i shan't be effusive... i just SHAN'T!

...same place, different meal. it was *almost* as stunning. the fucking anchovy things? bloody hell! i could eat those every day for the rest of my life.
this is the "grilled octopus with oil cured olives and chorizo and piquillo aioli"... a slight variation from the chorizo-studded 'pus in posts prior.
i was so thirsty after eating this salty mess, and i didn't care one fig.

photoshop, my nemesis. surely there is a way to make colored photographs less so? the preview for this shows it in black and white, but when i save it it becomes lizardine. the green hue elevates the creepy factor. i was half-lit and chopping onions. i highly recommend it. chopping onions whilst half-lit, that is. you know you're ALIVE.

i read somewhere that rinsing the onions will decrease the teary factor. yellow onions are apparently less eye-watering. the yellow onions i selected proved this to be a lie.
*
my days have congealed into a pleasant paste. september flew the fuck by. time dilates and snaps back. mornings, rolling over, warm, the alarm ringing repeatedly... i have my eyes closed, i'm happy, i'm relaxed, i'm not thinking about anything but the moment. i think "this is what matters." i wait until my arm is actively tingling before changing positions. in another moment: i am walking past people on the sidewalk, headphones in, smiling distractedly, somewhere to be. i am running across the icu with a bottle of epinepherine. i am slowly washing my hands so they're warm when they land on my client's back. i am jumping on the trampoline. i am washing my hair. i am staring out the window of the bus and watching the guy in front of me scratch his head. i am listening to them breathe. i am listening to myself breathe.
if i'm not actively in the moment, it's hard to believe it ever existed... that i could
be so fucking fortunate. my eyes feel permanently dilated.
today: i got home, smiled stupidly, bathed, bejangled, and strolled downtown. i wandered through pike place. i appreciated it through touristic eyes.


okay, boniface mall... this dates me horrifically, but it was a carr's/pay'n'save glorified strip mall in anchorage that i went to a few times with my parents in the '80s. there was a kiosk within that sold rainbow popcorn. rainbow popcorn is one of those things that weirdly defines my 'youth' and simultaneously seems to be something i totally invented. boniface mall (boniface center?) had this scent that i will always associate with being 8 years old and unable to get rainbow popcorn. i remember that helpless, lusty feeling every time i am in the bowels of pike place and in front of this store:

i will walk by this place purposely, just to inhale.
it's good to remember where you came from.
don't get jaded!
*
after my glassy-eyed stroll downtown this afternoon, i wandered about the capitol hill p-patch. no one else was there. the last time i visited there was someone sitting on a step in the corner, witnessing me singing daftly. so i checked first this time.

the petal equivalent of "hey guys, wait up!.... guys...?"

nature says "fuck off."

wood spiders have become endemic in fair seattle. they are massive, benign, and everywhere. this guy was living in a crud-filled web in a hedge on capitol hill.

i see spiders and i equivilate them with homeless people. a spider in a lush thicket is enviable. a spider who makes his web in a windy corner of a bus shelter, breathing in cigarette smoke and car exhaust? stupid spider. homeless people in hawaii? dude, i could be homeless in hawaii... homeless in alaska? if you don't have friends there who can put you up, and you're alone every time i see you- GO SOMEWHERE MORE CLIMATICALLY ACCOMODATING.
if my life ever becomes fucked, which it might; and my friends desert me, which they could; i will rot my sorry ass in a warm place. i have money set aside for just that. i'm just saying. point being: there are stupid spiders as there are stupid humans, and they probably all even each other out for the greater genetic good.
*
jesus, i'm babbling.
*
spiders. really? that tangent was embarrassing.
*
so i solarized my legs.
photoshop, you wily eel! there is surely a better way.

the light of reality, grim as it is, is imminently more reassuring.


or not!

sugar on top

today was a good day.
insert further lyrics here...
*
it's muggy as balls in ye olde 206. i love it. it reminds me of walking around new orleans at 2am, which i actually ignorantly did... days like this make me *almost* forgive the unsummer. i adore a soft night.
saturday was lovely enough to resume the blue study- walking downtown before work, sweating in short sleeves, listening to fucking phish.

bombastic cloudage from the week prior:

oh yeah! lemmy fucking kilmister! according to wikipedia, he is also known as "the mayor of drinkin' island"!

he played a show with "the head cat"- slim jim from the stray cats was on drums. i was six feet away. it appears that he's had his growths removed. he actually looked quite good for what he's put his body through. polite as fuck. excellent performer.
he received no respect from the greaser dry-humping his wench directly in front of me.

