Porgy and Bess." And hell, I myself have covered songs by Roy Orbison and the Blue Orchids on a recording. But still ... you know? But still. What would jazz be like if jazzmen (and women) weren't so busy playing stuff that had already been done by someone else? Not *quite* so busy? I bet it'd be pretty cool.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-69561337657061777592011-01-28T19:47:00.007-06:002011-01-28T20:10:53.177-06:00yakkety yak<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TUNx9ZQIeMI/AAAAAAAAAt0/-2utDqrNUZ8/s1600/92-chicken-teriyaki.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 172px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 137px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567418863924574402" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TUNx9ZQIeMI/AAAAAAAAAt0/-2utDqrNUZ8/s200/92-chicken-teriyaki.jpg" /></a> What are the things that set one place apart from another? Many things, maybe. Climate and weather. Language. Music. Politics. And yes, food. Food can be both a divider and a unifier. People may argue over whether their cuisine is better than another region's; but ultimately, great food brings people together.<br /><br />I've heard a lot of theories about the biggest food differences between the far-flung poles of this country. It's been posited that here in the Northwest, people are more passionate about <em>beverages</em> (coffee, beer, etc), while those on the East Coast have a greater interest in <em>sandwiches</em> (hoagies, cheesesteaks, grinders, what have you). But in my experience, the most striking difference of all is teriyaki.<br /><br />If you've been to the Puget Sound area, you know that teriyaki joints are ubiquitous - maybe even more so than coffee shops. You can't throw a chopstick around here without hitting a teriyaki place. But on the East Coast, there are few if any dedicated teriyaki establishments. Hardly any! It's so striking. You can get teriyaki at some Asian restaurants, but usually only as an entree, and usually in the $15-20 range. Which I call bullshit upon. Because what is teriyaki? It's a humble cabbage salad, a mound of white rice, steaming sliced meat, and sauce. (And a pair of chopsticks, ha ha.) If you pay more than $7 for a teriyaki lunch in Seattle or Tacoma, you're getting jerked off.<br /><br />And that's the way it should be. On this one issue, the East Coast has it all wrong: teriyaki ain't some glamorous dinner entree! It's a hot, delicious, affordable, high-sodium lunch.<br /><br />You know, people, I have a theory: the Northwest runs on teriyaki. You could take away all the coffee and all the beer, and people would grumble, and they might not function so well in the morning, and they might have a harder time unwinding in a bar after work. But you take away teriyaki, and everything collapses. Microsoft, Boeing, Starbucks, Amazon, the great universities and institutions of learning, the Seahawks, Bill Gates, Dale Chihuly: all gone without teriyaki. Let's hope we never have to see that theory put to the test.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-70999839594047101042011-01-23T00:52:00.005-06:002011-01-23T01:18:29.523-06:00(d)once<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TTvQrVTdtlI/AAAAAAAAAts/XtjvSYk4Kpk/s1600/45790_onceheader.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 95px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565271207418115666" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TTvQrVTdtlI/AAAAAAAAAts/XtjvSYk4Kpk/s200/45790_onceheader.jpg" /></a> People, what is the most overrated film of all time? <em>Ishtar</em>? <em>Heaven's Gate</em>? <em>Hudson Hawk</em>? No, no, you're on the wrong track. Those movies were some of the biggest box-office bombs of all time, losing millions of dollars for their makers. I'm talking about films that <em>most people</em> rave about, which perversely make <em>you</em> want to scratch your own eyes out.<br /><br />I cast my vote for <em>Once</em>, the drippy low-budget 2006 Irish love story starring Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. Most people, especially women, rave about it; personally, it makes me want to pull out my eyes and stuff them in my ears, so I don't have to listen to the music. Which most people rave about, but which I find tedious, uninspired, dreary, and dull. Frankly, I don't like it.<br /><br />I know what you're thinking, especially you <em>Once</em> lovers: "But how can you not like it? They sang together so beautifully! All original songs! And it was made for such a low budget!" Well, let me address the budget issue first. Frankly, I don't give a fuck how much it costs to make a movie. Why? <em>Because I had to pay the same amount of money to see Once that I did to see Avatar</em>. Now, if I could've seen <em>Once</em> for a dollar, I might feel a little differently about it. I might've regarded <em>Once</em> as kind of the Fugazi of modern Irish cinema. But no, they blew it. They charged full-price admission, even though they made the movie for like 30 bucks. And I say that's bullshit.