Friday, March 9, 2007


So, friends, it has been a long time since I wrote anything here, mainly because I haven't had a spare moment whatsoever. There is a theory that says the more "real life" you have, the more lame and desolate your online life looks, and this is very true. I've been moving. I've been sick. I've been gaining, losing, regaining, re-losing, and re-re-gaining a ladyfriend. If you see my online presence in full bloom, with new photos appearing and bulletins flying and blogs flourishing, it means my life has withered into a small, sad husk of itself. So rejoice in my apparent lameness.

Now, seeing as the move has been a big part of my life lately, let me tell you a little about where I live now! It's called Ballard. It's one of Seattle's silly little neighborhoods with separate names, and it's a much different place than my old stomping grounds, Belltown, which is essentially Downtown, only yuppier. I have given up my dream of metropolitan gloss and glamour, and left behind my swanky studio surrounded by expensive condos and swarms of tube-topped clubgoers. Yuck. I have returned to my roots--the gross, smelly, late-seventies home that was every home of my youth.

So, let's say I invite you to my house. I will tell you, "It's on the corner of 65th and 24th!". When you arrive at the corner of 65th and 24th, you will see a lovely three-story apartment building, clean stucco walls painted in two shades of tan and deep red, white vinyl windows, clean glass, cute little decks with black wrought-iron railings. What a nice apartment building!
This is not my apartment building.

Please direct your attention to the building next door. Not quite on the corner of 65th and 24th, but close. This building has a slightly different style. The entire building is covered in what appears to be jagged quartz gravel, glommed onto the walls in some kind of mortar adhesive, like rock sprinkles on a scoop of apartment-flavored ice cream.

As you walk into the parking garage, you may experience the joy of having your scalp removed by the low ceilings, which are equally coated in this razor sharp stony mess. They even had the foresight to coat the center pillars with it, so that the slightest contact with your car will completely shred your paint job, kind of like how if Mega Man even slightly grazed those deadly spikes that were always lining pits or ceilings in the under-water levels, he would explode just like that.

Once you're parked and you get inside the building, you get the privilege--and valuable exercise opportunity--to climb 3 long flights of stairs, because there weren't elevators in the late seventies. At each floor's landing, you can examine your hairstyle in a creepy ornate oval-shaped mirror exactly like the one the witch queen from Snow White used to find out who was the most beautiful of them all. Was that mirror like, her life partner or something? Did she also ask it if her robe made her look fat? Was it always as bluntly honest as it was with the first question? Was Snow White really the most beautiful of them all or did the mirror just have a crush on her? Were Snow White and the mirror having an affair? Is that why the witch queen was so upset? Do you think she ever did coke off the mirror? Do you think the mirror ever did coke off itself? Is the whole Snow White story like some kind of like drug parable or something? Are the seven dwarves symbols for the seven stages that an addict goes through before getting on the road to recovery? The first stage is Dopey, then Grumpy, then�

Sorry I got distracted. Back to the apartment. So after you have climbed the 3 long flights of stairs, you reach the apartment and knock on the door. I am on the toilet at the moment so I just yell "Come in!". You open the door and are immediately greeted by a dank, musty odor from the carpet, which is colored to look like a dirty carpet. The logic is clear: Eliminate the problem of having a dirty carpet by making the carpet ALWAYS look dirty, kind of like bypassing the danger of getting shot by shooting yourself.

So now here you are in my apartment. I have modernized it as much as possible by my furniture and decorative choices, but there is still a clear subtext of late seventies mildewyness. If you complain of this, I will tell you you should have seen it before I moved in. You see, I am sub-renting this apartment from a distant relative of mine. My mom's cousin. She is 50 years old, and decorated her apartment as if she was 100. All the furniture, all the wall art, all the kitchenware, it all looks lifted straight out of a thrift store or a centenarian's garage sale. The vacuum cleaner is a retro steel dinosaur that looks like a Danelectro guitar pedal. The kitchen cupboards are filled with all those obscure utensils that you have no idea what they are or what they do� Like that metal device with "petals" that open and close like a flower, like some kind of perforated steel flower-UFO�no idea what that thing is�and weird spices like Tarragon, and baking powder�.who uses this stuff? Anyway, I have cleared this stuff aside as much as possible. This place will never be as hiply modern as my Beltown studio, but here are some advantages!

Observe that this apartment is:

Much bigger!

A large one bedroom VS:
My former tiny studio.

Full size bathroom VS:
Urination Cubicle.

Washer and dryer VS:
No washer and dryer.

Balcony for surveying my Ballardian suburban domain and allowing my smoker friends to smoke comfortably VS:
Leaning out my window to drop junk on the rabid homeless population below, and having to dangle my smoker friends out the window by their ankles while they smoke.

Balcony also for sunbathing and BBQing in the summertime VS:
Laying nude in the sunny street, and death by smoke inhalation during indoor BBQ.

Designated parking space VS:
Constant battle with the rest of
Seattle for the precious privilege of paying 3$ an hour just to exist.

So there you have it, friends. Pros and cons. Maybe sometime soon I will invite all of you guys over for a party. In keeping with the era of the apartment, we could do fondue, play some Twister, or maybe fight in World War I�

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