I have my LSAT class starting today. I am spending a ton of $ and at least 4 hours of my Saturday to get all smart (SMRT) about the LSATs. I had a disappointing run with the test the first time I took it- not catastrophic, but disappointing. This had better work. Or I'll be very unhappy.
And on a happy note, yesterday I found out that a dork is a whale penis. It all comes clear suddenly. I still love the word.
And now I must go and get ready for my class, and watch F1 qualifying on the Tivo.
Oh- and remind me to tell you about the Hemingway who lived in Missoula and Bozeman- that's another interesting one.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Friday, July 29, 2005
The Romanian- 1
A friend of mine reminded me of the first Romanian I ever met. She was a sad, odd woman.
She was a friend of my sister in law's from art school back east. She showed up in Missoula shortly before we moved to Arizona. She was staying with them, and kind of meandering around town. She bought a cheap old bike and a swim pass from the University. She would stop by my apartment on her way home from the pool, and we would talk.
She was a very tall girl, with a large moon-like face and huge brown eyes. Her mouth was very poochy and her eyebrows were bushy. She wasn't what I would call pretty- but she was interesting looking. My friend says that she smelled. I don't remember.
She was an artist- I bought one of her large paintings, and have it in storage now (no place large enough to put it). Her video piece was quite arty, and unwatchable. I could never figure out whether or not she was really good, or just really driven.
Her story was sad, though. Seems that while in NYC she had had a psychotic break during a manic ephisode, and broke a bunch of windows on one of the major streets. She was hospitalized and put on lithium to control the severe bipolar illness. It really changed her, apparently. She was quite odd when it came to relationships. She was intense. She fell in love very quickly and hard. She fell for a friend of Spouse's right away. He was also a twisted puppy, and appeared to like her quite a lot. I remember her cooking dinner for us all one night. Over the dessert of grapes and white wine (with lithium?), she said to him, "Krriss, Krriss, I want to know your soul." I knew then that something was a tad off. They had known each other for about 4 days at that point- and she was fixated. In another 3 days, he was trying to get tips from us on how to end it.
Luckily we moved away before it all got ugly. And it did get very ugly, indeed. Last we heard, she had moved to Canada, gotten married, and was living there. I have no idea where she is now. I hope that she's still taking care of herself and not as crazy anymore.
She was a friend of my sister in law's from art school back east. She showed up in Missoula shortly before we moved to Arizona. She was staying with them, and kind of meandering around town. She bought a cheap old bike and a swim pass from the University. She would stop by my apartment on her way home from the pool, and we would talk.
She was a very tall girl, with a large moon-like face and huge brown eyes. Her mouth was very poochy and her eyebrows were bushy. She wasn't what I would call pretty- but she was interesting looking. My friend says that she smelled. I don't remember.
She was an artist- I bought one of her large paintings, and have it in storage now (no place large enough to put it). Her video piece was quite arty, and unwatchable. I could never figure out whether or not she was really good, or just really driven.
Her story was sad, though. Seems that while in NYC she had had a psychotic break during a manic ephisode, and broke a bunch of windows on one of the major streets. She was hospitalized and put on lithium to control the severe bipolar illness. It really changed her, apparently. She was quite odd when it came to relationships. She was intense. She fell in love very quickly and hard. She fell for a friend of Spouse's right away. He was also a twisted puppy, and appeared to like her quite a lot. I remember her cooking dinner for us all one night. Over the dessert of grapes and white wine (with lithium?), she said to him, "Krriss, Krriss, I want to know your soul." I knew then that something was a tad off. They had known each other for about 4 days at that point- and she was fixated. In another 3 days, he was trying to get tips from us on how to end it.
Luckily we moved away before it all got ugly. And it did get very ugly, indeed. Last we heard, she had moved to Canada, gotten married, and was living there. I have no idea where she is now. I hope that she's still taking care of herself and not as crazy anymore.
More about the dead
I was thinking some more about the highway crosses/shrines of MT. It seems like an extension, really, of the cemetary concept. I never really got cemetaries as a kid. They were fun to play in- and get creeped out. The scariest one was in the Helena valley- I guess that I have a couple of relatives there- my Dad took me there once to see them. I could never find them, so I don't remember who they were. But it is the cemetary with the huge mausoleum built by Thomas Cruise (the same guy who built the Helena Cathedral, and a large castle-like mansion on the West side). What creeped me out were the holes in front of the gravestones. They were drilled by gophers, I think. And they scared the crap out of me.
Later I saw Carrie, and about died of fright in the end (the hand scene). It took me back to the holes in the cemetary. I wondered when I was little if they were put there so that the dead could talk to us through them. I walked quickly past them- I didn't want to hear their voices.
I have a fixation for cemetaries now. I really enjoy pretty ones with lots of trees and very old graves. I like to try and put together a mental picture of the families. In High School we jumped the fence into the cemetary next to the school during art classes to draw. It was just so quiet and such a mental distance from the school.
