| OMD! |
[Apr. 22nd, 2008|09:30 pm] |
On Monday last week I read an article in the paper about the difficult time time black dogs have being adopted from shelters, which is so racist. So I went to Petfinder.org again, like I do every three weeks or so, to see if Chewbacca was still available. And, like every time I've checked for the last five months, there was his doofus picture with his hanging-out tongue and a list of his virtues. It killed me that he'd spent the whole winter in his tiny cage at the Humane Society. I emailed, like I had months ago, to ask if I could foster him in my home. Just temporarily, until somebody else officially adopted him. And, like they had months ago, they said no, we only do that for special-needs dogs. "But", she wrote, "He has been here for an incredibly long time, and could probably use some time out of his cage. Try us back in a month or so..."
I think the thought of him in that cage for another month started to make me crazy. Already for months I'd been fantasizing about what our lives would be like together and having sensible little arguments with myself about why I just wasn't able to be a good dog owner - I live in a four-plex. I'm poor. I work and go to school. I'm fickle. He's two years old, so it's a 9-13 year commitment. But now I was sure that something in his eyes was dog-whispering directly to me: "Only you can save me".
So I emailed my friend who works at the Spokane Humane Society and asked "What's his problem? Why won't anyone adopt him?". She said well, he's black, he's two years old, and he's very high-energy. Everyone wants a yellow lab puppy on quaaludes. "Tempted? To sweeten the pot, here's this: You can use my free adoption for 2008 if you're serious about adopting him". I wasn't serious at all. I wasn't even asking. But now, I was.
So I decided to meet him the next day. I went with my friend Reese and her two year old daughter, who chucked a rock at him, hard, and so he walked over to her and licked her face. To my friend the dog pimp, "I know I said I wasn't going to make any decision today, but I love him."
Everyone asks if I'm changing his nerdy name. We're calling him "Chewie".
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| Dude! |
[Dec. 17th, 2007|07:56 am] |
Say it ain't so! Seattle peeps (Corey?)... any idea what's going down?
http://slog.thestranger.com/2007/12/croc_closed
I don't know if my little heart can handle the Bus Stop and the Croc in the same month. Everybody should just come east and live with me where there's snow and it's cheap. |
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[Feb. 13th, 2006|01:05 pm] |
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| Family rooms are better, and no seriously I do care about cancer |
[Feb. 4th, 2006|02:27 am] |
I'm generally loathe to criticize traditional architecture. I think for the most part we got it right for hundreds of years and the rapid metamorphosis of the family home over the last fifty or so into one giant padded, carpeted multipurpose room for the safe enjoyment of the whole family is, at least in part, responsible for all of society's ills. This is based on nothing but my own prejudiced suspicions.
Still, the formal living room is upsetting. Who sits in a formal living room? And why would you? My impression of the formal living room is its use in Victorian society-- a deliberately unpleasant place to "receive callers". Like the hard plastic seats that tilt you ever so slightly forward in the eating area at McDonald's to discourage loitering, so was the formal living room designed to make your stay in someone's home unpleasant enough to shoo you away if you weren't invited back into the more welcoming part of the house after a reasonable amount of time. In those times, the living room's intention was to EXPEL unwanted guests.
With all the perversions of civility found in modern residential architecture (great room, I'm talking to you, his-and-her master suite sinks, I'm thinking of you too), why does the inclusion of the formal living room linger? Does it function --ever-- as anything more than heated storage for the furniture you're going to move to your family room in four years? Imagine how much energy we would save if we converted every unused, unloved formal living room into a screened in porch. At least then it would get some practical use, and you wouldn't even have to pay to heat it. Are you with me? Subvert the dominant paradigm, y'all.
In other news, Brian asked me on Wednesday if I wanted to participate in the Climb for Leukemia in March. He was disappointed by my response: "haha, yeah probably not".
He was disappointed because he thought I would say yes, because I am always the one asking people if they want to take big physical challenges. Little did he know that just two weeks ago, I started the "couch to 5k" program, a program which guides fatasses to successfully running three consecutive miles in about a month. I have done the couch to 5k program a few times and it's a useful guide for getting back into running if you've lapsed for awhile.
It's not like there wasn't some indication that I am now in the worst physical shape of my life and that, in addition to the CT5K, I have ignored all healthy suggesions about how to live for approximately two years. Sometimes my arm is sore, and I wonder why, and then I remember: two days ago I carried a bag of dog food to my car.
Two weeks ago I did day one, week one of the Couch to 5k program. The next day my leg muscles constricted violently at odd times. My lower back muscles vibrated in a way that felt kind of cool until they would seize suddenly, then release. This is because I completed a twenty minute walk/run.
Regardless... I'm doing it. How could I not? John was present when I was originally asked, and later he offered to pledge a hundred dollars if I did it. That is fucking awesome.
