Bare-faced Daniel photos to come, but here's the only pictures I have of my new place (the craigslist ad I found the apartment on is gone because I already signed the lease).
The view from outside:
The lovely kitchen:
View from the deck:
The wee living toom:
It's been too long since I just wrote what was on my mind. That's how I used to do it back in the day. No record reviews, no photos (I didn't have a digital camera or scanner back in 2000), no tech news (I didn't know any tech but what it took to run a blog), just me thinking aloud and trying to think of whatever wacky shit would get people to read my blog.
I turned 33 and that put some things in perspective. I had some kind of feeling like something was going to go sproing or blow up but it didn't. Some of my girlfriends met each other and my friends, and I drank a lot of rum and helped break Jacob's all-time-hot-tub-capacity-record (old record: 14, new record: 16).
All my old friends from Rockford are my myspace or facebook friends. My mom is like the lone holdout. My mom's going to do bees this year so I'm going back to Rockford in the fall for the honey harvest. Nothing blew up. I just lived a year, and maybe didn't do such a bad job this time. I have few complaints. I give myself like an "Exceeds Expectations". Let's try it again right?
For my upstairs neighbors though, things DID change quite a bit. They've been married for 16 years and just decided to break up. They couldn't handle the planning of the guy's 50th birthday party I guess. That was the final straw.
Ok, some shout outs:
Amanda-K: Damn girl, you've stuck by me. Sure I'll DJ your damn wedding, even if you already have the playlist picked out. Nice owl sketch on your invite.
Amanda-Portland: Karmapa 08! Okay, fine, don't like seafood, even though it's the best thing ever. You're my sangha forever.
Amanda-Work: What a surprise you turned out to be! Glad you're probably gonna get the hell out of dodge. You need a larger ecosystem. Daaamn.
Bri: That's a hell of a boobie cake and I'm down with caramel buttercream from now on. You can hit me with the Alpha Dirty Delta paddle anytime.
Katie Meyer: You got a good man, and you happen to be one of the coolest girls I've ever met. Don't every change. No, I'm kidding, you have to change, but keep being like... an earth-muffin-gone-wild like you are.
Steph: Wow... way to kick up all the old feelings via Facebook. You're old school, right back to goo, pickle. I'm still a fan.
Sodenkamp: Once my partner. Now my friend. It's perfect. I'm glad we make money separately now, cause you're a good friend. Good as in valuable.
Metal Heart: Way to show me the art of mysterious loving. I still don't know what fucking language you're speaking. Is it bearfish? Kittenbear? You still owe me a glass unicorn and some K.B. bling.
David Clees: Hey man, the therapy is pretty funny anyway, even if I'm still a fucker. I hope this is helping, because it's expensive. I think it is.
David T: We invented the Apple Pastorius together and it's still one of my favorite desserts ever. You still listen to Jaco?
L'ellen: Sweet thang. I wish I was as cool as you are when I was 23.
Suki Tsunami: OUUUCHHH. OWWWW.
Lenzini and Wilder: You two help keep my job exciting. I work hard for you! Who else would I bring music, salami and cactuses into work for? I even installed windows live chat on my fricking MAC just so you could draw me a picture of a cactus in a shiny question mark box.
Bougieman: You are the dirtiest man I have ever met. I didn't even know people got so dirty like you. You are bent man. Completely twisted to the core. And yet... you are the sweetest. You make dirty horrible comics forever you beautiful rubberfaced man.
Jesse (James) (With no 'i'): Hug dates rule. I'll tell you how to sell yourself anytime. You are totally salable.
Rachel: Talk about steadfast. I can't come to the fund raiser but I'm damn well coming to the dance.
Blackbraid: You wily man... what did you do with the Daniel we all knew and loved!
Marc from the Dodos: You write real pretty songs.
Okay, that's enough with the shout outs. No one reads this anyway. It's okay, it's just for me. It's actually more private to write on a blog than on Microsoft Word, cause there's so much writing on the web you have anonymity by default. No one cares! Unless they google "dirty comic cactus jaco pastorius earth-muffin-gone-wild" and then I will be the number one hit and they will read with rapt attention.
You know, I still get a lot of hits for "girls arm wrestling" which is evidently a very erotic experience. It wasn't very erotic for me when a girl from my work many years ago beat me armwrestling at a Redmond Azteca and saw me on TV naked except for a rabbit skin jacket.
lik-m-aid was like a stick of semi hard sugar with packets of pixie stick dust to eat them in. It was like a top tier candy for me and my sister.
The caramel candy bars we sold in our middle school. Vicious, addictive. I think I bought my whole box. Caramello is okay, but those things were pure bliss, I had a whole system for eating them.