Interestingly enough, my Mother and Stepfather actually own a cemetary. It's the old Potter's field in the Helena Valley. It was part of his ranch, and can't be developed with the rest of the land. I got to see the chart of the graves once- it was interesting. I have never walked out there- it was where the cattle grazed, and that's a trecherous undertaking if there ever was one. I'm a little scared of being in the same area as a bunch of cattle. They are large in person, and don't seem very friendly.
Personally, I don't want to be planted in the ground. Never, never, never. I would much prefer to fertilize a garden (in ash form, of course, silly), or wash down a creek in Western MT. The idea of being in a box still creeps me out.
Later I saw Carrie, and about died of fright in the end (the hand scene). It took me back to the holes in the cemetary. I wondered when I was little if they were put there so that the dead could talk to us through them. I walked quickly past them- I didn't want to hear their voices.
I have a fixation for cemetaries now. I really enjoy pretty ones with lots of trees and very old graves. I like to try and put together a mental picture of the families. In High School we jumped the fence into the cemetary next to the school during art classes to draw. It was just so quiet and such a mental distance from the school.
Interestingly enough, my Mother and Stepfather actually own a cemetary. It's the old Potter's field in the Helena Valley. It was part of his ranch, and can't be developed with the rest of the land. I got to see the chart of the graves once- it was interesting. I have never walked out there- it was where the cattle grazed, and that's a trecherous undertaking if there ever was one. I'm a little scared of being in the same area as a bunch of cattle. They are large in person, and don't seem very friendly.
Personally, I don't want to be planted in the ground. Never, never, never. I would much prefer to fertilize a garden (in ash form, of course, silly), or wash down a creek in Western MT. The idea of being in a box still creeps me out.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
The morbid and the dead
One of the things I dislike extremely about driving in MT is the white crosses. For those of you whose states don't have them, or who haven't visited, imagine the following:
You're driving along enjoying the view. And along the highway, are dozens of little metal white crosses. They mark where someone (or in the case of multiple crosses on a horizontal post more than one) died in a highway accident. There are places in MT where they are crazy thick. Gallatin Canyon is one of these. Around the Silos Bar outside of Townsend is another (we counted 12 of them in a 3 mile radius).
These things have always bothered me. Some service organization maintains and puts them up. Some families have turned them into ad hoc memorials. I think it's nasty. I don't like the idea of the place where I breathed my last in a violent way as being where I'm remembered. And then there's the iconography of the cross. They don't put up Stars of David for Jews. They don't put up crescents for Muslims. Nope. All get the cross treatment. I find that really offensive in a way. It's like baptizing dead people.
So if you're ever in the neighborhood, and you see plenty of these things, remember, it's a scary stretch of highway. If there's a bar nearby, you'll understand even more.
You're driving along enjoying the view. And along the highway, are dozens of little metal white crosses. They mark where someone (or in the case of multiple crosses on a horizontal post more than one) died in a highway accident. There are places in MT where they are crazy thick. Gallatin Canyon is one of these. Around the Silos Bar outside of Townsend is another (we counted 12 of them in a 3 mile radius).
These things have always bothered me. Some service organization maintains and puts them up. Some families have turned them into ad hoc memorials. I think it's nasty. I don't like the idea of the place where I breathed my last in a violent way as being where I'm remembered. And then there's the iconography of the cross. They don't put up Stars of David for Jews. They don't put up crescents for Muslims. Nope. All get the cross treatment. I find that really offensive in a way. It's like baptizing dead people.
So if you're ever in the neighborhood, and you see plenty of these things, remember, it's a scary stretch of highway. If there's a bar nearby, you'll understand even more.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Our crawlspace
We've got a strange apartment. Basically it's the basement of a large house. Part of the living room abutts a storage unit that goes under the rest of the house. It's an old house, with lots of odd little features- like the crawl space that is open to the great outdoors and the like. We just found out that the garage is getting torn down as it was built partially on the neighbor's land, and doesn't have the requisite setbacks. Bummer.
But our storage space is an oddity unto itself. There is an old window back there that was merely filled in with insulation. No serious construction was applied. Which, given other character-filled "features" of this place shouldn't surprise me in the least. What is a surprise is how often the neighbor cats dig their way through the insulation and into our storage space. We hear them, and evict them promptly. But it makes me wonder what happens while we sleep. Or while we're gone. Will they invite other cats over for a large party with our boxed junk?
I just keep reminding myself that it's just not my house. Then I don't care about the lack of level lines, extra holes in the wall, leaks in the bathroom, crazy placement of light fixtures, etc.
But our storage space is an oddity unto itself. There is an old window back there that was merely filled in with insulation. No serious construction was applied. Which, given other character-filled "features" of this place shouldn't surprise me in the least. What is a surprise is how often the neighbor cats dig their way through the insulation and into our storage space. We hear them, and evict them promptly. But it makes me wonder what happens while we sleep. Or while we're gone. Will they invite other cats over for a large party with our boxed junk?
I just keep reminding myself that it's just not my house. Then I don't care about the lack of level lines, extra holes in the wall, leaks in the bathroom, crazy placement of light fixtures, etc.
Girlfriends
I'm just not going to complain too loudly about this one. Just softly.