a window on 1st avenue:

i came home last week to this view from my lair:

where were YOU when the moon was full?
my neighbors were gone. they are graced with the full view of the skyline:

i finally had a busy monday. the first client didn't tip me at all- and she repeatedly told me how much she LOVED the massage and how AMAZING it was. perhaps she doesn't realize that we service-industry types rely on fucking tips. that was annoying. but the next client groaned happily the entire time and tipped me $20 cash, so it evened out.
i even have an idiotic bio on the website!
my insecurities from last week have mellowed. my rebook rebooked again. i did 4 massages today and two people fell asleep. and my body doesn't fucking hurt. i'm getting used to this... i did the books while o cleaned my room. my ipod was still plugged in. he blared "i talk to the wind." "you like king crimson?" i asked. "i never thought of them for massage, but they work" he said.
tiresias:

morning at the lair:

entropy through the screen:

i came thisclose to publishing a lascivious photo of myself, but that's inappropriate, so i didn't.
in lieu of that, my recipe for excellent baba ganouj, as created with my awesome new blender:
1 big-ass eggplant
1 big-ass shallot
roast these for ~45 minutes in a 400 degree oven. put some olive oil in the pan if you want.
scrape the eggplant out of its skin and away from its seeds. put the eggplant-snot and the soft, amazing-smelling shallots in the blender.
add the juice of 2 large lemons, a healthy slug of tahini, a big toss (like 1 tsp) of ground cumin and cayenne, and maybe some water or olive oil for additional lubrication.
blend!
add a fuck-ton of salt!
put more cayenne on top! i like it spicy. temper accordingly.
it's especially delicious with those salty 'savory rice crackers' from trader joe's.
i brought my last batch to work in a fucking tupperware container. i felt ever so domestic!
*
this was the last thing i saw before walking into a place and drinking premium negronis and eating orgasmic salmon tartare and homemade corn-nuts and quinoa and sweetbreads.

like i said, life is good.
i love this city.

pass you out

things can be so fucking easy. i shan't speculate tonight about how eerie such ease is... i feel like i'm missing something, but maybe for the first time in my life i'm fucking not.
*
what did one do before italics? capital letters? perhaps the english language was richer. the entire dictionary was actually utilized, i suspect.
*
i am content. i don't feel frantic or loopy or overly hyper or especially jangly... tonight is mellow and wet and i'm cool with this. work was slow... one appointment at six, a massive guy who requested a female therapist. i was paranoid about a repeat of monday, when a male had a 'physiological response' on the table (yet another rite of passage!), but that didn't happen today. "cool music" he said, which, being MY music, made me happy. i also gave another coworker a massage- she fell asleep to the point of snoring. in between i watched the city get fucking drenched from the dry side of the glass. i left an hour early. a few blocks away, on the broadway sidewalk, was this:

the further down the hill i walked, the more the air smelled like the ocean.
*
last night s and i had a fucking ridiculous repast- there's this new restaurant/bar with a pretentious name and spiffy clientele and cement floors and sharp edges and FUCKING DELICIOUS FOOD. i was writing what we ate as we got it: everything was small, arty, and shareable. god damn:
-white anchovy tartine with white bean puree and smoked tomato: i am surprised my lust did not soil the hard bench. it was fucking amazing.
-crispy pig tail with grain mustard vinaigrette and deviled egg: not as good. the pig tail looked like a deep-fried beanie-weenie and the texture was weird. we agreed after that it would have been much better hot.
-albacore tuna crudo with local watermelon (which i had no idea existed...), pickled rind, and chervil: like tuna-flavored butter, which is a very, very good thing.
-kusshi oysters with preserved lemon mignonette: would have been excellent as the first taste in my mouth, but was a bit overwhelming after the pig and anchovies and whatnot.
-grilled octopus with marinated chickpeas, chorizo, and salsa verde: YEAH. FUCK YEAH. take a look. fucking christ, a Taste Treat!

so nice, i macro'd it... to better capture the chorizo effervescence.

