29 June, 2008

time to get paid/blow up like the world trade

Here are a few goals for the next five years (and I'm just spit balling):

  • I want to spend a winter (or maybe just a couple of weeks) in Moscow, Russia. But I want it to be during the winter. I want to see the Kremlin ornamented in snow and ice.
  • I want to see a movie I've yet to conceive debut at a reasonably major film festival.
  • I want to be earning a living off of motion pictures.
  • I'd like to see what it's like to have a real girl friend, not just a dream-life girl friend, or a secret or unofficial one.
  • Get a niece (this is mostly up to Libby and Alex, or perhaps even Andy).
  • Put out an erotic ghost stories book-on-tape under the alias Dick Jaspers.
  • Visit the South and book a room at a big, old mansion on a plantation for a spring. Hang out barefoot, fish for catfish, and shoot roman candles into that spooky darkness.
  • Have several pairs of glasses/prescription sunglasses.
  • Have a make out with someone famous/give Barack Obama a high five.
  • Publish an essay on art or cinema in some sort of journal.
  • I'd really like to finally publish an edition of the Friendship Update Zine.
  • Watch the Mariners win the World Series, and/or Seahawks win the Super Bowl / go to the World Cup in South Africa in 2010.
  • Lose 50 pounds.
  • Have a developed installation art portfolio.
  • I'd liked to have filmed a movie in the streets of Paris.
  • Go into outer space and have a great time.

24 June, 2008

summer reading, pt. 1: The Master and the Margarita

I enjoy reading this book like I enjoy breathing. It is so effortless I can barely handle it. To share one of my favorite parts, allow me to indulge you with the last paragraph of part one, and the first paragraph of part two.


We have no idea whether there were any other strange occurrences in Moscow that night, and we have no intention of trying to find out, since the time has come for us to proceed to Part Two of this true narrative. Follow me, reader!


Follow me, reader! Who ever told you there is no such thing in the world as real, true, ever lasting love? May the liar have his despicable tongue cut out!

Naturally, this is the type of story I dream of.

The other night I was at the Temple Bar, and after sharing a few jugs of wine with Nick, I somehow scribbled this into my notebook: To my right is a table of beautiful girls. I'd kiss all of them on the mouth, I really would. One of them, though, the one with the very strong face and smooth skin, is wearing a black-and-white cape. It makes everything else seem less real. It doesn't make sense. Anyway, at my table I've got two of my best friends, and we're doing alright.

It's just one of those summers, you know?

23 June, 2008

special shout out

huge thanks to former roommate sean naman for leaving behind his cream cheese and pesto sauce in the fridge. i can't thank him enough, for his treasures have given me a new favorite snack: the pesto and cream cheese on toasted wheat open face sandwich.

god damn if it isn't the best thing i've tasted in a long, long while.

Sean Naman, circa 2005

i'll miss you, sean. you're the best.

19 June, 2008



I was at Avelino drinking coffee writing thank you notes, or reading a book, or any of the multitude of things I've been occupying myself with since I've become an adult, when I got a phone call from Nick. It was partly cloudy and comfortably warm; it for once felt like early summer's supposed to feel. On the other end of the line Nick was telling me he and Doug had decided they were going to a Mariner's game, and wanted to know if I was interested in coming along. The idea was alluring, but money's tight, so I told them I'd call them back within fifteen minutes.

My friend Katie was sitting at the table next to me. In fact, just the night before she had found herself in a similar situation: an on the whim trip to Seattle, to go or not to go? Well, she went, and her reasoning was that's what summer's all about. Had someone asked her to go a week beforehand she'd have declined, but because it was compulsive, it seemed only natural to go. What's more, her trip to the city was only for a dinner, and mine was an opportunity to see the M's play ball. C'mon. Let's go! So, I went.

Well, first of all, the M's won. But the real fun was after the game: The rich people a few rows in front of us had, beneath their seats, left an entire tray of french fries untouched. Entirely flabbergasted, the boys and I stayed behind as these people cleared from the bleachers after the game, and enjoyed their deliciously abandoned fries. If this wasn't enough, beneath the fries was some sort of pot-roast-shredded-beef sandwich on a hot dog bun. I thought it'd be funny to pick up the sandwich as we walked away into the inside tunnels of Safeco Field. It was funny because: A. Walking and holding a sandwich without any sort of wrapper or paper or anything seems like a comical image to me, and B. I'm a vegetarian, so, you know, how zany, right?