Spouse has a new two-wheeled girlfriend. She is a vintage cafe racer. He loves her very much. It is still in the Honeymoon period- and she keeps spraining her ankle so that he will pay attention to her. I am actually pleased that he has something fun to do, what with the end of worrying about my unemployment and all. But it gets a little extreme on occasion.
I've warned him that she'll bring him heartache in the end. And that his loyal wife still needs to be kept in shoes and bon bons. I suspect, however, that he's filtering that last part out. He has the siren song of the open road in his ears.
Plus the Miata is in the shop being fixed after the birthday ruckus. They gave him a Ford Taurus (which I accurately predicted)- teal (which I also accurately predicted). And with this sex on wheels machine at his disposal, I can hardly blame him for fixating on something with a bit of intact thrill factor.
Spouse has a new two-wheeled girlfriend. She is a vintage cafe racer. He loves her very much. It is still in the Honeymoon period- and she keeps spraining her ankle so that he will pay attention to her. I am actually pleased that he has something fun to do, what with the end of worrying about my unemployment and all. But it gets a little extreme on occasion.
I've warned him that she'll bring him heartache in the end. And that his loyal wife still needs to be kept in shoes and bon bons. I suspect, however, that he's filtering that last part out. He has the siren song of the open road in his ears.
Plus the Miata is in the shop being fixed after the birthday ruckus. They gave him a Ford Taurus (which I accurately predicted)- teal (which I also accurately predicted). And with this sex on wheels machine at his disposal, I can hardly blame him for fixating on something with a bit of intact thrill factor.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Another from the cast of characters
When in Grad School in Missoula I had a friend named Hal. Hal was an oddity. He was a large man. He wasn't an attractive man. But he was horribly kind.
He was studying Medieval European History, as I remember. He was in his early 40s, and had a daughter. He wore wire-rimmed glasses in very poor repair, and had long stringy hair in a braid. He often wore baseball caps to cover the bald spot in front. He also didn't wash much, and was very smelly. He smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and had yellowed, long nails. His teeth were yellow. And they kept falling out. He would show up for seminars with one more gap in his mouth. I kept waiting for someone to ask him about it, but none of us dared. He was a sharp intellect, with a very dry wit.
He lived in a rented room downtown in the Eagles Building with a bunch of other single guys. They shared a bathroom per floor. I always imagined him as having a room full of moldering books stacked in teetering piles, empty beer bottles, cigarette butts, a stray tooth or two and plates of rotting food. He could put away pitchers of beer by himself at an amazing rate. All whilst prattling on about primary sources.
I heard later from a mutual friend that in his 20s he had been in Central America doing things for money that he wouldn't talk about very often. Kind of a soldier of fortune scenario. I heard that his teeth were damaged then. I do wonder whatever became of him. He didn't seem overtly tortured, just quietly so. I wonder if he's still in Missoula, having graduated to an apartment in the Wilma building, where he feeds the pidgeons on the window sill and looks out at the Clark Fork River in the evenings. And builds himself a shrine on the mantle using his remaining teeth.
He was studying Medieval European History, as I remember. He was in his early 40s, and had a daughter. He wore wire-rimmed glasses in very poor repair, and had long stringy hair in a braid. He often wore baseball caps to cover the bald spot in front. He also didn't wash much, and was very smelly. He smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and had yellowed, long nails. His teeth were yellow. And they kept falling out. He would show up for seminars with one more gap in his mouth. I kept waiting for someone to ask him about it, but none of us dared. He was a sharp intellect, with a very dry wit.
He lived in a rented room downtown in the Eagles Building with a bunch of other single guys. They shared a bathroom per floor. I always imagined him as having a room full of moldering books stacked in teetering piles, empty beer bottles, cigarette butts, a stray tooth or two and plates of rotting food. He could put away pitchers of beer by himself at an amazing rate. All whilst prattling on about primary sources.
I heard later from a mutual friend that in his 20s he had been in Central America doing things for money that he wouldn't talk about very often. Kind of a soldier of fortune scenario. I heard that his teeth were damaged then. I do wonder whatever became of him. He didn't seem overtly tortured, just quietly so. I wonder if he's still in Missoula, having graduated to an apartment in the Wilma building, where he feeds the pidgeons on the window sill and looks out at the Clark Fork River in the evenings. And builds himself a shrine on the mantle using his remaining teeth.
Reading review
If you get a chance, and want to read something great (and aren't already borrowing my copy of it), spend the cash and pick up the new book, The Historian. It's wonderful. I really loved it. All about tracking vampires via research in rare books and literary sources across Eastern Europe (during the Cold War), Turkey and England. Fun, fun, fun. I'm so jealous that she pulled this out of her bag of tricks for her first novel that I could spit. But then I weigh that it took her 10 years, and figure that she's deserving. I heard that she got a $2 million advance. Beeitch.
Blackberry pickin
There's a wall of blackberries across the street. And we're picking when we can. Why? Well, because. It's not quite as thrilling as huckleberries (no bears, cold weather or very small berries). But it's fun.