we ended with chocolate torte (a cube of flourless chocolate ahhhh), caramel gelato (not very caramelly but texturally conducive), and pistachio puree (awesome).
*
i am so fucking glad i eat meat again.
*
i have always been a food nerd. it's so satisfying to make things, to discover things, to engage the more hedonistic parts of my brain. i have a new blender and tonight i'm going to make the best hummus ever. i realize that this is not exactly 'cooking', but it's difficult to justify bombast for only myself, and i need things into which dipping can occur.
there are some meals i will never forget...
-grilled whole fish at an outdoor cafe in lisbon.
-falafel, scarfed down messily in an alcove out of the sudden downpour in le marais, paris.
-israeli couscous at szmania's, seattle.
-the charcuterie plate but especially the transcendent red cabbage sauerkraut at schwabenhof's, alaska.
-sweet potato fries with curry aioli, seattle.
-pesto and mozzarella on fresh baguettes when i was an impoverished vagrant in nice, france.
-the chicken soup, made evil with hot sauce, and the various banchan at the v.i.p. lounge, anchorage... even better cold and extra-rice-pasty the following day.
-potato pancakes with sour cream and applesauce at manresa castle, bainbridge island.
-hot succulent pork, fresh off the pig's rib, and collard greens, indianola.
-unagi hand-roll with a cold quail egg melting into the warm rice, seattle.
-eggplant-almond enchiladas that i made with my own hands.
*
i could go on.
but i'm squirming in public.
*
so i shan't.
*
i started yet another lindy 3... i had to augment the last session because my work schedule changed, but now it's changed BACK. dancing makes me so fucking happy. it's so much better in the 'winter'- the windows of the ancient ballroom in which we practice are all open to let in the cool air and the sound of rain. everyone is glorious and pleasant and i'm WARM. there are three things that make me very, very happy, and they all involve my body being warm: dance, massage, and that other thing.
*
i got home this morning and the house was quiet and the cats were sleeping and i sat at the table and read the paper and smiled at my world.
i like how all my posts of late have this languid, daft "yay" vibe about them. i shall look back on this era with sublime fondness and slight awe.

someone you really love

FIRST REBOOK!
there have been so many milestones lately: first client, first tip, first time a PAYING client falls asleep, first minor (that was weird- her mom waited in the lobby), first woman who unselfconsciously flashed her tits, first dude who probably had an erection... and first rebook. none of these people know that they've got their own pages in my mental LMP scrapbook... they're living their lives and crossing my path when i'm at my most wide-eyed and virginal. i love not feeling jaded about my job. it's been far too long since i've felt truly excited and passionate about how i earn a living.
it makes the ER seem even grimmer than it already is. i very nearly walked out last night. i was tired and disgusted and hypoglycemic and the fucking bullshit was relentless- it's been awful all week. there have been far too many patients who, for lack of a more delicate term, deserve to die. and because of their selfish clueless owners, they are disallowed this dignity. so we are to lift their dog's obtunded 50kg body up to try to walk them, which doesn't happen, or we wrestle with their cat's hissing claws-out tantrum as they scatter piss and cat food across the floor, or we syringe-feed utterly cachexic wraiths and get most of it in their matted fur because their rotten teeth are locked down and their eyes are willing us to burn in hell. or the owner finally comes to terms with the doomed prognosis and we're so fucking busy with the other dying shit that when we eventually go into the room where the dog was euthanized to bag the body, it's in total rigor mortis and its extended limbs claw slashes in the bag.
it is a stark contrast from massage: i do not get soiled, i have a candlelit diffuser that burns essential oils (current favorite: orange with nutmeg), it is quiet and serene, people are relaxed and lovely, i get to listen to fucking sigur ros, i am genuinely thanked, and i go home with a wad of cash in my clean pocket.
i am not including bbh in the above paragraph. bbh is like the ER of massage. all that prettiness is nonexistent there.
i do love the ER. and i do love bbh. i love them both because of the people i get to work with- the actual *work* at both places i could really do without. and they do provide excellent perspective. i would not adore my massage job as much if i didn't have its humbling, sloppy, cacophonic yang to contend to.
*
yang.
*
i have really done little else over the last few days but work. i took time to make kick-ass curried fried rice, which i am blaming on my weekend of gastric lament- but it was fucking delicious. i finished "septugenarian stew", my latest bukowski, and reread "such times", which i do about once a year. it's interesting to read things about AIDS that were written prior to cocktail regimens- perspective has changed so much, which is bad- it's become more of a *shrug* diagnosis, like cancer. i read about bedsores in the sunday paper whilst eating, of all things, pulpy red bedsore-like cherries. uh... the snake shit twice. what else? sold my scissor sisters tickets to a guy with extremely white teeth. he was very excited to give them to his wife. this pleases me. walked downtown in the soft evening- mellow cadence to "georgia on my mind", uncontrollably faster to "wynonna's big brown beaver." ah, shuffle.
*
i didn't have an ipod when the memes were so fucking ubiquitous on fucking facebook a few years ago... the '5 favorite drinks' and '5 favorite smells' and 'what's your shuffle?' bullshit. now i am modern! modern, and LATE.
what's my shuffle?
playlist #1: what i listen to when i'm out doing my thang, i.e. walking or on the bus.
1. xx "crystalised"
2. captain beefheart & his magic band "her eyes are a blue million miles"
3. van der graaf "the sphinx in the face"
4. the pixies "is she weird"
5. brian eno "everything merges with the night"
6. phish "tweezer"
7. del shannon "runaway"
8. pink floyd "one of these days"
9. ike & tina "i've been loving you too long"
10. busdriver "casting agents and cowgirls"
playlist #2: massage
1. engineers "thrasher"
2. nick drake "one of these things first"
3. sigur ros "heysatan"
4. air "le voyage de penelope"
5. black sabbath "planet caravan"
*
that was undoubtedly fascinating to no one but myself.
*
last week d was talking about this sweet young thing he works with- nearly half his age. the flirt-fest is painful for everyone around to endure (i have not met her). "there's girls i want to fuck, and there's girls where i don't want to fuck it up" he said earnestly.
i could paraphrase that: girls you could, and girls you would. it really isn't gender-specific, i suppose.
*
the goal in everyone's life should be to personify the latter, but everyone embodies the former by default.
*
procured a free "blur: greatest hits" cd at a garage sale yesterday. i've been listening to "girls and boys" on repeat. it reminds me of dancing around my apartment in mountain view, the place with the shag carpet and overall ghetto funk. last night i was driving home at 2am across the aurora bridge, the skyline a-twinkle in the distance, singing along (and possibly involving hand gestures) and i smugly thought "oh, how times have changed." and i smiled like a dipshit.