Nick was the first to take a bite, and he said it tasted like pot roast mixed with dirt. This immediately gave the sandwich the title of "dirt dog." We all began munching on it (I couldn't resist knowing what a dirt dog tasted like, alas). We were in hysterics, laughing to tears as the dirt dog filled our tummies. Once it was gone, we figured we might as well not let the good times end, so, we began combing the stands. In no time, we had found a chocolate milkshake, completely untouched and only slightly warm. So, here we were, four (I didn't mention our friend had Travis joined us once we arrived in Seattle) young men, college educated, dying with laughter over someone else's milkshake when two very attractive young women approached us.

What happened then is baffling: Despite the fact that we admitted to these lovely girls that we had just eaten a dirt dog, and were now drinking a found milkshake, they seemed still set on finding us attractive. They led the way with the conversation: Where are you from? Do you go to Western? What did you study? (Oh, cool! Art History!) Essentially, they all but told us they wanted to hang out after the game. But you couldn't have convinced us that! No, instead we scuttled away from these women, and decided, rather, to search for more found food.

This portion of the night ended when an older usher lady came up to me near the left field foul pole and asked if I had lost something.

"No," I said, "I'm just looking for some food."

"Oh, well, then, we need to get you out of here."

We left Safeco in a fit of laughter.

We got back into Bellingham around midnight and went straight to the Royal. If you're unfamiliar with the Royal, it has been voted the bar to most "avoid" in Bellingham. It's not only skeezy and sexist, but I'm sure if you spend too much time there, you are absolutely sure to develop red bumps of some sort in places where you would truly prefer not to have red bumps. The reason we went to the Royal was to sing karaoke. I'll make a long story short, since this blog is already unreasonably long (and I'm impressed if you've actually read this far without skipping parts):

I karaoked the 90s hit woman-jam "Bitch" by Meridith Brooks. Again, since I'm making a long story short, I'll only say this: 1. Nick told me afterwards that it was the most "violent and sexual performance" he had ever seen, and 2. Around 2/3 of the way through the jam, the DJ cut the music and said, "If you expose yourself or throw that microphone, I'm putting your ass on the sidewalk."

Tuesday: What a time for it.

18 June, 2008


does fan fiction for the bible exist? has some huge simon-peter fan written about his other adventures not accounted in the bible, for example?

this thought just crossed my mind. i hope it exists. it's really funny to think about.

someone link me to it if it does. otherwise, maybe i'll come up with my own story and post it later this summer.

11 June, 2008

yes indeed

i just wrote into my senior paper, "This top-down means of production comprised of a few visionaries creating for the multitudes is ass-backwards par excellence."

i am officially ready to graduate, smiling all the way.

but first i should really finish this paper.

10 June, 2008

federico --- thanks.

"Talking about dreams is like talking about movies, since the cinema uses the language of dreams; years can pass in a second and you can hop from one place to another. It’s a language made of image. And in the real cinema, every object and every light means something, as in a dream."

--- Federico Fellini

07 June, 2008

post script: Paris, France

When I embarked on the last blog, I had no intention on relating the Universe with my experience of living in Paris, France. Instead, I wanted to blog about this quick anecdote:

Back in Paris, when I didn't have friends, on the weekends when I'd wake up I'd keep my eyes closed in bed and listen to the noises my apartment building was making, and try to assign them to my roommates from 1314 Humboldt St.

The example I remember most distinctly: Sometimes in the morning I could hear my upstairs neighbor scooch his chair across the floor, causing a loud wood-on-linoleum squawk, and I'd think, "I wonder what Nick is up to?" And the eyes-closed, still-sort-of-asleep me would buy it, and I wouldn't feel nearly as far away from home as I actually was.

Now that I've typed this out, it seems kind of depressing and slightly irrational and unhinged, but to me it was wonderful. Even now that I'm home and living with friends, sometimes when I'm half asleep, I still like to imagine I'm back in Paris imagining I'm back home.

Paris, France

Last summer while I was living in Paris, I was, for the most part lonely. Not lonely in the sense that I was unhappy and not typically enjoying myself, but lonely because I didn't speak French, and had no friends to share my daily experiences and joy with*.