<br /><br />What else did I not like about <em>Once</em> ... oh yeah, no nudity. It's supposed to be a love story, for chrissake! But there's no nudity. Come on, people, it's 2006! We're not living in Victorian times anymore.<br /><br />Also, didn't care much for the music, at all. "Slowly Falling" has to be one of the most preposterous, boring, dreary, stuff-your-eyes-in-your-ears songs ever written. It seems like every time I see a male/female acoustic duo in a coffeehouse, they have to play "Slowly Falling" as an encore, and it never fails to make me puke up my coffee. Sometimes my scone, too. Honestly, I do not like that song.<br /><br />Also, this Glen Hansard guy makes the most pained "singer face" I've ever seen. Why? It's not like he's cranking on the guitar. It's not like his singing or lyrics are revolutionary. Save the melodrama for somebody who'll fall for it, guy. I'm not buyin'.<br /><br />I've got plenty more to say about <em>Once</em>, but I've been trying to keep my blog posts shorter and snappier. So, to quickly recap: didn't like<em> Once</em>. Not at all, really. Think it's overrated. Maybe the most overrated movie of all time. Don't see it again.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-3323181479939488922011-01-20T00:27:00.003-06:002011-01-20T00:40:56.820-06:00the widening dichotomy between the know-it-alls and know-nothings<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TTfWBEr8vSI/AAAAAAAAAtk/3MBOP0xx2kc/s1600/P10_232_1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564151178565827874" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TTfWBEr8vSI/AAAAAAAAAtk/3MBOP0xx2kc/s200/P10_232_1.jpg" /></a> A lot of attention is being paid right now to the dichotomy between the Haves and the Have-Nots, what with the recent tax cuts for the wealthy and cuts in public-sector services and the renewed increase in Wall Street bonuses, etc. But if you ask me, there's an even bigger dichotomy out there: the one between the Know-It-Alls and the Know-Nothings. Like, it just seems like there's a lot of very smart people right now, but meanwhile <em>most</em> people are getting dumber. For instance, Stephen Hawking - that guy's a genius! But the average American has no idea what he's talking about. Or Bill Clinton. Rhodes Scholar. And millions of Americans voted against him. <div></div><div><br />I think this dichotomy is huge, and getting bigger. It may be the biggest it's ever been since the Roman Empire, when the elite placated the masses with "bread and circuses" while they were absorbing all this knowledge and algebra and shit from Persia and whatnot. Does anyone else feel this way? I don't have any data; it's just a hunch. But at the same time, a damn strong hunch ...</div>Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-14159163220933774942011-01-05T00:46:00.002-06:002011-01-05T00:54:53.484-06:00knight's gambit<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TSQT8nueuZI/AAAAAAAAAtc/MPEEMM-ip-Q/s1600/Katy_Perry_featuring_Sesame_Street.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 137px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558589772259047826" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TSQT8nueuZI/AAAAAAAAAtc/MPEEMM-ip-Q/s200/Katy_Perry_featuring_Sesame_Street.jpg" /></a> Some of you may have noticed a slightly different "feel" around Mad City in the past few weeks. Maybe as if it's more ... crowded? There's a simple explanation for that: I'm playing to a bigger audience now. You see, I finally decided to divulge the existence of this blog, in a fairly nondescript manner, to my Facebook followers a while back. And the response has been intense! I think I'm up to something like 20 hits per month now.<br /><br /> I know a few of my old followers may be a little miffed that Mad City isn't as exclusive as it used to be, like when the velvet rope is pulled away from the entrance to the hottest nightclub in town. Sorry about that. I don't really know what to say! I guess it's kind of like when PBS wouldn't allow Katy Perry on "Sesame Street" because she showed too much cleavage. That's just the way it goes ...Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-23256470285620621292010-12-27T20:53:00.004-06:002010-12-27T21:17:11.771-06:00a raisin in the sun<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TRlRQzHtyRI/AAAAAAAAAtU/VXWQuhOqjPk/s1600/firth2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 119px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555560964380543250" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TRlRQzHtyRI/AAAAAAAAAtU/VXWQuhOqjPk/s200/firth2.jpg" /></a> As I've gotten older and hit various milestones in life, I've had to say farewell to a progression of childhood ambitions. When you're younger, it's not the toughest thing in the world. For instance, when I was 14, I gave up on my dream of being the youngest boy in history to qualify for the US Olympic team in a non-shooting sport (I thought I had a chance in bobsledding). And when I turned 21, I could no longer take out a bunch of cops in a drunken brawl instigated by my arrest for underage drinking.