i love hattie's. the building is ancient and they have all of two outlets with which to plug in my (3% battery remaining) computer and utilize their wifi: about 6' above a full booth, or behind the bar. the bartender kindly guided my cord over the wet mat. the only caveat: because my screen is extremely visible to the rest of the patrons from the barstool, i cannot comfortably look at pornography like i'd intended.
work... three clients, one of whom was a repeat. she didn't specifically request me but it was nice to work with someone whom i already know. details from the day: one of the therapists went home sick. i drank a sunkist between clients. one woman had the most beautiful back tattoo i've ever seen. the repeat client was unable to move her neck when she arrived but could when she left. i got an hour-long full-body massage from one of the other practitioners during a lull. she pulled my hair. it made my eyes water. i have an out-to-my-shoulders afro now. i'm going in tomorrow to give an hour massage to someone who specifically requested a female therapist. i don't have to work the ER until 4... what else am i going to do?
the seattle buses have these chirpy "ride right!" signs throughout- the newer ones have speak-bubbles saying things like "wow, that was fast!" and the replying bubble saying "it helps to have your fare ready." the bus that took me here had that sign... and someone had scrawled "that's what she said" beneath the first bubble in ballpoint pen. i'm immature. i laughed. soundtrack: the beau brummels.
*
it's been a fucking amazing few months...
the past week:
-sweet potato fries with sunflower pesto aioli. i highly recommend checking them out. they are so choice.
-coming home only long enough to shower and change clothes and feed the cats and retrieve the morning paper, which is still wrapped and unread on my kitchen counter.
-anybody's daughter- the title track.
-dicing various fruits and vegetables in the wee hours. that's my new thing. i stop at the store on the way home and buy things to chop. it's been a fuck-all, ass-cold 'summer', and i am seriously contemplating a completely random ad-lib soupy stew tonight. something dippable.
-camper van beethoven on hattie's hifi. this is the same place that has, on two separate occasions, played can; last time i visited they played big star. "i...was...so...wasted..."
-huge dogs- huge, FLUFFY dogs- horizontally shooting shit out of their anuses.
-edamame hummus with taro chips.
-telling ghost stories.
-rain on skylights.
-double time.
-replacing the red marker for the second time.
-overpriced midcentury furniture.
-the damoclean unease of being truly comfortable.
a fire truck, lights flashing but siren silent, passed my bus on the way home as it sped in the direction of my lair. i thought "well, that figures"... i'm waiting for The Bad Thing. i'm waiting for my parents to fall ill or my house to crumble or my friends to endure something traumatic or my health to fail- i'm waiting for that nefarious *something* to burst my fucking bubble, because i'm not accustomed to life being as fucking lovely as it's been lately.
by stating potential poxes, i childishly keep them at bay.

le recap

today i was actually looking forward to hauling the computer out and typing without lack of wifi. and thus.
august 2010 was mecurial and shivery and magnificent. my needs are being met. i am a satisfied human being. there is nothing more i want. life is fucking good and i am a very happy, very appreciative lass.
the (abbreviated) photographic recap!
ants on the sidewalk...