Mainly now it's just chocolate and chocolate ice cream. And chocolate gelato. I don't hate green tea tiramisu, or regular tiramisu either.
I also love spumoni. Spumoni is the weird bright three layer ice cream they only serve at down home Italian restaurants. Chocolate, cherry and... the green is pistachio supposedly. Neopolitan sucks though as far as I'm concerned. Vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. There's a Simpson's episode where Homer eats out all the chocolate from a quart box of Neopolitan and says, "Marge, we need more chocolate, strawberry and vanilla ice cream!"
If I had to choose though, probably sushi over all of it.
I want a band called AAA Aardvark. It would be like the phone book entry of band names. Someone would always buy our album because it would be the first item in the stack and more people would notice it.
Or, my rapper name is Anvil Esquire. That would still be in the A's for sure. Maybe my band could be called AAA AArdvark presents Anvil Esquire.
I can rap.
Poor old girl, limping along, hardly anything to say except a photo now and then.
This one's an old one from not that long after burning man. My man Todd right here made The Crow Bar on the internet. He is the O.G. Drinky Crow. When this motherfucker says The Abyss is Calling..., he means it. I'd take this opportunity to call him a fucking goth, but he might respond by calling me a fucking hippie, and I don't know if I can take that anymore.
It's been a nice, hot summer.
Punk rock ferry worker.
I suppose I should redo the categories so people can find the coolest of the old posts. It's on my list. And damn lucky to be there.
I once had this friend who really liked Pink Floyd, which is cool. He admired how they used layered, but very simple riffs to create moody affecting songs with potent emotional imagery.
But, he had kind of a blind spot.
"Pink Floyd's music isn't depressing," he'd say, "I don't get why people say that."
Well... hmmm... you know, they wrote an album called The Dark Side of the Moon, a concept album about things in life that suck, that's still one of the best selling albums of all times. They wrote an album called The Wall that is about a rock singer's repression by his mother, British society, and the warring world, resulting in his complete and utter madness. Oh yes, they wrote an album called Wish You Were Here about how LSD, madness and the music business destroyed a fellow band mate and bummed the rest of them out. The early albums are perhaps a bit cheerier, but they're not as famous either.
Okay, I'm oversimplifying the themes to all these albums but I, to this day, wonder what he thought Pink Floyd's music was about.
The kicker, though, was when he told me that a friend of his gave his mom a recording of the Pink Floyd song, Mother, for mother's day, and thought it was a really sweet thing to do. I mean, if you barely listen to the song I guess it could sound like a lonely person merely asking his mother for shelter and answers from the world. But to look at the lyrics as a whole it makes it clear that the song is not about a healthy reliance on one's mother:
Momma's gonna make all of your nightmares come true Momma's gonna put all of her fears into you Momma's gonna keep you right here under her wing She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing Momma's gonna keep baby cozy and warm
Weird. He was a weird kid, and he never washed his feet.
Whatever... I was just thinking about it because my mom is coming to town tonight and because I went to go see The Wall laser show a couple of weeks ago. It's a really slow album and I like it a lot better with the movie.
About this time of year I go out with Zan to go get some nettles from Discovery Park. I get a bunch. I make tea with it, I cook it up and eat it like greens, I sting myself in the joints with it. I basically get as much of it in my system as I can while I have a batch of it.
Zan also tinctures it with vodka and makes nettle vodka shots, but I don't go that far.
Why? Because the hayfever I get in a few months is completely crippling for a few weeks, and nettles seem to make it better. Plus, the stings improve local circulation in joints that have limited mobility from me smashing the bones around them.
Also, it's really tasty and nutritious. I stew it with chicken and chicken broth. This year I blended the greens with a little onion and milk to make a Chicken Cream of Nettle. It came out rich and delicious.
When I do it, I feel like a total witch for a couple of months.
I never knew about eruvs until today.
Observant Jews, for those who don't know, have to follow some pretty strict rules about what they can and can't do on the sabbath. It's a "no work" holiday, and they get very serious about what they can and can't do. There's two separate rules for what you can do in your own home, and what you can do outside of the home.
Like... you can't carry your keys around outside of your home. You can't flip a light switch. For some you can't rip toilet paper. You know, work.
So it blew me away today to read a Harper's Weekly article/diagram about an eruv. Evidently there's this idea of a "shared space". You just string up some lines sectioning off an area, and then it's a sort of shared structure where jews can be basically "at home", thus, able to perform the home based tasks on sabbath. The Harper's article is about a big one covering much of the island of Manhattan.