THEN, my least favorite co worker, a woman I talk shit about to everybody and sometimes to her face, pledged a hundred dollars. In dramatic form (kind of her forte), she left work tonight saying "get your paperwork squared away by Monday night, and count me in for a hundred dollars." I was stunned.
I mean I would totally be letting leukemia down if I didn't take these people up on their offers.
Anyway, expect frequent, navel-gazing updates from me regarding my deep dedication to triumphing physical impossibilities in the name of super important cancer research as I train to climb the west coast's tallest building for dollars.
To the expensive jeans I threw away last week after my ginormous waist and thighs had shredded them into wax-washed strings of skepticism, I say: Mossimo jeans from Target are almost as good as you, and also I think cancer is a super important thing to be into. Or fight against. Don't be sizeist because I will totally blow your mind with my unstoppable skyscraper climbing technique. |
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| Also, we went to Carl's Jr like 900 times... |
[Dec. 12th, 2005|01:16 pm] |
I asked them for:
Interesting, walkable neighborhoods
A good independent grocery store
Fun, young bars and hangouts
A cool record store
Good neighborhood restaurants
And they replied, big time. The recommendations took some sussing out to edit away recommendations from those well-meaning people whose preferences were incompatible with mine ("...our family loves the Olive Garden near the mall in the valley"), but in the end I felt armed with enough information to make my way around, sort of sleepily aware of what I was generally looking for. By the time I left I had stitched together a decent quilt of familiarity across several blocks. As I wrestle with target dates and fret about getting my car paid off/jobs/being poor/academia's stoney unwillingness to bend to accommodate my needs/fashion (while being poor), it's been so hard to make things concrete without actually KNOWING what I am getting myself into.
And while I still don't know, at least now I have an idea: Spokane is not completely hopeless. In fact it's pretty hopeful.
John and I rolled in late on Friday night, and I was oddly comforted by one of the first things we saw: a large, modern shopping district with upscale chain stores like Pottery Barn, Restoration Hardware, etc. I don't shop at these places, but having previously moved to a place where the nearest Target was an hour away and there wasn't a Starbucks in the entire state, it's nice to know they're there (and just a note in my defense: the absence of these places was initially "pro" on my list of "reasons to move to West Virginia", but after awhile it's hard not to feel like you've been forsaken by the real world when you don't even have the option of buying the same shitty Furio entertainment center that everyone else in America can buy right around the corner).
The next day I discovered my favorite neighborhood (Browne's Addition), an historical area wrapped around Coeur d'Alene Park, which is hard to spell and therefore fun to throw around. This was a cool area with mansions and big apartment buildings and lots of big houses chopped into apartments. There was a little corner pizza place and tavern across the street from a neighborhood restaurant that looked clean and cool, but the entire neighborhood itself was easy walking distance from downtown. There was one apartment building that did not blend with the neighborhood AT ALL but I fell in love with it anyway. I looked at an apartment-- a gigantic one bedroom with a large balcony that faced the park. I'll spare you the faggy details but the inside was totally fucking amazing. And- it was totally affordable. Pictures below.
While walking around in the park a woman came around and started talking to us. She had a British accent-- also oddly comforting for no good reason. The park has this amazing gazebo, and she offered to take a picture of me and John on it:
The rest of the afternoon was spent driving around and exploring the city. Did you know that Spokane was the site of the 1974 World's Fair? It's a fact! Considering this was less than 20 years after the Seattle World's Fair, which was a really big deal and included the construction of the Space Needle, Spokane's World Fair must have been like, totally disappointing. Still, it left the city with an amazing park on the river, including a gondola ride that takes you on a brief tour of the Spokane River and Falls, which go right through the center of downtown. Here John is trying not to ralph as I remind him that the carts are under video surveillance:
From the bottom of the ride:
By the time we awoke from a nap, it was nine degrees outside, which we braved for dinner and later drinks at Dempsey's Brass Rail, the gay bar downtown. An owner offered to let us fuck in the coat check if he could watch. And while it's always nice to be reminded that you're pretty, Dempsey's probably won't be my "third place" anytime soon. A servicable gay bar for those out of town visitors, but sadly stuck in an uninteresting zone between "prone to hilarious social train wrecks" and "too polite for its own good". Add to that "unless you work there", I guess.
Before we left the next day, I discovered Peaceful Valley, which is a totally gay name for a totally awesome neighborhood, by now my NEW favorite. It's right next to downtown, too, but accessible only by a band of concrete which winds steeply down a hill to the river, where all of these bright, tiny old homes are built right on the shore. Here, have some more pictures.
Anyway, Spokane is not all bad. Hopefully I will move there and not panic about every last detail until the time comes to move and I bail. Like I did last time. Wish me luck!
Kinda kitsch, but amazing apartment:
And the view:
Houses in Peaceful Valley:
Aw hell, just go look at my flickr account:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/28356283@N00/ |
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