the south park bridge has been deemed unfit for further use... seattle's engineers have had quite a burr up their asses lately. quick diversion: they're 'demolishing' a 9 year old, 23? story condo in belltown for "infixable structural issues." this has been in the paper for the past week. my first reaction: derisive eye roll, perhaps some comment about "well of course, those wasteful motherfuckers." b's old place was a block away; when i would go over i'd always speculate about the building. it was never, over at least the past two years, not swaddled in scaffolding. second reaction: IMPLOSION. implosion of a 20+ story building? FUCK YES! i will take a night off of work for that! i'm still peeved about missing the kingdome implosion; my hand-me-down crowbar from its aftermath is a pale victory. but in today's paper implosion was denounced as an option. they'll take the building apart floor by floor instead, due to steel beams that would otherwise snap like rubber bands, neighborhood density, blah blah blah. seattle is BORING. and, also true to seattle, this is vehemently being contested by the original building firm... so it will probably just be in its fucking scaffold, uninhabited, for the next decade instead.
but i was talking about the south park bridge.
the day the news came out about THAT i specifically drove across it. south park is predominantly hispanic; it's a cool area that i always intend to explore more thoroughly. but it's a pain in the ass to get to, even with the bridge. residents don't want to lose it for that reason, obviously.
meanwhile, on capitol hill:
last friday exene cervenka played a free show at easy street! i take back my previous surliness about this town. i love being in a place where shit like this happens within a 15 minute stroll from my lair.
her solo stuff is beautiful, melodic, almost folky. i would massage to it. it's very different from x...
earlier that day i had my first massage job interview. it went as well as it could. i was myself. i felt like a fucking puppy, wagging my tail too eagerly and trying not to pee on everything. i want to work there very, very badly. i want to get out of veterinary medicine. i'm just... done. i am jaded and disgruntled and don't care like i should- like i used to. i go to work and spend the next 10 hours feeling like i'm sleepwalking. i like my job, but i need something new. i haven't had anything new in a long time. the interview reminded me that i could... if not there, then somewhere. there's a huge fucking world of possibilities, if i stop being burned out long enough to capitalize on that fact.
*
i found a stack of "fran"s high school yearbooks the other day. she attended some school from 1952-1956. i didn't have the money or bag-space to buy any, but i asked the seller if i could take pictures. this is my favorite entry:
her picture was earnest, round-faced, blonde. i wonder where she is now. i wonder if she's still alive.
utensil gangstas on upper queen anne...
and the exorcist stairs near my lair...
i must now embellish on the susan lucci dream.
i'm at her house. it's a very nice place, high-end-montana-subdivision style- not what one would call a "mansion", just "really big." wood panelling cathedral ceiling, a prow front and wraparound deck, white carpet. the place actually- fuck, i'm just realizing this as i write this- reminds me of the house i grew up in. she grabs me in the kitchen. i briefly demur... i say "i can't do this!" while thinking about being 9 years old and watching the video of that day's 'all my children' with my mother when she got home from work. but susan lucci, in the dream, is a marvelous kisser. she's as all-over-me as one can be in one's kitchen with the possibility of her kids walking in at any moment. in the dream i am thinking "aren't you married?" i feel as a poolboy must feel- young, cute, and used. but i'm a female. and i've got my own history and experience. okay, this is fun... but then a door slams downstairs. one of her kids, a teenage boy, is home. "hey, mom!" he calls up the stairs. she pulls away, leans against the pristine white fridge, wipes her mouth. i stand there stupidly. he comes up the stairs in mud-streaked soccer regalia, an obviously mentally handicapped younger girl with him. "that's my daughter" she whispers. "hi!" i say brightly, trying to not come across as a whore. "don't talk to her!" susan lucci hisses, pulling me aside. "i should probably go" i say.
i exit through a door i didn't enter the house through. from here i can't get to the driveway where my car is; i start walking through the wooded yard and end up utterly lost in the snowy peninsula she calls home. the sky is orange and there's a storm coming. lightning starts to strike. i am walking along the road, being passed by nubile teenage boys jogging, watching the nearby bay crescendo to whitecaps. i ask one of them how to get back to the lucci house. he politely directs me. his cheeks are flushed and he looks young and adorable. i feel totally ashamed of my actions earlier- i was fucking around with a woman old enough to be my mother! i'm a homewrecker! where the FUCK is my car? i eventually find her driveway. it's filled with cars on blocks. apparently i am driving my volkswagen golf. the tires have been removed. a man who speaks no english, apparently hired help, quickly replaces them for me.
and i wake up.
*
WHY.
just... why?
where does this fucking shit COME from?
*
runner ducklings! what's cuter than a fucking duckling? they should just be called "fucklings", they're so fucking cute!
...not quite as cute, but still alluring...
c is dealing with a slug infestation. i did not know that was even possible! the cement steps of his old house are covered with them- i counted at least fifteen. "there's nothing for them to even eat!" i said, immediately reminding myself of that sam kinison joke-"YOU'RE IN THE FUCKING DESERT! OF COURSE YOU'RE FUCKING STARVING! YOU'RE SURROUNDED BY FUCKING SAND!" c later gleefully informed me that he'd "a-salt-ed them." today, in s's former basement, i was reminded of this after being overly impressed by spools of copper "slug repellent"- the copper zaps them, or something, and they die. i did not fucking know this! it's been a very educational week, actually.
*
i went to the new elliott bay for the first time this afternoon. i wanted to find more luis alberto urrea books, since i finished 'the devil's highway' and was completely blown away. that is an EXCELLENT book. he has written other nonfiction about border issues... but i was sidetracked by 'columbine.' i've intended to read this since it was first published several months ago, and today i sat my ass down on the (non-creaky, despite what ardent seattleites pontificate) floor and read the first 130 pages until i had to micturate so badly, and i was so emotionally drained, that i stopped.
read 'columbine.' it is also, dare i say, fucking excellent. parts of it made me almost cry. victims' bodies left in the schoolyard, in the snow, for 48 hours before being COVERED, much less removed. a woman finding out her husband had been killed from a reporter at the denver post. the shooters seeming like highly intelligent, engaging, fascinating kids- kids i would have known. the hours of fire alarms, sprinkler systems filling the cafeteria with 4 inches of water, no one still trapped inside the school knowing if it was safe to move. parents wanting to hold their kids and never let go, the kids wanting only to pull away and be alone to deal with the nightmare they'd witnessed.
*
i do the introverted-in-public reading-thing very, very frequently. i get completely caught up in it; reality is a comparably docile, facile entity. edges are sharper and colors are vibrant and the world is so fucking poignant and beautiful that i feel priveleged to be alive.
my selections of reading material may have something to do with that.
after leaving the bookstore i also saw this... and was reminded of an augusten burroughs quote. it was something about him being so narcissistic that he needed at least 5 hours a day to write about... himself. when i first read this i laughed self-consciously. but, you know, fuck it.
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