humdrum conundrum

HAPPY LENT

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 14:17:40 GMT

Facebook is really shitty for, you know, like actually keeping a journal in. Who knew? I'm just going to write down the Tales of Mass Transit there. That way I'll have a comprehensive volume of all my various encounters with anonymous humanity all in one place.

It's snowing it's proverbial ass off here today, and I had to drive to work, so no Tales today on Facebook. I got into work at approximately 5:30 thinking I'd beat the traffic, but I ended up just wanting to beat the living shit out of traffic. Who is up that early? Now, when I'm up at 4:00 a.m. silently drinking coffee and reading the paper, I'll be thinking of all those others, out there in their little refuges in the early morning darkness, sharing my silent coffee-drinking, paper-reading experience.

The reason I drove to work is that I have an interview for a volunteer position today, and it's too far away to bus to and fro. The job would be mentoring first-time young mothers. My childfree-esque husband is somehow terrified by this idea- he thinks the new mothers and I are going to join forces to crush his spirit or something. But that's probably not going to happen.

I saw a friend play music on Tuesday night, taking along a coworker for company. It was a bucket of snafus. Said friend was supposed to go on at eight, and ended up starting at 11:00. The band that was supposed to go on at 11:00- the bass player's mother or something was there, periodically yelling for my friend to get off the stage. But it was fun anyhow. Mostly the bands hung out and bought drinks for my friend, (but not for me- not drinking and driving be I, and also married...well, not drinking and driving TOO MUCH, anyway. And also, I'm ugly) and shamelessly self-promoted themselves in a very endearing way.

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 15:18:45 GMT

My kid started singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Deathstar" yesterday. Her training is now complete.

She got her ears pierced, too. I told her she got to decide when she was ready, and she finally decided she was. She didn't cry.

This is all you'll get out of me today

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 15:37:50 GMT

Friday is generally the day that provides the most fodder for Tales of Mass Transit, but today I had a happy experience as opposed to a scary, emotional or hilarious one. I sat in the first forward-facing seats, and so the aisle-facing seats in the front fo the bus were directly ahead of me, and this big, huge, extra-Black dude with an eye patch and a silk cheetah-print shirt and a cane sat right in front of me and leaned his gigantic arm on the barrier that separated us. Here I am, this little girl reading The Decline and Fall of The Roman Empire , but he smiles at me as sweet as you please and says "Good morning." I wanted to give him a hug. I always love it when the most imposing people are the nicest.

What I've learned this vacation

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 23:00:55 GMT

If you mix your booze with hot coffee, it makes it so that you can drink more without passing out. Conversely, if you mix your hot coffee with booze, it makes it so that you can drink more coffee without your nerves reaching light speed.

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 21:50:36 GMT

My kid is drawing pictures of imaginary planets named Pinko and Weenar.

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 19:34:35 GMT

Haiku² for mumblestutter
people that they have way up near the ceiling of this catastrophic
@

Created by Grahame

Won't you come home

Sat, 13 Dec 2008 00:03:50 GMT

I'm on new medication now that makes me the polar opposite of who I usually am. But that's okay, everyone needs a break from themselves now and again.

I finally have a band put together: it's my dream team from back when I was in high school. I'm seeing them all play in their respective real bands tonight, hopefully, if my ex ever shows up to watch Kid, in a state fit to do so. Apparently my friend Bryan is going to get a stand up bass to get my "sound" right, and Brian is going to try to get a lap steel.

We'll be ready to play funerals and bar-mitzvahs around March or April, if anyone is interested.

Mon, 08 Dec 2008 15:45:25 GMT

They kicked me off my psych meds due to some sort of acute allergic reaction to something. The world is a lonesome and itchy place to me now, with little hope of rescue. I feel like I'm swimming in a pool of sorrow and KY Jelly.

And furthermore

Fri, 05 Dec 2008 16:14:05 GMT

Trillian and mr_sadhead, I have no one to talk to now.

I can say that here, right, and it's safe?