I had spent the year before my time in France living in a house with several of the best friends I've ever had. The shift from friendship immersion to friendship deprivation was at times duly trying. But I survived, no problem. I had to adapt: I redefined my self, creating new habits, new ways of carrying about my day-to-day. On weekends, (my loneliest of days, because I didn't have school, and often times I'd go a whole day without speaking out loud) I found myself adjusting in the strangest ways, creating peculiar little patterns. On Saturdays I'd visit Francois Truffaut's grave and read next to him, or write in my notebook some thought that had been drifting in my head. I'd go to a museum. I'd go to a movie. I'd read at the park. I'd walk. But it was always in patterns, or in waves, or perhaps to put it more perfectly: in an orbit.

When I'm with my friends I feel like life advances linearly; it unfolds as an experience we share. But, in Paris I felt like I was a component of a microcosm, an isolated individual floating throughout the city. I remember during one of my first walks through the city, I was smoking a cigarette, and as I ashed it the ash floated in front of me, not making any sort of indication it was heading toward the ground. Instead, it seemed to guide me around corners and onto more discoveries. I was resolved to write a haiku about this experience, but in the end I wound up writing a couplet:

Paris is a city made of ghosts,
it doesn't exist, it only floats.

In my loneliness, Paris pulled me through her streets and passageways; the metro seemed more like a rabbit hole than a transportation system: I would walk down the staircase in Saint-Mande, and 1-2-3, I would find myself inside the Louvre, or at Saint-Michel, a block from my favorite cinema. Everything and everyone seemed like a unique happening in themselves, less like static objects or people, instead much more similar to an alive and breathing atlas of living experiences. Yet at the same time, these occurrences or interactions were always on the surface, like the mise-en-scene in a movie: the backdrop to my orbit; people like faraway stars I admire every night. It was this constant tension of the city being everything and nothing all-at-once that made me continuously feel as though I were floating.

Like the Universe, Paris seemed both physically real, and also like an abstraction. It was a location and an idea. It was where I lived, and what I tried to make sense of.

*For the record, I ended up making friends, and caring for them very much.

03 June, 2008

celebrity crushes

Since I'm in a little bit of a sour mood this morning (last night, I worked on a video project for around an hour and a half before it unexpectedly quit, causing me to lose all the work I had done), so I thought I'd try to start today off with a bang.

I haven't really had a celebrity crush on a girl who exists in our contemporary times maybe ever in my entire life (debatable because I did ask Lisa Loeb to my junior prom, unanswered). While some people go nuts for the Angelina Jolies or Judd Laws of the world, I've always found myself pining and fantasizing about the Anna Karinas and David Bowies. There's no point in explaining precisely why, but it's presumably in thanks to their further removals from my reality. I have a rotten tendancy to only want what I can't have. I'd more than likely betray the world for one night with Anna Karina in 1962. Unfortunately for me/fortunately for the world, this is altogether impossible, and so my pining persists. A crush that is more ghost than person.

Having cleared this up, I'd like to introduce everyone to my new celebrity crush. Her prime was during the roaring 1920s in French-speaking Europe. She was beautiful, she was lovely, she was married to the surrealist Rene Magritte.

Georgette Magritte:


Someday, I'd like to have a devastatingly attractive girl like Georgette to pass my time with. We could tell each other secrets, and swim in the afternoon.

02 June, 2008

papa sean

my roommate and dear friend sean naman recently had his 22nd birthday. well, spoiler alert, sean has one tremendously clever girlfriend, heather lynn wright. while most girlfriends get there boyfriends super lame presents like skateboards, or concert tickets, or dinner, or any number of things that pale in comparison to heather's gift, she got sean a sea otter.

right. a sea otter. sean naman is officially the proud adopted parent of an adorable little sea otter who lives in the vancouver aquarium.

now, i'm about to take a giant leap here into the unbelievable, but i promise i'm not making the following up: as i mentioned earlier, sean's sea-otter child is adorable. how adorable? adorable enough to garner over 10,000,000 hits on youtube. indeed, sean's sea-otter child is an internet celebrity, known world over.

here's the clip i'm referring to:

i'm not sure which critter is his, but it's one of them.

what's interesting is that last year i sent a link of this exact clip to sean on thefacebook, specifically because i knew his favorite animal was the otter. it's the classic we were in love before we were in love story. it's mesmerizing, the layers to this kinship.

congratulations, sean. i hope for you and your family a very happy future.