Trans/plant/portation

…and at a writer’s open mic near you. I’m risking my own karma for writing this post, I’m sure, but there are some things that need to be said, first and foremost out loud to myself, but secondly communicated to other writers and authors who would venture to an open mic, and lastly, to the innocent public.

The poet Michelle Tea got started by attending with great intensity and frequency the open mics of San Francisco, which, to be sure, are aplenty in that market. So she has become, for me at least, the exception that proves the rule—if you read in public often enough, you will become super famous. So don’t pipe up right now and tell me you’ve never heard of Michelle Tea. Read More…

We’ve explored a respectable swath of the eateries in Seattle these past six months, everything from food truck vendors to lunch counters, bakers, a chocolate factory, and German tavern fare. We’ve also pursued ethnic food from local Indian buffets to authentic Chinese food and Ethiopian shared plates (injera, mmm). So we jumped at the chance to have dinner at an upscale classic French restaurant, Le Gourmand in Ballard. Susanne made our reservation, since attempting to dine there as a walk-in is a long shot at best, and we drove over on a typically cold, rainy early winter Seattle evening. Read More…

When I was a child, I had a wonderful book called The Nonsense Book by Edward Lear, of riddles and jump rope rhymes, knock knock jokes, and logic puzzles. There were great illustrations here and there, but by far, the riddles section was my favorite. No contest. I learned every version of “What’s white and black and red all over,” and I could fire them off like any of the Catholic prayers drilled into me by the nuns of my primary school. Except the riddles were met with groans, and as far as I know, God didn’t groan at me, even when I was going through a whole rosary as penance for telling Danny McGuinness he had a fat head. Read More…

In 1636, a ship of intrepid English women and men arrived to the new colony in America and the first thought that coursed through their brains was wow, it smells a lot better out here. Those were some of my ancestors, and thinking about it now, I can see why my lot are stubborn and make foolish decisions. At least from that side of the family.

Two years after setting foot on a new continent, as autumn sounded its last gasps and the days shortened to a quick, the moon went away. Who knows how this was explained among them? Gallileo sat back in Europe, under arrest. Yes, that Gallileo. A modern millennium eventually rolled around, and the eclipse/solstice collision was reenacted for another generation, one raised on fearmongering in the news and among their political appointees. Read More…

This week, Susanne and I are dog sitting. Somehow this entails dogs. And poop, and a lot of it. Actually, now that I think of it, much of these “sitting” endeavors involve poop, pooping, or conversations regarding same. It’s not so much sitting as poop management. Maybe we should have a public conversation about updating the use of “sitting” as a term because for me at least, reclining on one’s derriere to relax doesn’t happen often in these arrangements. Unless, I suppose, a toilet is involved.

Long time readers of this blog will recall my experience with a baby’s explosive offering. Nothing of the sort has transpired with these dogs, one of whom is an anxious herder, and one a saved puppy from a farm in Yakima whose entire body shakes when he wags his tail, which is constantly. Read More…

Just call the iPad the gift that keeps on giving…for a price. My latest little obsession is Angry Birds, a deceptively simple game that features a slingshot and birds on one side, and evil green pigs on the other. I played this game for the entire first leg of my flights to Arkansas, where I am now, baking cookies for the holidays with my mother. (Keep your jokes to yourselves.) It all becomes about aspect and pitch and when to time that explosion, as my brain decided, delirious with giddiness at the comical nature of the app. But the game was fortunate because I’m sure I avoided a painful conversation with the man in the middle seat, who had a terrible case of halitosis. Life Note #29: Always travel with mints, not always for oneself. Read More…

Last night, upon our return home from wherever we’d been (writing until a local coffee house closed), we spied a short stack of postcards over by the row of mailboxes. “Urban Craft Uprising,” they read, and as they’d caught our collective, proverbial eye, we picked one up. It just so happens that Susanne and I have been on the lookout for alternative presents to give to the little ones in our life, rather than the uninspiring Gap or Toys R Us gift certificate. This was just what we had in mind, so we decided to head over to the Space Needle neighborhood for some craft show attendance. Read More…

Our cautious approach to ambulation worked for my friend and I yesterday, even if we did look like a couple of chubby zombies headed for the center of Seattle. Baby steps, as a course of action across Denny, was the right way to go.

We purchased our “night and day” passes for the Space Needle so that we could see everything later, after dusk. With our ride up the escalator, we were treated to a 41-second tour of the facility and surrounding area. There is a lot one can articulate in 41 seconds, I learned. We looked out at Elliot Bay and walked around the observation deck, two-thirds of which was enjoyable, and one-third of which chilled me right down to my DNA strands. Read More…

One must admire a city like Seattle for its principles. It still allows those awful plastic grocery bags as legal carrying devices, not yet having taken up the mantle of Earth-savingness like its nearish cousin, San Francisco. And it does continue to serve soft drinks and fizzy pop from automatic vending machines, a no-no in ‘Frisco as well these days. But the powers that be have put their  collective feet down when it comes to salting the roads when it snows, given the proximity to the Puget Sound and accompanying Entire Pacific Ocean.

If only Seattle weren’t on a series of steep hills. Read More…

I’d heard, along with the other people who live in the U.S., about the influx of whole-body scanners to our airports. More than one’s average bear, those of transgender heritage disdain these things because well, it goes against our whole mantra of “I’m not just what I am in my pants/skirt.” In this narrow chamber, we are. Thinking about these things abstractly and then coming face to face with one, as I did last Wednesday, I discovered, are two different animals. The disgust after reading a newspaper article pales in comparison to stepping into one of these scanners. Read More…