I miss you guys.

breakfast bowl at Taco Gong

Fri, 05 Dec 2008 15:52:04 GMT

Yesterday, I went to the sewing store to pick up my sewing machine, which I'd had repaired. The employees there are the usual contingent of upper-middle-aged ladies with glasses and hand-knit cardigans...and then there's the young dude with his hair dyed green and black, and the black denim jacket with the skulls embroidered on it. One of the women brings out my machine from the back. "Oh, let's see what you got here!" she says, looking at the repair receipt. "Ooh! A new bobbin winder!"

"Party," says green-hair, as he's counting change.

In other news, I saw old-time friend and bandmate of Unkie's, Sean Nelson, play solo last night, opening up for Colin Meloy. I think Sean is much more entertaining.

Scrofula

Tue, 02 Dec 2008 06:05:52 GMT

On Sunday my daughter and I did the quintessential Seattle thing to do, the thing that no one in Seattle ever actually does: we went up the Space Needle. It was lucky for me that it was foggy out, because going up the elevator with the glass doors, watching the ground drop out from below you, is a seriously freaky thing: you just can start imagining that the dignified, serious-talking old Japanese tourist man in there with you is going to actually flip into some violent PCP freakout and toss himself through the windows, his voice coming up to you on the rushing air as he falls, "You know way to sculpture garden! Yes please thank you!"

We got up there, and Kid wasn't interested in going outside to look at the view, even after the fog wore off. She was so OVER it, once she discerned that we weren't actually in outer space. Instead she started running around playing with all these dumb touch-screen computers that impart valuable Pacific Northwest shopping and sightseeing tips. There was also a little joystick that allowed you to control a camera on the roof, and she sat in front of that thing for a full twenty minutes, even though all you could see was fog and the Christmas lights on the safety rails. Then Santa showed up and she started talking really loudly about how Santa is scary and she hated him, so I decided to take her down a floor to the restaurant.

Now, this restaurant, for those of you that don't know, is on a revolving floor so you can enjoy the full panorama while drinking some sort of overpriced cocktail decorated with saucy-shaped curls of muskmelon. We got expensive food and ate it, all four mandatory courses, slowly twirling. The whole idea enchanted me, although I couldn't eat from the motion sickness and had to bring everything home.

When we got home, I had to prompt Kid: "Tell Dr. what we did today, Kid!" I said. So she told him about the touch screen computers and scary Santa. "No, tell him about lunch! Where did we eat lunch?" "I had pancakes, and bacon, and strawberries, and ice cream," she said. "No! The twirling . Tell him about the twirling restaurant!" I insisted. The thing is, she's not the one that thought it was totally awesome, it was me. The whole experience made me feel like I'd stepped into some campy late-60's film about fast love on the card shark circuit. A revolving restaurant! Sit and spin! And, the horrible thing is, I work fifty feet (horizontally) from that thing. I've been having a rough day, what with my extremities breaking out in some strange, maddeningly itchy rash (did I mention that?) and I had an almost irrepressable urge to pay the entrance fee and the mandatory minimum lunch fee just to sit up there in the clouds, slowly rotating while polishing off a goat cheese quiche. The money is no object: I've discovered I'm greatly comforted by spending money frivolously. Sure, if I were a junkie in the gutter, I wouldn't have to worry about showing up to work every day and whittling away my life one pointless task after another. But, if I were a junkie, I wouldn't have the wherewithal to sit up atop the Space Needle eating apple crisp.

shoot up some herons

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 20:26:31 GMT

Well, let me tell you about this party.

My dad and my unks were invited to play at the Experience Music Project's Founder's Award party: Paul Allen was giving an award to Robbie Robertson for being....for being Robbie Robertson, I guess. They're friends to begin with, so I guess that's how you express friendship when you're uber-rich: you throw a $350 a plate dinner party benefit concert in the strange-ass building you built next to the Space Needle, and invite a bunch of hairy Seattleite musicians to play The Band songs.

So, anyway, I got a backstage pass, of course, and went to hang out with the various musicians and schmoozers in the room for special people that they have way up near the ceiling of this catastrophic symphony of steel they call a building , where you can look down on the stage from 4 floors up. The room, incidentally, was alternately padded with blue velveteen and decorated with mosaics made of those little green, opalescent glass nuggets that you put in the bottom of fish tanks.