I was blown away. How strange, I thought, until I googled and saw that there's probably one in every major city in the US. It would be interesting to get a google maps layer with all the eruv's in the country on it. I wonder how many square miles of eruv there is in the whole country. I wonder if I'm in an eruv.
Once I get to sleep, I'm out until something really loud wakes me up, or until someone says my name.
It's not so easy to get there, though.
Tonight I did that rarest of things. I went to bed for an hour, and finally got up in frustration to work. Then I went back and laid down. Then I got up to blog, ruefully. It's worse when I have somewhere I have to be in the morning. That's the worst.
When I sleep with another person and I have it, I keep them up too. I don't try to. I can lay there very still with them, and even feel very relaxed. After many minutes pass it becomes quite clear that no one is sleeping. Then at least I have company.
Tonight I went to bed and it was almost like my heart was thumping, laughing at me. Like, OH no honey, you're not getting to sleep. You shouldn't even be laying down! Even still, as I write this, at 6:38 a.m., I still couldn't go lay down and sleep. I didn't even drink much coffee today! Maybe I should have drunk more.
If there was ever a story to my life, I've lost the thread of it. I'd pray to God if I thought I would get guided to my fate, but I don't think that. I mainly hear resounding silence. Even psychologists say you can ask yourself... your innermost self or whatever.
I ask. But me and my innermost self are quite silent. I ask myself what it is that I most desire, and I get lukewarm answers: I'd like to be a rapper, I'd like to have a nice girlfriend, I'd like to make enough money to have a car, pay off my taxes and move to Bellingham. I started out my life as a teenager with such vision and now perhaps I am boring? Perhaps netflix has ended my aspiration? I want things, but nothing so bad it burns in me and I'd be willing to give up everything for it, or even work hard for it. I'm 31 and I look at what I've accomplished and wonder if I should have just picked something arbitrarily.
The dharma has been a blessing and a curse. I like to and want to help all beings, and have learned to let go of a lot of attachment. But I have too much attachment to up and go in retreat like my sister, but too little to get out there in the rat race and fuck shit up. It's been going on like this for a couple of years. I don't see a solution.
Just letting you know. In case you have any ideas.
Probably has something to do with watching Stranger than Fiction. God, Maggie Gyllenhaal is so dreamy. She really is.
I remember a scant few dreams a year. Some people tell me to write down my dreams, and then I'll remember them more often. But, when I put pen and paper by the bed, they are long since buried or shuffled away by the time I remember one.
I almost never have one when I have a full night's sleep. It's almost always in a luxury nap of some sort. Like, when you wake up too early, go out and have a bloody mary with breakfast, and then come home for a nap in the sun. Or if I fall asleep at a friends house.
I just met someone who said that I could remember my dreams if I let myself fall asleep during meditation a few times. I do that anyway sometimes, and while it's very relaxing, it doesn't help.
So, I was thinking I would make a conscious effort to remember some dreams so I can blog them. Maybe even tonight.
I thought about running a big long post thanking the tinyblog for all the times it was there for me to kick off the new life of the tinyblog. But, part of this new relaunch is about concentrating on the NEW tinyblog and not so much looking back to the past.
I'd like to clean up my old posts and find ways to present them, but I think that, most of all, for my own sanity. I'd better just start blogging again. About the present.
But perhaps, if YOU have a favorite old post, or would like to thank the tinyblog for something, you can do it in the comments.
I am slowly but surely bringing the tinyblog back to life.
There's no tinyblog for the moment... but I do photoblog over on the flickr.
Okay, I'm just taking an official tinyblog break. I'm working on some back end changes for the tinyblog and I'll let you know when I'm ready to get it going again. Plus, I need a break.
If you subscribe to the tinyblog, then you'll see the next time I post. If you don't, then email me at danieltalsky@gmail.com and let me know you'd like to know when it comes back.
Normally I avoid such memes because I don't like to obligate myself to clutter the tinyblog with them... but this one I like.
Make your desire known in the comments and if I know anything, I will say something I adore about you. You can, but don't have to pass it on.
I have actually two sets of comments, so I will wait a week or so and then do a big post commending each commentor for their adorable acts or qualities. This comes from saltcellar, who said something very nice about me indeed.
I never thought I'd see the day when there was a positive article about psilocybe cubensis in the Wall Street Journal.
The thrust of the article was that they found the mushroom to have potential to be clinically useful, since it gave 2/3 of the people who took it in this study an experience they rated as "among the top five most meaningful experiences in their lives". The other one third, unfortunately, said they experienced pretty serious anxiety and depression.