<br /><br />But as you get older, the loss of these grandiose dreams begins to sting a little more. I started to lose my hair in my late 20's, and within a few years I realized I was never going to tag a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. A few years after that, I had to admit it was really unlikely I'd make it to the baseball major leagues, or in fact, turn pro in any sport. And then I went to medical school, and said goodbye to a promising career in sculpting (well ... I'd thought about it).<br /><br />But I still held out hope for a few things, even as I turned 40 and witnessed all my peers developing into sad, withered facsimiles of their former selves. The biggest one for me was always the English country gentleman scenario. I figured that once I'd put away a little legal tender, I'd retire to the English countryside and take up the ways and dress of a fancy chap. Wear lots of tweed, and subsist on a variety of savory puddings and trifles, and carry an uncocked shotgun across my forearm to blast away at any game birds I chanced across on my property, and merrily chase scantily-clad serving wenches across the moors.<br /><br />Yesterday, however, on my way back to Mad City from a holiday vacation back east, I had a layover in Cleveland. There I was, eating a slice of Sbarro's pizza, checking fantasy football scores, and idly scratching at my groin when I suddenly saw myself as others do: loud, coarse, smelly, uncouth. And at that moment, I knew I was never going to be an English country gentleman. Not even close. Pfffffft! Another balloon deflated ...Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-57501624950648815882010-12-24T19:01:00.002-06:002010-12-24T19:08:13.503-06:00mad kitchen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TRVCoz2_SRI/AAAAAAAAAtI/ZgY2pE8pVHw/s1600/martha-stewart-mr-t-eat-spaghetti.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 131px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TRVCoz2_SRI/AAAAAAAAAtI/ZgY2pE8pVHw/s200/martha-stewart-mr-t-eat-spaghetti.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554418984314423570" border="0" /></a>Today brings a new feature here at Mad City, called Mad Kitchen. People often notice that I can do a thing or two in the kitchen, if you know what I mean, and there's been some pressure on me to share some of my better cooking and baking tips. So, there you go. The name of the new column is a play on "Hell's Kitchen," ha ha. Though in thinking about it, that also was a kind of play on something else. I guess that makes Mad Kitchen twice as interesting ...<br /><br />Anyhow, here's my piece for the day: you know those special, flexible little serrated knives that you use to loosen the sections in grapefruit halves? You know, before eating the grapefruit with a spoon? Well, those knives are also handy for getting the seeds out of acorn squash.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-79802929782270147852010-12-23T12:09:00.003-06:002010-12-23T12:58:28.916-06:00tricks are for kids<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TROQvb05PgI/AAAAAAAAAtA/AFyNIKVycCw/s1600/Laughing-kids-for-MagicKids.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 140px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TROQvb05PgI/AAAAAAAAAtA/AFyNIKVycCw/s200/Laughing-kids-for-MagicKids.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553941910075817474" border="0" /></a> One thing people notice right away about me is that for someone who doesn't have kids of his own, I'm pretty damn good with kids. People often ask me, "Hey Mad City! How'd you get to be so good with kids?" And I'll usually just chuckle and swat at the air, like I don't know what they're talking about.<br /><br />But for the longest time, I wasn't so good with kids. They would see me and either be indifferent, or go in another room and play with one of their electronic contraptions. But one day I discovered the secret of dealing with other people's kids: <span style="font-style: italic;">don't be yourself</span>. Because children just find that boring and gauche. No, you need to pretend that you're someone or something that you're not, really. Here's a sampler of some of my most successful ruses:<br /><br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretend you're a long-lost relative</span>. Kids are often dumbfounded when you introduce yourself as Uncle Mad City, just returned home after 5 years exploring in the Antarctic. Then, when they've reached the maximum level of amazement and wonder, you yell out, "Ha, just kidding!" Then everyone has a good laugh, usually.