ok, i don't have much time.





state check:  we're in the upstairs office winding down the day.  internet surf and listening to the 1972 Doobie Brothers albub Toulouse Street.  why not?  after going through a pile of psy-goa, this is the perfect wind-out.



gordo's, on seaview.  if you go through Ballard then let yourself get pushed north by the shoreline, you eventually get to gordo's.  basically enough of a shack to contain a basic line and probably a cold room, but that's pure conjecture on my part.  through the dark window the older gentlman takes the order, with his wife in the background already reaching for what's needed.  all the menus on the outside are faded, and if the whole seattle health thing has made a pass by here it's reflected in the equally faded signs in the window corners for vegi-burgers.  with fries of course.



there is no in in gordo's, but it's a picturesque parking lot.  the place next door used to be, and might still be, one of those places that sells all those concrete lawn thingies.  i'm not sure if the sign that said "for rent" was for the whole place or just for the fence.  at least one of the gulls had given up on all that fishing and was evidently doing pretty well cleaining up the sidewalk in front of the windows.  the kiddo and his dad both put deep thought into the menu, then settled on a cheddar burger, with the kiddo forgoing the fries for the fried mushrooms.  oh, are our midwest roots showing?  uh?  uh?  i had the healthy fish and vegitable plate because i'm just that way, with an extra order of vegies thank you very much.  the kiddo pointed out that *he* wasn't allowed to count fries and and extra order of fried mushrooms as his daily serving of vegies, but then i pointed out "shut up" and bought him a rootbeer and i'm just such a good parent.



i thought i would feel more guilty.  i mean, here i am enjoying crunchy fried food while my wife is accross the street having a tooth that's been giving her trouble for a while now yanked out of her head.  i gave a peice of fish to the mumbly guy, which means that overall i'm a good person, right?  still, if it was me in the dentist's chair, i'd want my loved ones out there crunching away, eating double-cheeze pizza, drinking hot/cold drinks, right?  these are the kinds of things i really should be considering, but actually, i was just hoping that my pictures of that fat gull come out alright.



anyway, i try to focus on this fried-food goodness because my baby's had a hard day.  this whole dentist thing isn't anyone's idea of a good time.  oh, yah, i live in seattle...  it's not most people's idea of a good time, and my lady's had a bad time all around in this area.  to give them credit, the people at Gentle Dental (gotta love that name) did as well as anyone can be exected in turning a mid-eeevvvviiiiilllll torture session bearable.  but that's me talking.  she's not doing a whole bunch of that right now.  one gripe.  if you send someone home with a sucking hole in their heads, give them some decent pain meds.  ow.  pain hurts.  all of that.  motrin is *not* rated for "sucking hole in the head".  nowhere on the label does it say that.



and there's more stuff, but you know, my head has just given up.  love, hug, pinch, lick, bed.

and bring your giant robot.



you're gonna need it.

google spreadsheets are adding more and more functions that pull data from their own searches.  contemplating the possibilities gives spreadsheet geeks and office drones warm tingly feelings.





she's reading recipes to me, most involving cocoa powder.  we're feeding each other with little tidbits off the net, blurbs, news, interesting phrasings, comics that make us laugh.  aw shit, now it's a country music song that cuts a bit close.  back to angry white-boy rap.  wait, no, rock/folk with lilting female lead singer... pop buildup... new country?  country folk pop?  grrl-pop?  oops, a violin chorus over anthemic lyrics.  i'm so jaded.  there's a good message in here and i'm being all snobby about the instrumentation.  gotta get over that.  there really is good stuff in there, lyric based, emotional statement, voicing anger and sorrow.



she's also chatting with a friend that's going through hard hard time.  i feel like i should wade in, give this guy a call, so *something*.   but i'm gonna sit here and type instead.  frightened to touch anything that might get emotionally out of hand.  raining out side, which is fine by me.  i so *would* be out there with the mower if it was dry enough.



well, no.  i can enjoy the day just that little bit more because the option to mow my little patch of front lawn is denied me by the higher powers.  otherwise, i'd have to face the ethical wrangling only the truly introverted and ruminatively obsessed engage in.  i mean, after a few weeks of leaving it alone, i notice that my front lawn isn't really getting overgrown, like i kinda hoped.  if i could turn my inaction into some kind of principled contemplation it would at least be a comfort.  we have plenty of neighbors who've put in the time/work/money to kind of dress up their front-facing visage, and i do actually enjoy and appreciate the results.  my yard, however, features various plants that basically make it on their own or don't.  if i wasn't worried about what everyone thinks, i'd just let the grass grow and let the flowers and other plants just go at it and form their own thing.  once in a while i get a bug up and go out and weed, or pull dry underbrush out from under this season's generation.



and ok, i don't feel bad cutting down the blackberries or the not-so-sweet peas that seem to want to grow everywhere.  i mean, they can obviously take care of themselves.