I have from time to time, encountered this fungal psychadelic, sold as a fairly common street drug, and I can testify that I have had both experiences. In spite of that, I have to say that the experiences I had with this innocent looking fungus influenced my life and the way that I see the planet in a positive and...spiritually accurate way.
(this is just a pretty picture of passionflowers I took in Seattle the other day. it has nothing to do with the post, but I like pretty pictures, and they are kind of trippy)
I have had several skeptical (straight-edge) intellectuals question me about the authenticity and quality of these experiences, and I can say that although they probably remained doubters, I certainly piqued their curiousity.
I certainly don't think one can reach enlightenment directly through any kind of food, drug, book or anything else but real spiritual work. I know there is potential, if one abuses something like this, to just spin oneself off into confusion, and not stay grounded in the real challenges and joys of this world.
However, sometimes the dull habitual nature of this modern world can dampen one's sense of wonder, and realization of our profound interdependance with each other. Sometimes a little shot in the arm, a reminder of the passion and turbulence, the depth and breadth of feeling and connection to other beings, really makes pressing on another day more bearable.
I don't think my spiritual teacher would really recommend it (in fact, I know he doesn't) but sometimes I still make myself a strong tea, light candles on the shrine, and climb into bed to connect with the profound teachers of the universe and take a 10,000 foot view of my own tiny life. It's not like a fun party for me. Sometimes it's pretty painful to see myself through such a lens. I might just still be doing it when I'm 60 though.
Jacob hadn't taken the Free Ride Taxi out for awhile, but he brought it along when we went out to get a bite to eat. Since it was with us, we decided we might as well see if we could pick up a fare or two.
On the way, Jacob told me a little about what the experience was like. You get a lot of visual attention. People aren't sure what to make of the taxi and whether or not they should hail it. People ask the same questions over and over: What kind of car is this, where did you get it, what are your hours, etc.
We hit Eastlake on the way to Cap Hill and got a fare (what do you call it if it's a free ride?). Three mellow Eastlakers on their way to Pioneer Square. Two of them were a couple, and there was a nice third-wheel guy with a humorous smirk.
The bewilderment is the fun part. As soon as they figure out you're not going to charge them then there's this intense curiousity where they're trying to figure out what's in it for you.
They were like, "No, really, we can give you some money!" or "We have some weed!"
Finally they settled down and the banter began. They were curious if we were planning to rape and pillage them. This was a major topic of conversation. You could tell they were kind of hoping we would. They suggested we had stopped primarily because the girl had a nice rack. She did, but we mainly stopped because they were trying to hail a cab.
In the back seat of the cab, the "oh shit!" handles are custom chrome jobs of buxom women that Jacob got out of a trucker catalog. The girl was rubbing them seductively and I thought to myself I should try and get a photo of that before they got out of the cab.
They kept trying to promote the show they were going to. Some silly rockabilly swing something or other. We were trying to be polite and not say we didn't like to go see generic-ass shows in Pioneer square thank you very much.
Finally we made it to their destination and they asked again if there was anything they could do for us. I thought, "Hey, now's the time for me to get a photo of the girl getting cosy with the buxom chrome lass."
I said, "Yeah, let me get a picture of you fondling the girl."
They got the wrong idea.
By the time I turned around and realized what was going on, I realized that the one guy had been kneading his girlfriend's nice rack for a good several seconds. Normally not one to blush, I found myself profoundly embarrassed that this was what they thought I had requested, and that the price of the ride was a sexual thrill. I was so stunned that I didn't even get a picture unfortunately. But I did clarify what I wanted, and got it.
That was our only fare that night. Perhaps I will ride with Jacob again.
I think hearing the melancholy sounds of James Taylor as my mom drove me to daycare when I was a kid kind of scarred me. I could just feel the deep sadness in “You've Got a Friend” and all those easy listening singer-songwritery songs of the late 70's. I never recovered from it as a melodramatic malaise I think. Now I am sort of a drama queen. I can hear those songs in my head sometimes, and I don't think I have any of them. No, that's not true. I have some Carol King and Carly Simon. I read this interview with Carly Simon once and she was telling the interviewer that she has to be spanked to calm herself down sometimes. She said she's been in a position before she's about to go on TV or something where she has to get a stagehand or something to do it for her. That really made me laugh, but I actually kind of understood. I would totally spank Carly Simon. TMI, I know.
I feel like I have been living so heedlessly and now I am almost in an accidental place. It's like a hotel in the Dallas suburbs and I was here for a business meeting but it got canceled. And here I am...I'm already in the hotel room. I could order room service but I know it would be no comfort. The movie that's on is something horrible like Splash and I can't even stand to see Tom Hanks' stupid young face. There's no flights until morning. The hotel bar is depressing and the piano is broken. There's no place to buy a book and I know no one in this town. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, like I could just open up a notebook and write a great play about a hotel in Dallas. But no. I decide perhaps Darryl Hannah will be offset Tom Hanks...just enough. Wow. That is really a train wreck of a metaphor. I'm just typing.