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretend you're an animal</span>. This tends to work better with younger kids, who are sometimes unsure of the difference between an adult human and other mammals. With my long neck and willingness to strip and chew low-hanging leaves from nearby trees, I've convinced more than a few kids that I'm a reticulated giraffe. But you need to be honest with yourself, and consider whether you can pull off giraffe, or if you'd be a more plausible baboon.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretend you're Richard Nixon</span>. All you have to do is extend your arms upward, make V's with your fingers, tilt your head forward, let your jowls droop, and scowl. Voila! You're Richard Nixon, the late disgraced 37th president of the United States. Kids love it, even if they've never heard of Watergate or Spiro Agnew.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretend you're hungry</span>. "Oliver, I see you've got some tasty pureed pears and sweet potatoes there. And I'm so hungry! Can't I have just a little bit? Num num num! No? No??? You want me to starve to death? Geez, Oliver!" Repeat several times for enhanced effect.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretend that you're very, very sad</span>. Kids tend to be more empathetic than adults; and if you act as though you're extremely disconsolate, they'll usually want to know what's wrong. That's when you brighten and say," Well, I was feeling sad, but you just cheered me up!" Because who doesn't like to be the one to cheer somebody up?<br /><br />6. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretend there's no oxygen in the room</span>. Even younger children who haven't received a basic scientific education yet know that fish can't survive out of water too long. Try gasping and rolling on the floor in mock agony, like a fish out of water, and screech, "No oxygen! No oxygen!" But if you pretend to be dead for more than 3-4 minutes, kids will usually get bored and look for something else to do.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretend that you're very angry</span>. This is the one I usually use after a child refuses to share their food with me (see #4). For some reason, kids are totally amused by helpless rage. Just be careful not to make it too convincing.<br /><br /> If none of these work for you, don't give up. There are many other impersonations that have worked for me in the past: Dora the Explorer, bewilderment, ennui, Inspector Javert from "Les Miserables," a California roll. And if all else fails, there's nothing wrong with pulling out your wallet and giving the kid a couple bucks. Everyone likes money, even kids, and if a kid can witness all that without even cracking a smile ... well, maybe they've earned it.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-31308747756518339462010-12-09T13:34:00.008-06:002010-12-14T03:30:51.681-06:00babies on board<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TQbeq4KLVqI/AAAAAAAAAs4/QfARjWYia_w/s1600/baby-on-board-2-300x267.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 149px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 122px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550368418991658658" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TQbeq4KLVqI/AAAAAAAAAs4/QfARjWYia_w/s200/baby-on-board-2-300x267.jpg" /></a> It seems like I'm spending more and more time around infants these days, maybe because a lot of my friends and siblings have been having children lately. Anyhow, one thing I've noticed is that these little tykes can be a lot of fun. Another new revelation for me: they don't scream and carry on all the time! In fact, it seems that kind of behavior is usually the exception, rather than the rule.<br /><br />This discovery has changed my perspective on noisy kids on planes. It used to be that when a kid was crying or fussing, I would just chalk it up to being in an strange, possibly uncomfortable environment. Heck, there've been times I wanted to behave that way myself on a flight! Maybe just hunger, or a wet diaper, or missing one's crib and toys. But now, I realize the root cause of those tantrums is just bad parenting. And that in turn has changed the way I respond.<br /><br />Right now, for instance, I'm flying back to Mad City. There are a couple of youngsters in the row across from me, sitting with their father, and they're making <em>a lot</em> of noise. Spouting a bunch of jibber-jabber, asking for juice, giggling, singing some toddler songs, telling various people that they love them, etc. I've already asked the father several times if he could PLEASE get them to simmer down. I mean, I've got things to do over here: I'm blogging, and I'm eating my pretzels. It looks like he's doing his best, in a semi-frantic kind of way, but I suspect he just doesn't have the parenting skills to handle the situation. And the really sad part is that the mother, a capable-appearing woman, is in the row behind them with another small child. No problems coming from <em>that</em> area ...