please stop tickling me

In which we laugh and laugh and laugh. And love. And drink.

My Photo
Location: Portland, Oregon

Otium cum Dignitatae

Friday, August 08, 2008

# 200

So my good friend, the Songdog of Vast Misfortune, got back in touch with me. He is one of the better story tellers I've encountered in my life (as well as the person who taught me more things of value regarding the proper use of a camera than anyone else), and that is good here, on this day of my two hundredth blog post.

Quotes from that letter include:

I moved into an apartment in which the previous tenant had set fire to the floor in order to obscure the hatchet marks resulting from the sudden and violent separation of his cat from its tail. Something about a waterbed I think.

To gain access to my grotto I had to go through the front door past a sign proclaiming:"It's Not A Crack House, It's A Crack HOME!", descend into the basement, go through a rusty, steel door, past the Laundry facilities, furnace and electrical junction boxes (all the while in a thin film of moving water),through another doorway then down an unlit hallway to an unnumbered, soot coated door. This was "Home". Cats came from everywhere to piss under my window. I have a rapport with animals .

I got an old dog from a preachers wife (She showed me her tattoo and gave me her husbands dog) and two cars that don't run, so life is full of potential.

Seems this sweet young thing met up with some exciting men who showed her that her Apt. could be filled with party people 24/7 if only she would let them show her how good they could make her life. And She did. As near as I can tell the space had a two functions: lying down and smoking. I guess they were multi-tasking while they were lying down, I found an ultrasound scan with the words "this is your baby, stop drinking" written on it in red ink.

And I wrote back:

"My girlfriend and I took up residence in our present joint because...Well, our landladies were insane, and then they disengaged from their romantic entanglements with one another, and so the house, which was going to be sold, suddenly turned into one of the landladies' new home, and we moved out under severe duress. There Will Be Lawsuit, but that is a much longer story.

Depending on how much of my blog you've read, you may have already surmised that I support myself in the wonderful world of show biz these days. I like being a stagehand even better than I enjoyed that ten years I spent working in restaurants. No, really: I like it, and I'm good at it.

Indeed, my employers like me. They made me crew chief of this ridiculous thing for Intel at the convention center: it took about a week and a half, and ended this morning. Now, it would seem that the rest of this month will be given over to endless amounts of steel building (cue that inevitable time-lapse sequence from every rock n' roll documentary where the ants make the stage happen), and handling of wheeled conveyances.

Like every job I've ever enjoyed, it is largely staffed with people who either cannot or will not do anything else.

Well, so, I don't know if Oregon suits you, but if it did, it'd be good to have you back. I occasionally work up in Seattle, too: were you to make the fatal mistake of moving back to western Washington, I'd see you often. But jeeziz, why would 'ya? Those depressive mud people who live up there chap my hide.

So much to think about . I'm going to be so busy this month, I'll think that salt mining is a lively option for the future. But I shall be rich, rich I tell's ya', and between my union work in both Portland and Seattle and the scab work that has largely employed me this summer, I think I might have found a way to make this thing last all year long. Most stagehands can't, but I suspect I cracked the code here.

Babbling. Look, keep writing. Or just fucking move down here already.

I do not need another computer, but thanks."

I spend wayy too much of my time commenting on the endless discussion threads of The Onion's AV Club blog. If you see anyone commenting as any of the following:

A Quiet, Small Town where, beneath the placid exterior, lies a deep, dark Secret
A seething mass of Something, anyway
Amusing Witticism Scrawled on Men's Room Wall
Another Fine Product of the American School System
Da Repeatah!
Eats the Sandwich
Elder Hamster
Frank Rizzo, Mayor of Philadelphia for All Time
Gene Shizlit
Harry Allen, Media Assassin
Hung Jury 2: Stiff Penalty
I love you
I too, am fond of this recording
Janine Turner in "Cliffhanger"
Jeff Bridges' retarded alien character in "Starman"
Jim Jimmerson
Joe Mantegna's Brow
Lawrence Tierney in "Tough Guys Don't Dance"
Li'l Ronnie Howard
Local Newscaster
Man-child voice-over from cereal commercial
Maverick Cop who doesn't play by the Rules
Moby Dich
Mr. Helpful
mayor of funkytown
Rear Admiral Dick Wheeler, U.S.N. (Ret.)
Rebellious Fuckup, but a Damn Good Doctor
Robert Loggia
Robot Animal Within
Ronnie James Dio
Some of my best friends are Token Black Characters
Steals from Firesign Theater
The Fellow who sells sundries at Sporting Events
The Pew Charitable Trusts
The Seventies
The two ladies in the lesbian bar in that one episode of 'The Simpsons'
The other Keanu Reeves
Walter Sobchak
Wanna know how much of a nerd I am?
Weeping Marine
What You Said!

or any number of other snotty cultural reference in-jokes, that's probably me.

200! That will be all.



Blogger LadrĂ³n de Basura (a.k.a. Junk Thief) said...

I never would have expected to see Hung Jury 2: Stiff Penalty and the Pew Charitable Trusts on the same list, but now I have. What a rich and full life I have.

1:35 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Quite so, sir.

5:28 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home