Category: Storytelling

Hi! Well, as you probably noticed I haven’t updated my blog in a few weeks, and I’m totally sorry cause I know that when you come here every day you expect to see updates on how I’m doing and what’s up with me and that girl from the Expresso stand and how my pet snake is doing and stuff, but I’ve been REALLy busy the last few weeks that’s why I haven’t been updating as much as I shoudld. Work has been a total drag — I’m SO backed up right now — and I’ve been playing a LOT of “Grand Theft Auto III” so I haven’t really had time to work on my blog. And then i was going to post something last Sunday, but, like, 20 minutes before i sat down at my computer all the power in my house went out. I checked the fuses and it wasn’t that, so I went down into the crawl space under the house and found that our power line had been completely chewed through and there was this fried, dead rat right next to it (it smelled AWFUL!) but it was huge and had a face like a person and instead of paws in had tiny hands. and then i saw another one go into a hole at the end of the crawl space so i checked that out, and through the hole i could see a small room, so I cleared away the dirt and found a trap door and whent down into the room. It was like a libary, with all these voodoo books with titles like De Vermis Mysteriis and The King in Yellow and stuff, and when i took this one big black book off the shelf the whole bookcase swung open and there was a passageway behind it. So I walked down it for a while and wound up in this underground temple where a bunch of guys in black robes were inside a big pentagram and doing some chant where they said ” Nyarlathotep” a lot. And then this big mist started to appear it was sort of shaped like a man, but then one of the robe guys saw me and stopped chanting and jumped towards me, but he scuffed the chalk pentagram marks which I guess is bad because the mist person thing started eating all the guys, I think (I don’t know because I left then, but i could hear screaming all night long). But anyhow, the next day i electrical taped my power cord back together and then went to do that update, but by then I totally forgot what I was going to blog about (wouldn’t you know!). So anyhow, that’s why i haven’t been updating every day, but I’ll try to do better, i promise. That’s all i have to say for now, cause nothing much has happened recently, but I’ll write more tomorrow. Bye! Oh, PS: I’m selling some voodoo books on Ebay today, check out my auction!

I was at in a bar yesterday evening and one of my companions told a great story that I am hereby stealing. I will endeavor to retell it as best I can.

First a bit of background. “SIFF” is the “Seattle International Film Festival”, an annual event during which many of the larger theaters suspend their usual schedules for a week or two and instead show foreign and “art house” films from around the world. Among the cinemas participating in SIFF this year is the Cinerama, Seattle’s largest, one-screen theater, which typically devotes itself to nothing but the biggest of big-screen pictures: Gladiator, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings and, currently, Star Wars: Attack of the Clones.

The story:

So I’m working as a volunteer at the Cinerama for SIFF this year, and I was there just the other night when they were showing this real obscure documentary about the native people of the Himalayas who guide climbers up Mount Everest. Now SIFF volunteers usually get a few free passes for the films they work at, but they often have more than they need, and so they usually just give them away to someone outside the theater. Apparently that’s what happened here: someone had an extra ticket and just stopped a guy walking past the theater. He asked this guy if he wanted a free pass to the movie playing at the Cinerama, and the guy took it and was totally psyched.

So this guy, the guy who got the free pass, comes into the lobby and then charges in to the theater to get a seat. He’s totally excited about this free ticket. But not a whole lot of people were at this particular movie, and almost none of them were in the theater — they were all out in the lobby, talking and mingling. So after a while the guy comes back out and looks over the crowd in the lobby with this look of total bemusement on his face. Eventually he comes over to me and says “Hey, what’s the deal here? Why is everyone standing around in the lobby instead of going in to the theater?” You can tell this guy can’t wait for the movie to start.

So I say, “Well, there’s going to be, like, a pre-movie discussion out here.”

And the guy says “Really? That’s cool!” But I can tell that he’s thinking it’s kind of weird, and he doesn’t really know what to do. So he asks me, “Do we just, you know, walk around and talk to other people, or what?”

“Yeah, sure,” I reply, “But the discussion really starts when the director shows up. The guy who directed the movie is coming and will be talking to everyone.”

At this point the guy with the free ticket goes into paroxysms of excitement. “The director?!” He’s just going berserk. “The director is going to be here?! Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to meet George Lucas!!”

And at first I’m thinking “What is this dude talking about?” And then I’m like “Ohhhhhhh noooooooo …” So I say “Uh, yeah. Uh, you know that Star Wars isn’t playing tonight, right?” And the guy’s face just freezes, like he’s been shot. And I say “Yeah, tonight they’re showing SIFF movies.” And the guy is, like, “SIFF, what the hell is a SIFF?” And I point to his ticket, and he looks at it for what must be the first time. And there, in huge letters, it says Sherpa: Unsung Heroes. And he just deflates, like someone opened his air valve or something.

The funniest thing about this guy was that he flat-out refused to believe that he hadn’t scored a free ticket to see Star Wars. Even after I pointed out the movie title he was still like “So, wait: when is George Lucas showing up?” And he points to the stairs on the other end of the lobby and says “Where do those go? Are they showing Star Wars in that theater?” And I say “No, those go to the same theater you just came out of.” And he points to some other stairs says “What if I go up there?” And eventually I’m like “I’m totally sorry, dude, but you’re seein’ Sherpa.”