Otherwise, not much happened today- except for day 2 of work, which went well. On the way in, I was behind a guy in a car- he was playing with his hair a lot while looking in the rear-view mirror. He kept fluffing it. I really wanted to shout,"Yes, you're a very pretty girl, Mary." But my window was up. I'll save that one for a rainy day.
At lunch I was wandering around towards Borders (no, the new F1 magazine wasn't in, dammit), and a crazy lady talked to me. I really should say that she either was talking to me, or her cane. I really couldn't tell. But it was ok, since she didn't seem to expect a response.
I think I'm going to enjoy working downtown. I am seeing a whole new world (cue the Disney track) It's new and exciting... chock full of corporate wonks, crazy people and just people in general. I'm digging it so far.
Otherwise, not much happened today- except for day 2 of work, which went well. On the way in, I was behind a guy in a car- he was playing with his hair a lot while looking in the rear-view mirror. He kept fluffing it. I really wanted to shout,"Yes, you're a very pretty girl, Mary." But my window was up. I'll save that one for a rainy day.
At lunch I was wandering around towards Borders (no, the new F1 magazine wasn't in, dammit), and a crazy lady talked to me. I really should say that she either was talking to me, or her cane. I really couldn't tell. But it was ok, since she didn't seem to expect a response.
I think I'm going to enjoy working downtown. I am seeing a whole new world (cue the Disney track) It's new and exciting... chock full of corporate wonks, crazy people and just people in general. I'm digging it so far.
Monday, July 25, 2005
New job- recap
After 10 or so months of looking, I had my first day at work. Now I'll be up front and state that I will not be blogging about work. I think it's bad form, and I don't want to get fired. And since I'm working for a bank, it's probably an even worse idea.
But I will say that I like the people quite a bit, and it feels good to learn some new things. And I'm bloody tired. That whole 8 hour stint without a good nap or movie in the middle is rough. I've gotten soft. I'm sure that the kitties are a little traumatized by the neglect, but I haven't asked them.
I'll write more tomorrow- I'm just tired as hell and need to not be at a computer for a while.
But I will say that I like the people quite a bit, and it feels good to learn some new things. And I'm bloody tired. That whole 8 hour stint without a good nap or movie in the middle is rough. I've gotten soft. I'm sure that the kitties are a little traumatized by the neglect, but I haven't asked them.
I'll write more tomorrow- I'm just tired as hell and need to not be at a computer for a while.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Eddies in the world
A rhetorical question- why are there so many Fast Eddies out there?
I have also run across his more twisted cousin- Crazy Eddy.
I met Crazy Eddy first. He lived in the dorm Freshman year. He was from Kallispell, and was seriously twisted. I kind of liked the guy- in a strictly platonic sense- he was funny as hell. I think he spent most of his youth running amok in the woods. He had that kind of mountain man/not well socialized where girls were concerned vibe. His college career came to an abrubt halt the first weekend before winter quarter. There was a party in his room. He was tanked. I walked in and he tossed something at me. I grabbed it out of the air, and started to shake. I knew what it was, but asked him, "Eddy, what is this?" He replied, "It's Jedomite." (He liked the name Jed for some reason, and carved it on desks across campus.) It was a stick of dynamite wrapped in plastic. I made him promise to put it in his desk and leave it there. Evidently he didn't remember his promise, because the FBI showed up the next day. He and the boy from the farm who brought it into the dorm were expelled. It was really quite dramatic. The last I heard, Crazy Eddy had joined the Army.
Fast Eddy was of a different ilk entirely. As unpolished as Crazy Eddy was, Fast Eddy was a booty call. I met him my Junior year, when a friend insisted that I accompany her to a Sigma Nu rush party. I didn't want her to go alone, so we went. I had a rule at those things- never, never get drunk and don't leave anyone behind. As things worked out, I didn't get drunk. But Fast Eddy was watching me from across the room. He invited me up to the chapter room (where they store the paddles and trophies- I'm not making any assumptions as to the proper use of either), and we made out. I wouldn't take it very far, and he got disgusted and we went back to the party. Then he denied that we ever met. Quite the gentleman, no? It got interesting when the friend I came with returned to the house a few days later. She was ripe for the picking, and spent the night with Fast Eddy. He came to the dorm for a repeat performance. Then he dumped her and never spoke to her again. She was silly enough to be surprised.
Whenever I smelled a nimbus cloud of Polo on the elevator, I knew that Fast Eddy was in the dorm. My guess is that he is an alcoholic who cheats on his wife.
So why Fast Eddy? And why Crazy Eddy? Why does Eddy get paired with adjectives so frequently? There was a Fast Eddy the other night on Reno 911. I don't think it was for the same reason.
I have also run across his more twisted cousin- Crazy Eddy.