structures on the beach at discovery park... most were large enough to crawl inside. people had left little totems within: shells, dandelions, patterns of rocks. i fucking love humans.

the shadow of the space needle, as seen from the top of the space needle...
(my vantage point made it impossible to negate the dead space at the top of the photograph... i lament this.)

from a sazerac and a hurricane: a citron ship.

obscenely tall trees near baker lake. we could not find the hot springs. apparently we were extremely close. the trees are about 200' tall. it was an overcast day and everything (everything!) was moist. it smelled fucking amazing.

so... the new job.
it's going very well.
today was fucking slow. i did a 2hr massage... the second client i've had this week with whom i had to rest my fingers twixt skin folds in order to palpate their anatomy. it's an unnerving sensation- i had my hands on her body and i felt totally lost until i looked down and physically saw where i was. i finally had the where-with-all (and spontaneous siphoned connectivity) to create my 'massage' playlist for work- a bunch of sorta-mellow crap (air, elliott smith, sigur ros, iron & wine...). but my client today wanted non-lyrical music... so i endured another shift of chants and waves lapping. some of the shit on the preloaded ipods at work is good: non-treacly classical, folk, electronica-lite. the annoying indigenous-horn bullshit i can do without. tis the lament of a fucking massage therapist.
oh, and my wrists are fucking jacked right now. especially my left. typing does not pose a problem. i've been using more lomi-lomi technique- extra lube and forearms.
*
oh, hush.
*
my favorite client at bbh- and i don't care if it's improper to say it, he is- vocalized that he does, in fact, have hiv. i'd been functioning in an eschelon of denial, obviously... unwittingly. i thought "i know that since the advent of cocktail drugs, aids patients live longer, and as a result bbh's funding has diminished, so they see all sorts of chronically ill folks who don't neccessarily have aids." la la la. it somehow seemed more 'tolerable' for me to think of him, in particular (young and active), as having, i don't know, some curable but temporarily inconvenient cancer. it was startling to realize this about myself...
i think i'm so jaded and tough but i'm NOT. i am relieved and grateful that i am not. but as i was working on him i looked down at my hands on his back and i felt so fucking sad. and honored, if i may be so cheesy- it's such a fucking privelege to touch anyone- to be invited into their humanity. it is a welcome and it is a gift. our personal space is so sacred- fuck. if i think about it and how humbling and awesome it is to be let into someone else's physical world- in my work, elsewhere, anywhere- jesus christ.
*
and i thought about how when he was diagnosed he probably felt complete betrayal from his body. anyone with a fucking 'disease' does. they think that their home has crumbled down around them. or maybe 'they' don't. but it's how i fucking felt... and as a 'professional', as the 'therapist', i couldn't relate to his neuropathy with my ms, i couldn't commisserate as a human... and that was tough. i've already cited this weird, lonely dynamic in posts prior. why do i give such a fucking shit about ethics? what matters more at the end of the day- conscience or concientiousness? why can't it be both?
he gave me a hug at the end. "i feel like a human again" he told me. there is no finer compliment.
*
so it goes.
*
when i finish my shifts at the new place i always feel good. tired, but good. tonight i walked down broadway in my black clothes and my headphones blaring ice cube. and my dick runs deep, so deep. i smile automatically at people who smile back. between songs i hear the chatter around me. my clothing smells like essential oils and market spice tea... my arms smell like lavender. the sky is barely light on the horizon. tonight, and every other night, i grinned at nothing as i walked...
*
if i was in a junior high writing class the next line would have to have been "i grinned at nothing... and i grinned at everything." but that's so ghastly that i would never.
*
i am happy.
*
it was also very fucking fantastic to practice awareness of the past and a refusal to make the same idiot mistakes. but that's another solliloquy that lives in a different, less public realm.
*
LA LA LA.
*
i got home tonight and played with light for a spell. "played with light" means "tried to stabilize crappy camera whilst sneering in the dimness."

the place i am at right now is playing the velvet underground. those battery-operated candles (i have a few of these at home; they're cool!) sit at every table, faux-flickering. i am so fucking happy here. with my life. with everything. with feeling like i'm doing okay in the world. let it never be thought that i am nothing less than completely fucking reverent and aware of the good fortune around me. if i believed in a god, i would be... i was going to cite some sexual thing, and i actually did type things and erase them, because i have the luxury of editesse... never mind, i forgot whatever inappropriate simile i was going to conjure. wouldn't have been too classy.
THANK YOU, WORLD. that sums it up.
*
once bitten, twice...