Everything went fine until they opened the free bar. I talked with Unks and the other musicians, we watched Revenge of the Nerds on the TV, waiting for the musicians to go on. But then I started drinking. I never drink, and I shouldn't. Alternatively, I should drink more so I get a tolerance. At any rate, I don't drink exactly the right amount.

So I have a glass of wine, and I'm leaning over the balcony talking to Unks' mom (he's my half-unks), when I hear everything in the room go silent. I look over and Paul Allen and Robbie Robertson are standing next to me talking to each other in hushed voices. Then the photographers and the official honors-doers step up and present Robbie with a Fender guitar to sign for the auction, and I step out of range of all the photo-snapping and etc. By then I'd probably had two glasses of wine, and no food.

After that portion of weirdness was over and P.A. and the Rob Rob were going to sit down to talk about whatever it is that people like that talk about, I grabbed Mr. Allen's arm.

"Mishter Allen," I said. "You've had a profound effect on my father's life." I told him my dad's name and that he'd played music with him and gotten a chance to go to all sorts of places with him, and thanked him for that.

"Who?" Paul Allen said.

Later, after Unks and my dad played their set, I'd probably had another glass of wine. I was sitting and talking to Eric Corson and some dude. I get real talkative when I'm drunk. When I'm not drunk, I'm known to go 15 days without saying a word, so the alcohol brings it all out, all those unsaid words. Said other dude was talking about how he was a drummer. "You're a drummer?!!?" I shrieked. "We should play together!" I babbled on and on about this, said I was trying to put together a local band and play some shows. Then said dude mentioned that he'd played lots of shows...as the drummer for The Posies.

D'oh. Mumblestutter acts drunk and stupid, again , around the Seattle musical elite.

Thu, 20 Nov 2008 17:32:11 GMT

Who wants to hear the story about how I made a fool of myself in front of Paul Allen and the drummer from the Posies?

The Land of the Lost

Wed, 19 Nov 2008 20:38:23 GMT

He rechazado the internet, for the most part. These are sad times, sad times.

But I get to see Unks and dad play at EMP tonight, and my friend's HIV test came out negative, even though, ten years ago, she shared needles with someone who had it...she just now got tested.

But she's having problems with some of those drugs again, so I'm friendless again in Seattle, and lonely sometimes.

I can feel his blade!

Fri, 14 Nov 2008 15:43:17 GMT

My husband's first comment was, They've found Sauron!

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 19:59:26 GMT

I fear I've lost a friend who was dear to me, through my own carelessness.

I feel very bad, very very bad.

U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 15:44:39 GMT

U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

Dude, seriously? I almost bawled about a billion times during his victory speech. And I really appreciate the fact that he admits that we won't always agree with his decisions. But, for the first time in my life, I'm fucking proud to live in this country, and I feel safer having a president that I believe will make sound, reasoned decisions and run this country to the best of his abilities. No one can control all variables, but Obama is going to do a good job. And he's going to buy a puppy for his kids.

BEST LOOKING FIRST FAMILY EVAR

I could watch that ALL DAY

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 19:56:46 GMT

If you scroll down a little bit, notice that you can click the link to watch people wait in the rain in Richmond, Virginia. Out of context, that sounds even MORE fun.

At any rate

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 15:42:23 GMT

It's election day. It's also the day that Dr.'s grant is reviewed at the NIH. In Washington D.C. On election day.

Go Obama! Go Dr.!

It's too bad Obama's granny died yesterday. That just, you know, bites. Especially if he wins.

My ballot was mailed a week or so ago. It's the first time I've ever voted for anything in my 31 years. I feel good about it. I think he'll win.

Mon, 03 Nov 2008 23:40:41 GMT

We went to a Halloween party with some of Dr.'s coworkers: two Muslims, two Hindus, one Christian, and a few miscellaneous. They sat around talking about potassium and playing strange board games.

There's this other postdoc from Siberia who was there, who was just as I thought she would be somehow, probably from Dr.'s tone of voice when mentioning her. She was a creature of exquisite delicate beauty and grace, one of those people with skin that's translucent like dew, and cheeks like perfect rose petals, hair just slightly auburn and eyes that are so chocolate-colored that you actually taste chocolate as you stare into them. She's about six feet tall and moves like a willow in a soft breeze. She talks to you with tenderness, probably because she has pity for all of us mortals. She's the sort of woman about which Renaissance men wrote epic, horrible sonnets. She's the sort of woman that makes women like me feel like sad, sagging sacks of bones. If I was her, I'd wake up each morning at peace with all things, beautiful and intelligent.