I met Crazy Eddy first. He lived in the dorm Freshman year. He was from Kallispell, and was seriously twisted. I kind of liked the guy- in a strictly platonic sense- he was funny as hell. I think he spent most of his youth running amok in the woods. He had that kind of mountain man/not well socialized where girls were concerned vibe. His college career came to an abrubt halt the first weekend before winter quarter. There was a party in his room. He was tanked. I walked in and he tossed something at me. I grabbed it out of the air, and started to shake. I knew what it was, but asked him, "Eddy, what is this?" He replied, "It's Jedomite." (He liked the name Jed for some reason, and carved it on desks across campus.) It was a stick of dynamite wrapped in plastic. I made him promise to put it in his desk and leave it there. Evidently he didn't remember his promise, because the FBI showed up the next day. He and the boy from the farm who brought it into the dorm were expelled. It was really quite dramatic. The last I heard, Crazy Eddy had joined the Army.
Fast Eddy was of a different ilk entirely. As unpolished as Crazy Eddy was, Fast Eddy was a booty call. I met him my Junior year, when a friend insisted that I accompany her to a Sigma Nu rush party. I didn't want her to go alone, so we went. I had a rule at those things- never, never get drunk and don't leave anyone behind. As things worked out, I didn't get drunk. But Fast Eddy was watching me from across the room. He invited me up to the chapter room (where they store the paddles and trophies- I'm not making any assumptions as to the proper use of either), and we made out. I wouldn't take it very far, and he got disgusted and we went back to the party. Then he denied that we ever met. Quite the gentleman, no? It got interesting when the friend I came with returned to the house a few days later. She was ripe for the picking, and spent the night with Fast Eddy. He came to the dorm for a repeat performance. Then he dumped her and never spoke to her again. She was silly enough to be surprised.
Whenever I smelled a nimbus cloud of Polo on the elevator, I knew that Fast Eddy was in the dorm. My guess is that he is an alcoholic who cheats on his wife.
So why Fast Eddy? And why Crazy Eddy? Why does Eddy get paired with adjectives so frequently? There was a Fast Eddy the other night on Reno 911. I don't think it was for the same reason.
Nate and the concrete plate
Last night our friend Nate's band played at the Rainbow Bar in the U District. They are called 8 Track Mind (there are 8 members). They are a combo of hip hop, jazz, blues, etc. They are wonderful. I only wish the smoke hadn't caused a coughing fit- I could've stayed longer. These guys are going places- they've been on a 6 week tour of the Northwest. They are amazing. I'm just impressed at the musical talent I know from Bozeman. I hope they all venture our way, so I can go and be a "friend of the band" without showing my tits.
Check out their site- www.eightrackmind.com.
Check out their site- www.eightrackmind.com.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Final story for the day
The Mad Hatter.
His name was Nick. He lived with his mother and crazy wife in a house right by the Orange Street bridge (he's not there anymore). He was a fixture of the place. He wore different hats with accessories depending on some internal calendar. One day he was a smelly explorer, with pith helmet and matching khakis. The next he had his top hat on and his stick.
He would go to the Top Hat and shoot imaginary arrows at people until he annoyed one of the surlier drunks and got beaten. He would wander around the streets at closing time and sing to people staggering home.
One day, I was working in a jewelry store downtown and he came in. He was in explorer mode, and very ripe smelling. He had a stack of photos that he wanted to sell. He said that they were worth millions. Each picture was a random shot of something on the street. He said that he had captured time in each one, and that they would never be repeated. He had a point.
He also told me about the painting he had done. It was in the window of the leather shop a couple of doors down. He was disgruntled by the lack of security. It was worth $100 million dollars, and belonged in the Smithsonian. But he wanted to share. It was of swirling waves and a pirate ship.
He painted a mural on the side of the bridge by his house. He landscaped a seaside scene in front of the mural of the ocean. It was creepy and lovely at the same time. It was totally daft.
His life was sad. He had been in the hospital at Warm Springs. That's where he met the wife. His mother received disability checks for all of them, and that's how they lived. She came into the store and returned a ring he had purchased for the wife once. They didn't have enough for heat in the winter, and she was ashamed.
I have no idea where he is anymore. I kind of hope that he lives near the ocean.
His name was Nick. He lived with his mother and crazy wife in a house right by the Orange Street bridge (he's not there anymore). He was a fixture of the place. He wore different hats with accessories depending on some internal calendar. One day he was a smelly explorer, with pith helmet and matching khakis. The next he had his top hat on and his stick.
He would go to the Top Hat and shoot imaginary arrows at people until he annoyed one of the surlier drunks and got beaten. He would wander around the streets at closing time and sing to people staggering home.
One day, I was working in a jewelry store downtown and he came in. He was in explorer mode, and very ripe smelling. He had a stack of photos that he wanted to sell. He said that they were worth millions. Each picture was a random shot of something on the street. He said that he had captured time in each one, and that they would never be repeated. He had a point.
He also told me about the painting he had done. It was in the window of the leather shop a couple of doors down. He was disgruntled by the lack of security. It was worth $100 million dollars, and belonged in the Smithsonian. But he wanted to share. It was of swirling waves and a pirate ship.
He painted a mural on the side of the bridge by his house. He landscaped a seaside scene in front of the mural of the ocean. It was creepy and lovely at the same time. It was totally daft.