"I check my look in the mirror / I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face"
I'm gonna too. I shaved off my beard and I'm gonna keep it shaved as long as I can stand to.
And the hair. It's going too. I haven't set a date... I might get a trim to clean up the split ends and then make sure it's out to the required 10 inches for donation to Locks of Love.
But, I am really going to do it. Andrew Dunloy and I decided to do it on the same day. I'm not sure when, but by the end of the Fire Dog year at the latest.
If you find a photo of a hairstyle you think would look good on me would you send it my way? I'm open to suggestion but think short.
I've had long hair ever since my friend Nicole G. told me once back in 1993 in a University of Washington dorm room not to cut my hair again until she told me to. I wish I knew how to get a hold of her for permission, but the internet has not been kind in that regard. Sorry Nicole.
I don't know what I ate, I just know what it feels like to be poisoned. Hurting at every weak place, stomach cramps and puking up bile for a day and then days later, every joint stiff. The headache is still home.
I made a big pot of chicken with greens from the garden. It was my first real meal in three days.
I can hardly move my neck. I have fantasies of angels coming to massage me and minister to me. I'm so behind and I just have to keep working, in the hole again.
Nate is gone now. I was too poisoned to go to meditation by myself. We should have done Chenrezig one last time. We did sing the purification mantra for a solid half hour though, when we were walking to catch the bus. Maybe that's what this is. Purification.
It's funny, for the solstice parade this year I got painted as a poisonous salamander. (I'm naked, so this is NOT safe for work: Salamander Front, Salamander Back). Now I feel like a real poisonous salamander. If you like pictures of naked, painted people, I took a lot of them.
If so, just email me.
It's going well. Here you can see one tiny potato sprout making its way up through the mulch (wood shavings from my landlord's shop).
I like to sit in a portable chair and read at the edge of the garden when my mind gets blown from programming. This is how I found out there is some kind of inter-species war going on between certain members of the squirrel persuasion and certain (unnamed) members of the crow population. I had no idea these creatures could make such a bizarre set of noises.
I don't care. I'm eating thick radish sprouts wrapped in purple mustard green sprouts wrapped in collard leaves wrapped in Israeli lettuce. Now that's my kind of salad.
Talked to Miss Rose this evening in the garden, and had a houseguest. He's passed out on the couch. He brought a lady to my house and massaged her feet. She teaches yoga classes in her home, about 3 blocks away from me. I could make it to something like that!
Miss Rose says Pennsylvania is nicer than Transylvania. Okay, no she doesn't say that. She does says she likes Pittsburgh better than Philly though. And that she doesn't live that close to either. And we talked about spirit guides. My mom's and others. Not mine, I hardly even have dreams. What do I know from spirit guides?
Okay, maybe a little. Can I get a witness? Can I get an amen!?
More lowlight photos... this time with the help of a little LED flashlight.
This is the only way I can spend time with my sweet garden at night.
I think it's safe to say a good time was had by all.
Thank you to my rappers Elree and Sir Mark the Poet, you guys rocked the mic and kept it real.
Kisses were certainly stolen (and given away) and no complaints were issued. Just as I suspected.
If it turns out my raps got recorded okay I'll probably post them. It sure was fun.
If you got photos, especially of the rapping, hook me up!
Oh yes, and I played a lot of Gnarls Barkley, who I'm basically in love with. The video of him singing the recorded version with the weird Rorschach animation is cool enough. But then this video of him singing it live WAY slower and more balls out at the top of the pops. Man he is something else.
Some nights I take care of my morning self. I clean up for him and set out the coffee all nice. The grinder is full, the filter is in the holder, the jar is clean. I make nice lists of what to start on, with the most important thing at the top. I get all the easy emails out of the way for him so there's not so many.
Some nights I make a mess in the kitchen and leave him to fend for himself when he's weak and defenseless. I leave every surface dirty. I lump into bed tired and unmeditated and still can't get to sleep. When is that Neko Case song going to get out of my head?
The Lion's Jaws
You're gone, the trees are so quiet
When your hand was in my pocket
How they swayed from side to side
Now the meddling sky and my snowy eye
Sees a different night
The night I fell into the lion's jaws
To my regret and your delight
Those teeth themselves could not divine
Nor their pressure estimate
The haze I wish to never break
And to never contemplate
Momentum for the sake of momentum
Momentum for the sake of momentum
Of momentum
(sure, you can listen, if you think it will help)
What the hell does that song mean? Why the hell can't I sleep? Can't someone come over at 2 a.m. and massage me?
