The Rat Pack


Made this horrendous fella this week while watching more than my fair share of zombies. I call him Pretty Ugly due to his preference for pearls and sparkle. If you cover the left half of his face, he’s in a fairly neutral mood, but cover the right, and receive a dose of extra stink. Similar to my face below.


This is a test run of tomorrow’s costume for work festivities. Why Friday and not Monday, I wonder? Coraline, I am, the title character in a Neil Gaiman book (and animated film). I dig the blue wig, but vanity keeps me from enjoying the under drawn lips. Not noticeable here though thanks to the mouth twitchery. Spirit gummed a button to my eyelid area, it’s not going anywhere.

I heard Neil Gaiman speak last year up at the University of Washington. The cadence of his voice seems designed for reading books aloud. Recently finished his audiobook The Ocean At the End of the Lane. It was written for his wife, Amanda Palmer. He wove charming stories of how they met and their life together now, or then, painting a picture for the audience of the love and support and creativity they share. It was all very touching and inspiring at first, until I started to get the inkling that they may be one of those couples that needs an audience in order to have any chemistry.

He also spoke of his idols, of those famous folk out in the world that he’s tried his best not to run into at celebrity events because he was afraid of being disappointed in who they were in real life compared to in his mind. Top on his avoidance list? David Bowie. He went on to say that it was in fact, rather hard not to meet the man, due to being such good friend’s with David’s son, Duncan. I’m glad I got to hear Neil share his Bowie stories last year as opposed to this.

It was fun returning to walk the gorgeous campus grounds after all these years since attending there as a student.

It was fun returning to walk the gorgeous campus grounds after all these years since attending there as a student. Bean talked on about the times I’d take her to lectures with me and the impression that had on her tweenish years. Full-time student, full-time job, and helping my dad to raise my sister in place of my mom meant she got to meet curious professors enquiring of their young “new” student and be left to her own devices in the gorgeous Suzzallo Library while I took the occasional exam.

As we made our way through the dark along the lit paths, Bean questioned Shane about what the surroundings reminded him of to which he answered the Scream movies. This was the answer we were looking for. Further down the path, a pack of fraternity guys piled out of a nearby building cackling loudly as a large rat scurried in the opposite direction through the bushes along the wall. Coincidence? ♦

Share on FacebookTweet about this on Twitter
Care to share?



A still shot from the experimental film short entitled Solipsist by Andrew Huang, a Kickstarter project from several years ago.

Though not a philosophy I subscribe to, solipsism- the idea that we’re all imagining our own world, and that anything outside of our mind can’t be proven, provides a backdrop to a visually lush film experience. (Were solipsism true, I can tell you the world I’d imagine for myself would include more hugs and far less dust and red traffic lights.)

The plethora of textural materials on display and bits of craftery, the warbly underwater movement and flashes of light, a build of sound and color, all ephemeral as three acts transform culminating in a word: satisfying. Where’s my yarn? ♦

Oh, yeah, here it is:

Share on FacebookTweet about this on Twitter
Care to share?

An Afternoon of Nostalgia

Two nights ago I had to complete the ornery task of moving all the balcony furniture inside to the Blue room due to a floor coating being applied by the apartment complex at some point in the next two weeks. None too thrilled to have furniture in a heap where it doesn’t belong (insert Joe Pesci curmudgeoning here). Fine were it a one-off event- maintenance, upkeep, and all that, BUT. This is the fourthish notice in recent weeks, and I just get everything back in place in time for a new notice for yet another task they wanna complete on the balconies. Yay! A game I don’t wanna play. I called and left them an earful about transparent scheduling, proper heads up, an overall plan of disclosure, due notice, operating in a one fell swoop kinda deal versus a nickel and diming tactic, etc. I’m sure it was as lovely to listen to as it is to read.


This time though, every single itty bitty thing had to be removed from the balcony floor making it the straw that broke the camel’s back, the piece that tumbled the mighty Jenga tower. In so doing, I managed to unearth a small hive nested away in one of my fabric drapings (I’m Bohemian chic like that.) I heard the tearing of what must’ve been the exterior hive layers, as I saw pieces strewn about on the ground and some still attached to the fabric. The comb stayed firmly adhered to the cloth, exposed and abandoned. This must surely explain the myriad of dead bees I’ve encountered in my home since last summer. Random placement too, not along the oft typical window sill. Groggily making my way to the ever royal commode in the morning only to be greeted with a lone dead bee at its base. Step lightly. They’ve been here, they’ve been there, making me wonder, hey, you got a message for me, God? Bees- why they gotta be dead? Not only struggling out in the world, listed as endangered, but right here in my own home? Coincidentally, a friend sent me a letter recently with the verse “Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” -Proverbs 16:24.


Went to the EMP Museum last week with Bean and sweet Edie (Bobby-Do!), where I finally got to see the Captain Kirk, I mean, Star Trek exhibit. All sorts of wonderful and varied exhibitions there currently! On the way, I encountered giant nannas dangling from a tree. Seemed profound in the moment.


I LOVE Lucy.


Of all the props, set pieces, and costumes experienced at the Star Trek exhibit, this portion was what set me over into welled tears (crying again, woman, sheesh). The worn bits on the sleeve and pants here made the costume so very real (doesn’t quite show in the photo as much as in person). The same can be said for Mork’s suit which was on display within the museum as well. There are pilled bits of fabric and faded coloring on the costume and it endures me to it every time I see it. Last viewing of it was at the Cinerama theatre last year.


Walked through the video game exhibit a bit wistfully as well, as I loved them so much growing up. I’m sure my thumbs are still programmed to conquer Super Mario Bros. 1, 2, and 3 complete with turtle-stair-flagpole infinite life 1-ups galore.



Pinball meets Pollock, you say? I’m paying attention. There are so many wonderful things to do, that I don’t bother with game apps due to their consuming nature. Exception(al)! Gotta check out this Inks app momentarily.


Edie had fallen asleep in her stroller so we took the opportunity to head to the horror exhibit, pulling the cover closed over her head for extra visual protection in case she chose to wake up without any warning. Bean took the elevator down, encouraging me to walk the spiraling stairs so that I could view the mosaic of black and white photos featuring screaming people. Joy! Not particularly frightening, though slightly oppressive as the steps wound down and the number of pictures grew in expanse creeping up the wall to the ceiling above, enveloping people on the stairs. Surprisingly, disappointingly (?), the exhibit set up wasn’t particularly scary, or so I thought. I joined Bean in the elevator on the way back up, and as the door swept closed, I jumped. “Really?” she said, as I looked away from the large black and white face of a screaming man plastered to the inside of the door.

Really. ♦

Share on FacebookTweet about this on Twitter
Care to share?