His life was sad. He had been in the hospital at Warm Springs. That's where he met the wife. His mother received disability checks for all of them, and that's how they lived. She came into the store and returned a ring he had purchased for the wife once. They didn't have enough for heat in the winter, and she was ashamed.
I have no idea where he is anymore. I kind of hope that he lives near the ocean.
Second story
I lived in a place called the Sacajawea Lodge. It was an old pre-WWI brick place with 13 apartments in it. Mine was one of the smallest, but it was on the second floor. There were the usual assortment of students living there- the best was the German exchange student next door whose name reminded me of Augustus Gloop (I won't share, since it wouldn't be nice). He was kind of loud when engaging in play with his pimply girlfriend. He listened to that insipid song about Vincent Van Gough a lot.
Anyhew- the landlady was a member of the largest landowning/realty family in Missoula. And a total crackpot. She had the large pine trees removed from the front yard of the place and proceeded to let the front yard become a weed nest. All while telling me about the improvements she was making to the place. The kicker was the day I got up and saw her in the front yard watering the weeds in her nightgown. This was on one of the busiest streets in town. She didn't live in the building either. She was talking to herself while she wandered around with the hose. Silly lady.
Anyhew- the landlady was a member of the largest landowning/realty family in Missoula. And a total crackpot. She had the large pine trees removed from the front yard of the place and proceeded to let the front yard become a weed nest. All while telling me about the improvements she was making to the place. The kicker was the day I got up and saw her in the front yard watering the weeds in her nightgown. This was on one of the busiest streets in town. She didn't live in the building either. She was talking to herself while she wandered around with the hose. Silly lady.
First story
Disclaimer- this one isn't officially mine- it's mine by marriage. So I'll claim it as my own and plant a flag on it and call it Mine.
There is a bar downtown called Charlie B's. Incidentally, both Spouse and I hung there A LOT in the years prior to meeting. I still can't figure out why we never met. Nevertheless, it was an odd place. I took my Mom and Stepdad there once- they were scared. But it wasn't really too bad- there were some derelicts there- but they left the college kids alone.
One night, Spouse (who for convenience I'll call K.) was playing pool. A man and his female companion came in. She was carrying a ratty little dog with a long chain. They took a table next to K's and she proceeded to laboriously wrap the long chain around Ray's chair. Ray took affront and yelled, "get the chain off of my fucking chair." She proceeded to laboriously remove the chain without saying a word. (Ray was kind of scary, so I can understand her reluctance to discuss it with him). She then sat on the floor with the dog cradled in her arms. The man she was with was in a jumpsuit. He approached the pool table and shouted incoherently at the players. He pulled a very large pipe wrench out of his back pocket and proceeded to hit himself in the head with it. Then he danced around and laughed. And hit himself in the head again. And danced around and laughed.
Finally, K and his friends finished their pool game, and the pipe wrench man was able to play.
This illustrates some key Missoula points. 1) there are a lot of really odd characters there. 2) people get used to them and don't really respond. and 3) the story is really funniest when K tells it- there is a lot of physical comedy involved.
But it did remind me of some kind of David Lynchian scenario.
There is a bar downtown called Charlie B's. Incidentally, both Spouse and I hung there A LOT in the years prior to meeting. I still can't figure out why we never met. Nevertheless, it was an odd place. I took my Mom and Stepdad there once- they were scared. But it wasn't really too bad- there were some derelicts there- but they left the college kids alone.
One night, Spouse (who for convenience I'll call K.) was playing pool. A man and his female companion came in. She was carrying a ratty little dog with a long chain. They took a table next to K's and she proceeded to laboriously wrap the long chain around Ray's chair. Ray took affront and yelled, "get the chain off of my fucking chair." She proceeded to laboriously remove the chain without saying a word. (Ray was kind of scary, so I can understand her reluctance to discuss it with him). She then sat on the floor with the dog cradled in her arms. The man she was with was in a jumpsuit. He approached the pool table and shouted incoherently at the players. He pulled a very large pipe wrench out of his back pocket and proceeded to hit himself in the head with it. Then he danced around and laughed. And hit himself in the head again. And danced around and laughed.
Finally, K and his friends finished their pool game, and the pipe wrench man was able to play.
This illustrates some key Missoula points. 1) there are a lot of really odd characters there. 2) people get used to them and don't really respond. and 3) the story is really funniest when K tells it- there is a lot of physical comedy involved.
But it did remind me of some kind of David Lynchian scenario.
Smells like feet
Ah Missoula. Home of my youth. Home of my MT heart. I canna help it. The name conjures up college years, summer days, the smell of the river (not too bad, really), general nostalgia.
Spouse quoted a friend of ours once, and it really sums up the zeitgeist of the place- "Missoula is the town that woke up with its brakes on. But that's ok, it wasn't going anywhere."
People go there, and they stick. Even if they leave, they return like the swallows of Capistrano.
I was born in Helena, but spent the first 3 years of my life in Missoula. I went there for school and lived there for another 12 years. It broke my heart into little shards when I left. I haven't been that berift about moving away from someplace before or since.
My sister lives there now. I wish I was there. But the economy sucks, it's expensive to live there, and I'm out of school.