It was a sweet weekend with some sweet friends. I took some sweet pictures.
First, on Friday night, I did a massage trade and then went out bowling with Chris, Beth and Scott. Scott messed up his leg playing softball over the weekend and had to limp up to bowl. Sadly, he kicked all our asses:
Then, on Saturday, I mellowed out, wrote some rhymes for my party, and went to a potluck. I wanted to make something cool, so I made this polish soup called Chlodnik. It's a creamy beet soup that you eat room temp, with a garnish of radishes, carrots, scallions, dill and hard boiled eggs.
Then Sunday, I walked around Capitol Hill and took photos, including this photo of the coolest graffiti I've seen in a while:
Later I went out and had the most lovely picnic in recent memory and hung out with some sweet pretty friends. I'm happy I have such good friends. I needed them this weekend and they totally came through for me.
Wait until you see the website.
Andy Dunloy came over the other day. He smiled at me and said, "We're doing the devil's work tonight."
I raised an eyebrow.
"I need you to help me go to a couple of jobsites and get some stuff."
"Well Andy, I'm on retreat, so I need to be a little more careful than I normally would about stealing."
"Well," he said, "can you just sit in the car?"
"Well, I don't want to come if you're taking anything of value...I'm not going to be involved if you're grabbing nice lumber or something. We need to be sensitive to that."
He smiled, "Do I look like someone who's not sensitive? I just need some scraps to build some shelving with."
It's true. He is, and he was. We talked for a little while longer and asked what we were working on. He's been doing sales work for Greenlake Jewelry Works. He's gonna run that place some day.
I told him about how I've been involved with doing contact improvisational dance.
"You see, you just come up on someone like this," I came up and began to demonstrate as he looked at me strangely, "and then you just spontaneously move against them and they do the same thing. A whole roomful of people doing this. It's fun. And athletic."
He thought about it for awhile. "Man, Daniel, where do you come up with stuff like this?"
"Uhhh, it's just out of the general Daniel Talsky Pool of Weirdness ™."
He opened the door to walk to the car.
"How vast that pool must be."
For those who didn't get an invite (because I don't have your Email address or because you're a big pain in my ass, one of the two), this is the invite to my birthday party on May 6th. If you want to be added to the Evite and RSVP officially (which I'd like, if you plan to come), then just email me (danieltalsky@gmail.com)
I am throwing myself
(AND MY MAN JACOB SAYLES!)
a birthday party, and it's a Saturday.
It's low frills chilling out...I just want all my old peeps, new peeps and medium peeps around me so I can celebrate my life. My birthday party is on the 9th, and my friend Jacob's is on the 3rd, so we're doubling the fun.
The name of the party is "Rhymin' and Stealin'" after the Beastie Boys song of the same name.
Some people have expressed concern about the stealing kisses part, so PLEASE read the FAQ.
There's two parts to the party:
Part I: Mellow BBQ / Housewarming (rated G) : 3 - 9pm
Part II: Rhymin' and Stealin'! (rated PG-13) : 9pm - passout am
Finally, we'll party until it doesn't seem like a party anymore. If you want to crash you're welcome, but you'd probably better bring a sleeping bag.
FOR DIRECTIONS, THE ACTUAL DETAILS AND MORE INFO...
I beg you to read the FAQ for an exhaustive breakdown of the spirit of the party:
You know what the best thing about influenza is? It sounds like a poem title, like a hot latin dance that is too cool to even have made it to the states, like a tough drink made mostly with gin, a dash of diced habenero peppers and pomagranite seeds, and a dash of bitters.
You know what the worst thing about influenza is? The days on end of writhing join pain that comes on each late afternoon allowing for only about an hour of troubled sleep until it lets up at 7 a.m. finally allowing for an unbroken few hours.
Right in the middle is being completely worthless to leave the house, or attend to any important business like getting up to go get toilet paper. Also in the middle is merciful landlords who bring movies, toilet paper and juice, and friends who come over and make chicken soup.
But no one's around at 3 a.m. when it's raging at it's apex and not all of the heaters and comforters in the world can stop that one trickle of cold air from sucking all available heat out of the body.
It's day four and I'm pretty sick of it. It sucks for it to be the middle of the afternoon and be too tired to sit up and read a book. It just goes to all my kinks and broken parts and says, "Fuck you, higher form of life." I mean, christ, scientists can't even decide if viruses are alive or not...just self-replicating little biological machines that wreak their havok until the autoimmune system figures it out.