So I've been depressed for no good reason.

Sat, 18 Oct 2008 18:09:12 GMT

I'm in San Jose. It's all warm and I went swimming in an outdoor pool in mid-October. And there are palm trees. And so I fell asleep in the sun by the pool while reading my book on the politics of ancient Israel. Fun times!

Also, Trillian is the best and sweetest person in the world, and her hubby-as-of-today is perfect for her. I am glad he's good enough for her. Also, he's like 20 feet tall. I hope she has room in her tummy for all his gigantic babies.

Trillian got me a some pretty neat bridesmaids gifts, which are things I didn't even really know were supposed to be given. But there's a necklace and slippers and everything.

Thu, 16 Oct 2008 20:18:04 GMT

Well, I'm off in a few hours to California for wookiewife's wedding (those numbers in her name, by the way, are the combination to the locker where she keeps her SECRET STASH). Also I will apparently be meeting latenightdrives of great LJ renown. That'll be fun. I hope I come off just as bombastic and pedantic and conceited in person as I do online.

Kid came to my work yesterday. It's right next to the Space Needle. "Are we going up in the Space Noodle?" She asked Dr. on the way here. Then, when she got here, she asked if we were in the Space Needle. I said no. She asked, "If we went up in the Space Needle, would we actually be in outer space?" "No," I said, "the Space Needle is false advertising." That would be awesome, though.

I'm making a list of my clients and what needs done on their respective cases. Next to one of the names I have written, "Needs to have a baby." True story.

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 18:33:12 GMT

My ex-husband has been staying with us for the past few days, and at this point, after watching my daughter sob hopelessly this morning- no 4-year-old should be hopeless- I pretty much want to take a bath in a vat of hydrochloric acid.

Tree frogs and raspberry scones

Fri, 10 Oct 2008 15:02:45 GMT

I haven't been rambling on about my album lately. Unkie, who communicates exclusively via text message lately, is still in the damn studio. "I'm sorry I'm so lame," he told me yesterday, via text message. "I'm trying to get this damn album done." I used my big, inept, hairy gorilla thumbs to slowly poke out my reply. "Finish the damn thing, then," I said. "Just play some fucking notes or something."

I'm glad I'm in Seattle, but I wish my Auntie would come back, and I wish Unkie would get his toothless head out of his white blubber ass and finish his album. I can't wait to hear his shit, and I want to get mine OVER with.

God and Grooming Products

Thu, 09 Oct 2008 14:54:37 GMT

I feel like I'm being squeezed by a python lately, so I promise I'm not trying to ignore anyone.

I've officially started collecting issues of The Watchtower. There's a little man that stands outside the entrance to the transit tunnel every Thursday and Friday holding a few of them- he never offers, he just displays, like some holy magazine rack- and I've started taking them every time I see him there. I think we have a little relationship going now, he sees me and recognizes me, but he still seems sorta surprised, baffled, and pleased that someone would be taking one of his tracts. I won't tell him that I find them hilarious. They have some great pictures in there. This one I took this morning, it has someone who looks exactly like Toby Maguire looking up into the blue heavens. Perhaps it is Toby, I don't know what beliefs he subscribes to. If it is, I think the tract would be more effective if he appeared on the cover in his Spider Man outfit.

Anyway, I've been without real bottles of conditioner or body lotion for many weeks now. It's this comedy of errors: I bought a bottle of lotion, got it home, and it was actually shower gel. Then I bought a bottle of conditioner, and it smells so bad, like dirty hippie mixed with Old Spice, that I can't even have the bottle in the house. Then Dr. got a bottle of conditioner, and it smells like a bum sprayed Shalimar on his asshole. And we keep forgetting to get more. So I've been using the little bottles of hotel conditioner and lotion that I've been hoarding. This morning I grabbed one of the little bottles and started lotioning myself up, and the stuff wouldn't rub in. So I looked and it was actually conditioner. I had to get back in the shower to rinse off. It's too bad I had already shaved, because it would have given me a sleek and glossy coat.