I can't very easily pull apart my affection for the place- I've tried. I am pretty sure it contains an essential element of nostalgia for my youth along with affection for the place itself. It's also genetic. Both my parents feel similarly about the place, or so they've said. It's the first place I had ever lived where I felt like I belonged.
It's also a prime freak magnet. I've told the story of the monkey man and his creepy-crawlin ways. There are more. I'll share.
Spouse quoted a friend of ours once, and it really sums up the zeitgeist of the place- "Missoula is the town that woke up with its brakes on. But that's ok, it wasn't going anywhere."
People go there, and they stick. Even if they leave, they return like the swallows of Capistrano.
I was born in Helena, but spent the first 3 years of my life in Missoula. I went there for school and lived there for another 12 years. It broke my heart into little shards when I left. I haven't been that berift about moving away from someplace before or since.
My sister lives there now. I wish I was there. But the economy sucks, it's expensive to live there, and I'm out of school.
I can't very easily pull apart my affection for the place- I've tried. I am pretty sure it contains an essential element of nostalgia for my youth along with affection for the place itself. It's also genetic. Both my parents feel similarly about the place, or so they've said. It's the first place I had ever lived where I felt like I belonged.
It's also a prime freak magnet. I've told the story of the monkey man and his creepy-crawlin ways. There are more. I'll share.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
We are all lucky
• Woman blocked from selling Farrell sex tape
We are all lucky because it is Colin Farrell and not Will Farrell. Not that I don't find Will wonderful, but I never, ever, ever want to see his O face. Not Colin's either for that matter- but Will's would be scarier.
We are all lucky because it is Colin Farrell and not Will Farrell. Not that I don't find Will wonderful, but I never, ever, ever want to see his O face. Not Colin's either for that matter- but Will's would be scarier.
Crazy cat lady
The same friend who shared the horse story also made a comment about my fixation with cats (at least that's how I'm interpreting it- as a personal attack- or that's what the kitties tell me to think). Whatever. I suppose he could've been just sharing the love...
From Slate.com-
From Slate.com-
Not all animal hoarders are cat ladies, but most are. The typical person who gets caught with more pets than she can handle is a woman over the age of 60 who lives alone. Experts say there are a handful of animal-hoarding cases per 100,000 Americans each year, which translates to a few thousand incidents annually. The problem seems to be a global one: The Hoarding of Animals Research Consortium receives e-mails about animal hoarders in the Middle East, Asia, Europe, and Latin America.
Dooley Worth and Alan M. Beck conducted what may have been the first survey on the issue in New York City in 1981. They found that two-thirds of the obsessive collectors were women and that 70 percent were single. Cats and dogs were the most commonly stockpiled pets, and women were proportionally more likely than men to acquire cats. (Subsequent research has found that people do occasionally hoard farm animals, rabbits, horses, and birds, but not as often as cats and dogs.) Worth and Beck found that animal hoarders tended to be somewhat isolated, but this seemed to be the result—and not the cause—of their large pet collections.
(and in my defense- there are only 2 of them in my collection- the neighbor kitties don't count. Neither of them is dead. They don't crap on the bed (unless it's an accident, and I clean it up right away). And I've never had more than 3 at a time. Defensive much? I guess so.)
Sex farm
A source of mine sent me this article. All I can really say is that I love humanity some times. Just cuz it makes me laugh. (from the editor & publisher website)
By Lesley Messer
Published: July 18, 2005 10:20 AM ET
NEW YORKHow do you report a story about a man who dies while having sex with a horse? With a snigger? Or straight?
Last Friday, the Seattle Times got wind of an Associated Press item about a local man who died after having sex with a horse. "The sheriff's department didn't expect us to report it because it was too gruesome," said Jennifer Sullivan, the Seattle Times staff reporter who would eventually author two stories on the ordeal.
Therefore, Sullivan said, "We thought if there was more than one person participating in this, it needed to be reported."
In her first probe, Sullivan wrote that the farm was discussed in Internet chat rooms as a "destination" spot for people looking to have sex with animals. She reported that this prompted an investigation into whether the chickens, goats and sheep on the property had also been victimized.
"We tried to make it as tasteful as possible keeping out the cause of death. As a surprise, I had at least 70 emails from people and the vast majority wanted to know what killed this guy," she said. "So on the second day we had to be more specific."
Although she never reported the man's name, in her second article Sullivan did say that he was 45 years old and added that he died of acute peritonitis due to the perforation of the colon. But because Washington is one of 17 states that does not outlaw bestiality, having sex with a horse is not a crime and his death will not be investigated.
Perhaps the most lurid detail she added, however, was that when they searched the farm, police had found hundreds of hours of videotape showing men having sex with horses. Police are still making sure that sex was not forced on the smaller, weaker animals, thus constituting animal cruelty (which is a crime). Investigators are also checking to see if other crimes like child abuse or rape occurred on the premises.
When asked if the reporting was especially difficult due to the subject matter, Sullivan explained that she's been working on the crime and court beat for the past six years, three of which have been at the Times, and so is rarely shocked by anything anymore. The community of Enumclaw, however, was not braced for this type of scandal.