Plus, not having had any coffee in three days adds a hammering, persistant caffeine-withdrawal headache into the mix, leaving me, at best able to sit up and watch movies and at worst unable to get up and pee without a pretty serious internal pep talk.
It's not as bad tonight. It's gonna get better soon. I can tell.
(For all those wondering what happened to "I'm OK":
a) I think I caught it in one of its downcycles and
b) I chose to go sit in my cold office for several hours and then go out for a nice walk on Lake City Way. That very evening I was bed-bound again.)
To anyone out there wondering how I am...
The end of building is ruin.
The end of meeting is parting.
The end of accumulation is dispersal.
The end of birth is death.
It's a sunny day and I'm sitting in my house all day. I don't even want to step outside. Who needs outside? Who needs the sun?
I'm cleaning house and trying to rub two sticks together in my mind and just hit that vital point of inspiration that makes one want to head back into the thick of it after two frustrating weeks.
What does anyone do for inspiration besides cleaning their house? Heavy metal?
Thanks so much Carol. I am very happy to have access to a brand new Canon PowerShot A610. Now, more self portraits!
All in all it was a wonderful day, but not such a good day for food. I woke up and went straight to a brunch, but the hordes had already descended and all the food was gone.
A couple of friends and I went outside to get some breakfast. We thought about going to a sort-of chichi breakfast place in Capitol Hill called Coastal Kitchen. Coastal Kitchen has a great breakfast menu, and a rotating regional menu (like for instance, this month...Portugal). My companions thought it would be too yuppie and expensive so we decided to try another place.
It was basically just a bar, but looked to have breakfast, so we walked in and asked if they were serving any more. She said only the regular breakfast menu and not the Brunch menu anymore. Of course everything I wanted was on the brunch menu, but there was one thing on the breakfast menu that looked decent so we sat down.
Only with coffee in hand did I discover that they didn't have the right sausage for that. I sighed a pained sigh that I'm sure people who have been out to eat with me when I'm feeling difficult well know. "Is it possible I can just have what I want off the brunch menu?" I pointed. He went to check. No dice. They had just shut down the brunch setup for real. So I got an omelette and it was bland and the salmon was tough and the whole breakfast thing just didn't work out for me, except for the bloody mary.
Then, tonight, I got hungry for sushi. I mean really hungry. Like, cascading low blood sugar hungry. I wanted to go to my favorite cheap sushi place but didn't check the internets right. Got all the way out there and it was closed. But sushi was calling for me, so I went to another place, even farther from home, that was more expensive and not as good.
45 minutes wait. No way. So walking down the street I end up again at a bar. Ready to eat stray body parts. The special: crispy chicken sandwich: 9.99. Sounds good, right? A crispy chicken sandwich for ten dollars has to be pretty delicious right? Hopefully, I quizzed the waitress, "Well, it has pepper jack cheese." she offered.
It was breaded chicken on a hamburger bun. I shoulda got the meatloaf. However, it came hot (but slowly), and that was it's saving grace. It was better than the omelette.
Plus, I spent every last dollar on those two meals!
This tale of urban horror is brought to you by the Naked Lady Brunch Party, and Knob Creek bourbon.
The complete list of danieltalsky.com slogans:
Remember, before each of them you have to mentally say, "Daniel Talsky Dot Com (comma)":
Like hairless cats that mind.
better'n' a barrel of monkeys
More ice cream than you can remember.
Eat orzo for breakfast.
Orange flavored napalm for the soul.
When danger calls, take a message.
Striding purposely in every direction.
Tell the invisible man I can't see him today.
Let sleeping bags lie.
A little pain never hurt anyone.
The learning curve is steep today.
MINE.
Making trouble, one step at a time.
My advice to you: eat more hash browns.
Expectations are pre-meditated disappointment.
You toucha my website, I breaka you face.
No parking.
So simple, a child could do it.
Daniel Talsky, now a commercial entity.
May it benefit beings.
I like to cook.
Amazing Grace saved a wretch like me.
I am watching The Hour of Power.
Love is not the answer, it is the assignment.
A friend to all.
Man of my dreams.
...for president in 2008.
A good place to while away the meaningless hours.
An illusory place.
So sophisticated, it could be from Paris.
Good as gravy.
Completely serious.
Take a walk on the wild side.
Enchanted.
More than you ever imagined possible.
Like a velvet glove cast in iron.
You can dance if you want to.
Very strange.
24 Hour Brain-A-Thon.
Operators are standing by.
Get your feet off the Davenport!
International!
When I awaken, I must be mistaken.