<br /><br />I think what I'll try next is groaning or gasping every time one of those kids acts up again. Or maybe some silent glaring and eye-rolling, since I don't want to personally encroach on another passenger's Zone of Seclusion. It's amazing what the stink eye can accomplish, when the recipient is strapped in and helpless just a few feet away from you. And to all those parents out there whose kids actually behave well - and you know who you are! - a silent salute ...Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-71188768999962085252010-11-30T01:22:00.006-06:002010-11-30T01:40:06.920-06:00notes from the typing wars<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TPSphoAv5eI/AAAAAAAAAss/oeT3vXHguKc/s1600/War_correspondent_typing.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 159px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 99px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545243436341257698" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TPSphoAv5eI/AAAAAAAAAss/oeT3vXHguKc/s200/War_correspondent_typing.jpg" /></a> - I've pretty much mastered all the letters, though with X and C, "mastery" is relative ...<br /><div><div></div><br /><div>- Hitting about 35-40 words/min when I'm on a roll. On given exercises, such as middle row review. Throw in the QWOP wild card, and it becomes a crapshoot ...</div><br /><div>- Favorite word to type: "slowly." Not because that's how I type, ha ha, but because it's got a nice rhythm to it. Left finger, right finger, left, right, etc. Bam ba bam bam bam ...</div><br /><div>- Am I touch-typing this post? Hell no! Everyone thinks it's all about the letters, but there's punctuation and capitalization that have to be mastered too, you know ...</div><br /><div>- I've noticed some touch-typists on the computers in the library. They look so smug, sitting there casually and tip-tapping away without even looking at the keys. I fucking hate that. When I finally get typing down, I'm gonna be humble about my skills ... </div><div></div><br /><div>- Favorite letter to type: J. Right there with the right index finger. It's so visceral, almost primeval. Damn ...</div><br /><div>- The key to typing? If you ask me, it's "staying home." Don't let your fingers drift out of position, or before you know it, you'll be thinking M and hitting K. I know this firsthand: it's happened to me ... </div><br /><div>- Sometimes I'm typing, and I'll hit the right letter without even thinking about it. Sometimes, even entire words (shorter words). Ever have that happen to you? It's like being in Xanadu or something ...<br /><br />- I'll let you all know when I touch-type my first blog post. Believe me, you will ALL hear about it, and hear all about it.</div></div>Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1567330076128357068.post-68940011520820316212010-11-28T09:18:00.004-06:002010-11-28T09:48:44.924-06:00silver tree<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TPJzJlZyuWI/AAAAAAAAAsc/xLC87ZXwpOc/s1600/IMG_0039.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544620699742812514" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ps3i-zqKe9Q/TPJzJlZyuWI/AAAAAAAAAsc/xLC87ZXwpOc/s200/IMG_0039.jpg" /></a> The last time I was in Seattle, I had a chance to tour the Olympic Sculpture Park, which is really a very impressive public installation. Probably my favorite piece was <em>Split</em>, an actual-size metal rendering of a leafless tree by someone named Roxy Paine. When I went to the OSP website to learn more about it, there was this statement:<br />"Camouflaged in the natural setting and light, <em>Split</em> reflects its surroundings and poses the question, 'What is nature, what is art?' "<br /><br />Now, this is interesting for several reasons. First of all, it's the type of vague, watery description which seems so prevalent in art museums now, and which I would expect to find in a B-minus art studies paper. And second of all, it's not how I regarded <em>Split</em> at all<em>.</em> I just thought it was a beautiful sculpture, period. No ambivalence. I've always thought that the form of a tree is one of the most beautiful things in nature, and I kind of gravitate towards art that includes representations of trees, and this one was especially striking.<br /><br />But I guess you have to say something about art, don't you? You can't just describe everything in a museum with "Beautiful, huh?" So if it had been up to me, I would've written something like, "Who says you can't gild the lily?" Even though it's a tree, not a lily; and it's silver, not gold.Trevorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08426508854948433761noreply@blogger.com0