maybe i kinda feel bad about cutting the grass.  i mean, i implicitly approved it's growing in my yard by my inaction to replace it with anything else, right?  I mean, it was here when we moved in, and i'm not one to make waves.  i figure we can all get along.  then i start to feel the peer pressure of neighbors who take time and energy to assert their dominance over these little patches of land.  don't get me wrong, i don't think there's anything wrong with it, and i do enjoy walking my block and seeing what people have created out of their spaces, good smelling, pretty flowers and configurations.



but i go to mow my own grass and i feel like, maybe i don't have that much power in my day to day life, but at least here are a bunch of communal beings just enjoying their thing in the sun or the rain, and who am i?  if it's raining, they're drinking it up.  if it's sunny, they're drinking it up.  if it's dry, they go slowtime.  if it's cold, they wait.



and then they get long enough to start seeding, and now i just feel terrible if i don't see it through.  they've just spent plenty of time and energy putting it up for the next generation, having slow joyous plant-sex right in front of god and everybody that has a dog to walk.  i'm thinking at this point that if i learn a bit more about the whole "natural" cycle of plains grasses, i could jusitfy holding off and letting things run their course.  but then how am i gonna get it together and mow?  the more i invest in letting things go, the more it seems like an ironic travesty to take the mower out and do a quick sweep.  maybe if i put discreet signs in the yard that allude to natural reclamation studies i can maintain my civilized visage while finding a justification for my lazyness.  that's what culture is all about really, right?



but i will be visiting the local 7-11 though.  every time i go in there i get a faint shadow feeling of how much under-valued human time and energy went into the selection of unhealthy vice i'll end up laying out in front of the disapproving indian attendant.  he's pretty cool by the way, not like the last one that felt obligated to point out to his customers that they were eating and drinking themselves slowly into their own dispair, and that yoga may have the answers they seek.  i do my best right now to maintain my self-image as a conscious individual, but i know full well that if they have those cream-cheese jalapeno taquito thingies, i'll walk out with three and eat them on the way home.  i evidently signed away my soul on one of my late-night semi-conscious visits, and the price i pay is that my lotus blossom with it's perfect crunchy carpase resides under the heat-lamps of the 7-11 food scientists.  might as well get my barcode tatoo now.



but Foster's awaits there as well.  the symbol of my first successful attempts at buying alchohol while underage.  comfort food.



yup, still raining.  breezy, and nothing but "day of the triffids" gray beyond the row of houses down the hill toward the water.  packet reality.  my home won't be real until i can view it from the alley as i walk home.

well, alright.  low energy and teetering mood for the last workday of the week, after countless quick greetings i myself couldn't think of anything to say except for variations on the TGIF theme.  blustery day until it was time to walk down the hill to the bus stop, when it turned sunny and even a bit warm.  i won't miss sumer much as long as we get the occasional blue sky and sun for the coming months.



it's strange when i think about it.  sometimes the people out here seem oblivious to the subtle, but still visible mood and social signals that go between people.  there's a drama in the landscape, nothing ever settled but changing at best slowly.  i just get this reverse impression when i think about how i'd expect people to be when comparing the landscape and the seasons out here with the mid-west.  out here winter is a trick of the light, colder but still within human tolerance.  it's an introspection and a gentle sine wave sway.



when i think back on winter in Minnesota it evokes memories of watching the Holy Grail for the n'th time.  not sure if it's my head putting things in neat packages, but we're piled out at a friends house out on their farm, middle of ghost world.  he would have had wood burning and you can always tell by the way the heat bounces.  the night in the distance running toward the castle door, guards just standing there squinting off into the distance.  the scene cuts back and forth until it's painful, with the knight getting no closer, until the next cut brings him right to the portcullis where the surprised guards are cut down before they can even think of forming a defense.



the mid-west is not a place for a gentle god.  most of the free-love free-mind zen peace and love have a few months to flower before the whole city gets transported to the moon and oxygen is no longer free, and we all discover our inner calvinism sipping strong drinks in underground bunkers and wonder silently what we did to deserve this.



in a round-table discussion along the theme of outdoor sex i slowly realized that there was a clear demarcation between the west coasters and  the imports.    stories centered on beautiful and harmonic tableau, being gently embraced by a soft yielding world... coasters.  braving the elements, fighting off the natural world, not loosing body parts and finding survivable spaces where nature's little (or not so little) avatars didn't want to suck your blood?  yah.  gyp.



well, there's something to be said for creativity. and spring, when all the flowers come out in those cute short skirts because they *can*.



alright, so it's saturday morning.  the kiddo is off with his grandma, so we don't have to pretend to be adults until at least this evening.  feeling so tired but still want to hold onto this quiet unstructured time for a little bit longer before sleep.  there, just made sure my alarm is off.  sleeping in.  my weekly sanctioned and scheduled rebellion.  countered, of course, by the fact that  it's so damn nice to get up in the morning, drink coffee, and just let the time flow.



oh, and i've really been meaning to reply to some of the comments posted here, but for now i'll just say pong, eeeevvviiiillll, the green M&Ms were a deal-breaker so I turned TED down, send those troops those nudie pix,  best emoticon hugs ever, thank you.



sweet dreams.  probably retrospectively for most of you, but still.