"People were very, very willing to talk but they almost thought of it as a joke. It was sort of surreal for a lot of people," she said. "I was surprised with how willing the relatives were to talk."
She said that the man's family -- whom she interviewed for the second story -- asked for anonymity, which the newspaper granted. They never suspected that he was involved in bestiality, and were surprised when they learned that he had purchased a thoroughbred stallion earlier in the year, apparently one of a pair he kept at the farm.
Sullivan also spoke with two neighbors -- a husband and wife -- near the farm who had no idea that this kind of activity had been going on. A few days ago, they were shown a tape of men having sex with horses -- one of which belonged to them.
"It was a really rural community," Sullivan explained. "They were pretty devastated."
But so far, despite the subject matter, public response has been positive, she said. She explained that out of the many emails she's received, only one has been negative. Most of them express sympathy to Sullivan for having to write such a horrific story and thank her for leaving out gratuitous aspects, or using phrases like "horsing around."
The two articles also have prompted a local senator to start drawing up a bill that would outlaw bestiality. Sullivan also reported the opinions of a local animal activist who also is calling for reform
By Lesley Messer
Published: July 18, 2005 10:20 AM ET
NEW YORK
Last Friday, the Seattle Times got wind of an Associated Press item about a local man who died after having sex with a horse. "The sheriff's department didn't expect us to report it because it was too gruesome," said Jennifer Sullivan, the Seattle Times staff reporter who would eventually author two stories on the ordeal.
Therefore, Sullivan said, "We thought if there was more than one person participating in this, it needed to be reported."
In her first probe, Sullivan wrote that the farm was discussed in Internet chat rooms as a "destination" spot for people looking to have sex with animals. She reported that this prompted an investigation into whether the chickens, goats and sheep on the property had also been victimized.
"We tried to make it as tasteful as possible keeping out the cause of death. As a surprise, I had at least 70 emails from people and the vast majority wanted to know what killed this guy," she said. "So on the second day we had to be more specific."
Although she never reported the man's name, in her second article Sullivan did say that he was 45 years old and added that he died of acute peritonitis due to the perforation of the colon. But because Washington is one of 17 states that does not outlaw bestiality, having sex with a horse is not a crime and his death will not be investigated.
Perhaps the most lurid detail she added, however, was that when they searched the farm, police had found hundreds of hours of videotape showing men having sex with horses. Police are still making sure that sex was not forced on the smaller, weaker animals, thus constituting animal cruelty (which is a crime). Investigators are also checking to see if other crimes like child abuse or rape occurred on the premises.
When asked if the reporting was especially difficult due to the subject matter, Sullivan explained that she's been working on the crime and court beat for the past six years, three of which have been at the Times, and so is rarely shocked by anything anymore. The community of Enumclaw, however, was not braced for this type of scandal.
"People were very, very willing to talk but they almost thought of it as a joke. It was sort of surreal for a lot of people," she said. "I was surprised with how willing the relatives were to talk."
She said that the man's family -- whom she interviewed for the second story -- asked for anonymity, which the newspaper granted. They never suspected that he was involved in bestiality, and were surprised when they learned that he had purchased a thoroughbred stallion earlier in the year, apparently one of a pair he kept at the farm.
Sullivan also spoke with two neighbors -- a husband and wife -- near the farm who had no idea that this kind of activity had been going on. A few days ago, they were shown a tape of men having sex with horses -- one of which belonged to them.
"It was a really rural community," Sullivan explained. "They were pretty devastated."
But so far, despite the subject matter, public response has been positive, she said. She explained that out of the many emails she's received, only one has been negative. Most of them express sympathy to Sullivan for having to write such a horrific story and thank her for leaving out gratuitous aspects, or using phrases like "horsing around."
The two articles also have prompted a local senator to start drawing up a bill that would outlaw bestiality. Sullivan also reported the opinions of a local animal activist who also is calling for reform
Shooting fish in a barrel
I admit, when I was about 11 years old I liked Unicorns. And Pegasuses. I drew them in art class. I read about them in silly books by Piers Anthony. At the time, I kinda knew that it was dorky, but it was the natural extension from the books about horses that I got from the library. I went through my horsy girl period- and since we lived in town and didn't have any way to care for a horse, I got over it. I also discovered that the kids who did have horses put a lot of work into the whole endeavor- and I was too lazy for ballet lessons even.
When I found this site with unicorn poetry(via some other site, I don't remember- possibly Gawker), I winced. These (and I'm assuming a lot, I know) women haven't gotten over their Unicorn phase. And don't look like they ever will. Creativity is good and all, but wow. I guess I never identified that closely with unicorns. Or pegasuses.
When I found this site with unicorn poetry(via some other site, I don't remember- possibly Gawker), I winced. These (and I'm assuming a lot, I know) women haven't gotten over their Unicorn phase. And don't look like they ever will. Creativity is good and all, but wow. I guess I never identified that closely with unicorns. Or pegasuses.
| Look into her eyes | |||||||||||||||||||
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