I was cruising along the sidewalks of downtown Seattle, trying to get back to my place of business after an unduly long lunch break. As I careened around a corner I bumped into a young guy who was standing there talking to his friends. As I was in hurry I did not stop, but I did look over my shoulder and cry “sorry!” As I did so, I saw that the guy was angry: his eyes were narrowed, he was pointing a finger at me, and he was opening his mouth to say something ugly. I guess he didn’t expect me to apologize. But as soon as I did, a remarkable transformation overcame him. His whole body abruptly relaxed, his accusatory finger went flaccid, and instead of wrath his face suddenly filled with the look of a man who has just had an epiphany. I could see the muscles around his mouth frantically reconfiguring themselves as he completely changed was he was about to say. Since I had been in motion this whole time, I was pretty far away when he finally managed to speak.

“Keep your tools sharp,” he shouted.

With a nod I faced forward and continued on my way.

The park through which my wife and I run is infested with migrant bands of hippies, which rove aimlessly about, occasionally stopping to play Frisbee or jam on the bongos. As a graduate of Evergreen State College, I can spot a hippie at 300 yards, and did so tonight as we jogged down the lower path. This particular guy was unusual in one respect: he was by himself. Hippies tend to be a gregarious breed, and spotting one sitting alone on a bench is not a common sight. But in all other ways he was typical: he was clad in a Rastafarian cap and hemp-intensive clothing, he had dreadlocks and a faux-Guatemalan satchel.

As we approached, I saw him looking around warily, and then rooting around in his bag. He finally pulled out some small, plastic-and-metal object — I couldn’t really see what it was because he was blocking the sight of it with his body. He fiddled around with the object for a moment, all while casting furtive glances over his shoulder, and then brought it to his mouth as he turned his back to the path to hide what he was doing.

But we could still hear him. As we ran by he said “Hey, it’s Joel. Can you hear me? I’m on my cell phone.”

It’s interesting how sometimes people set out to accomplish a goal in a very specific way, but end up accomplishing the goal in an entirely unexpected manner. A great example of this happened recently on the tv show Supermarket Sweep. One of the contestants was trying to bulk up the overall total of merchandise he grabbed during his “Sweep” by putting as many garden hoses into his … what? It’s called “Supermarket Sweep.” Yeah, it’s a show, a game show. I dunno what station, some cable channel like the Game Show Station or something.

Anyhow, the guy was grabbing the garden hoses and trying to put them in his cart, but he bumped his cart and it started rolling down the aisle. Since he had his arms full with the hoses he couldn’t stop the cart, so he … yeah I watched this show. There was nothing else on. It was, like, this or COPS. Sure I have cable, but they just show crap on all the stations, it doesn’t matter how many channels you have. No, this wasn’t “crap,” it was interesting. It was!

So the cart starts rolling down the aisle, and the guy drops .. listen dude, it was a good show. It was. It was interesting. The people, like, run all over this Supermarket, and the host stands in the produce section and asks them — stop laughing you jerk! It’s a good show!

Screw you, never mind. Asshole.

My wife and I were jogging through nearby Ravenna Park this afternoon when we found ourselves in the middle of a swordfight. Every Saturday and Sunday a considerable number of Youth — presumably affiliated with the local Society for Creative Anachronism (or perhaps just afflicted with the need to LARP) — gather in the Park to both barbeque and whack each other with sticks. So we’ve become accustomed to seeing them during our weekend jogs, so much so that we now just refer to them collectively as Hogwarts.

This particular swordfight was unusual, though, because it was taking place right in the middle of a trail, instead of in the picnic area where we are accustomed to seeing melee. As we got closer to the fray we didn?t quite know what to do. But then, suddenly, one of the fighters yelled “Reality!” and all hostilities ceased, as the combatants respectfully stood off to the side of the trail and allowed us to past unmolested. In addition to being quite courteous, it also made me feel like a Level 14 Wizard in possession of the Elven Broach of Peacemaking +3.

The next time I find myself at the end of a line at Starbucks I’m going to holler “Reality!” and see what happens.

I am an animal lover. I pet every cat I pass on the street, even the ones which flatten their ears and narrow their eyes and make noises similar to those my garbage disposal makes when a plastic sprork gets wedged down there. I firmly believe that every motion picture should include at least one dog. And when there are spiders in my house, I try to herd them out onto the porch rather than squash them outright.

But since a few years ago, I have had a special place in my heart for mice. And like all the places in my heart, it’s a place full of BLOOD!

When I was a Peace Corps volunteer, I lived in a small adobe house and lived primarily on grain, fruit and tubers — the three food groups that mice thrive on. So it wasn’t long until the walls of my adobe home were hollowed out and turned into little rodent townhomes. And there began my protracted war on mousiedom. In fact, I think my fondest memory of Peace Corps Volunteer Service was the night I awoke at 2 am to the sounds of a mouse raiding my rice (again!). I groggily arose, somehow managed to corner the little beast (a near impossible feat, since they had escape holes about every two feet along the adobe walls) and beat it to death with my broom. I’m smiling just thinking about it.

Incidentally, here’s how I finally won: I made a bucketful of Death Dough, by combining equal parts flour, water, oats and rat poison. I took the resulting mixture and plugged up every mousehole in the joint. That night the mice, as usual, chewed through all my barriers and partied hearty until the wee hours of the morning, but a that was the last night of mouse-induced insomnia I had to endure.

Which brings me to: Mouseageddon. Warning: contains photos of actual dead mice, which some will find distrubing and others will print out and hang all over their cubicle.