Brandishing more force than I can skillfully wield.
The same as every other place.
Lama la chhap su chhio.
Do you feel anything yet?
A streetlamp of poetry.
Vanity incarnate.
Getting stronger every day.
Egg Nog.
More accurate than a Sphygmomanometer.
The #2 most requested lips in America.
I wrote about 2/3's of them, the rest are reader submissions. I'm thinking about making a brutal cut, but I need new blood. Any suggestions? Come up with as many as you can. Plus, I think I'll pick a winner. I am the sole judge and arbiter. Any good ones get added but the best one gets something special in the mail.
putting out
I've got to get some new skillz. I love to help people. I love to provide value to the world, especially value that hardly anyone else can provide. I love to be able to provide value for value, and help people in kind when they help me, without being asked. I love to put out. When I put out, the world works. When I don't, the world breaks.
unskilled willing hands
I have two hands and am willing, and that is good. When I go to people's houses I like to wash their dishes and clean their kitchens. Even bathrooms are not too bad, especially if they start out really dirty, because then they look so transformed when I'm done. I like to weed. It makes me feel good, to do these little things for people that I know they are dreading anyway, but sometimes it makes them feel wierd.
massage
I can do massage. I do! I love it. But it's just so damn hard to get people to ask for it and show up for it. I can ask people if they want massage, but let me tell you how sick a person can get of hearing, "It's okay. I'm fine." I'm sure you are, you wall of man, you tide of woman. Plus. I know I'm the human bulldozer, not everyone wants to let me push and pull at them. And massage...it's so personal. People have to really let you in. It's even more personal than dishes. Well, to some people. But it's true I love to work for people that way, grabbing tissue and making it warm and liquidy. Another downfall is that it's more useful if you can work with a person regularly, and that's very hard to do in this busy world.
(Sometimes though, even one time can really help. I had a wonderful time the other day. I went over to a friend's house and he had an ice pack on his arm. He said he was getting tennis elbow and he didn't even play tennis! "Lemme at it!" I said, "it's tendonitis and you should have told me before." I pulled and dug at his arms for a half an hour and then he moved and twisted his hands in surprise. "It. It doesn't hurt. Hey, isn't that crazy? It doesn't hurt!" he said to the other people on the couch. "It feels like cool water running through my veins." he said to me quietly.)
10010100
Computer Skillz I have. That's for damn sure. I can program in a few languages. I understand the languages of display and the languages of the web very well. I know how to take people's gestating ideas and craft them into something and help them publish it. Publish. I can publish on the web and I can publish in print.
I know about filesystems and file types. I know how to make a computer usable...to put important icons where people will easily find them. I know how to research and find the best free piece of software for any job. I know how to help people organize information and display it. I know how to architect an idea and turn it into a computer program. I know how to get music in all it's formats and convert them, rip them and burn them and all the other violence you can do to music. I can write. Some would say.
But...I can't be in front of a computer endlessly. I have to find some things I can do to be useful that are not in front of a computer. I like the computer, I love the computer. I live the computer, anyone who knows me knows it's true. But as I get older I'm going to have to grow away from it. Perhaps as I make my fortune I can begin to step away from the stiff ways humans have to interact with computers.
pregnant!
I feel so pregnant right now. A few days ago I had some mad council (counsel?) of men, and it left me feeling full and generous and grown up and mature. Like I want to test my own mettle, cradle people, lift them up.
In February and March I get to teach another web class. Teaching is wonderful, but in order to teach computer stuff you have to sit and research and prepare course materials...in front of a computer.
I'm not talking about crafts... I'm talking about real useful skillz that if I spend my time doing them they actually make other people's lives easier. Like...carpentry seems cool. Trying my hand at little bits of jewelrymaking with Andrew Dunloy has been nice. I even tried a bit of bookbinding. It's just hard to make a new committment to something and be bad at something at first. I think that's a big part of the reason grown-ups get so set in their ways. They hate to have to do something and be really shitty at it for a long time. I do anyways.
Well, in the meantime...computers and massage and dishes are okay. I'm just thinking aloud. I love to put out.
To be honest, I'm kind of sick of it. It was fun when I could use it for pictures, but now I just don't know what to say. When I first started writing it, it was really awesome for spilling my guts. Now, when I have revelatory experiences I just don't think it's appropriate for some segment of my readership, and that makes for a boring, boring blog. Maybe someday I'll take all these stories and format them so people can find the good bits. Or use it to write a silly autobiographical book.
I'm not even the only tinyblog!
There's been tinyblog, a simple weblog tool. That's been around for awhile. I can't find the page anymore, but it used to link back to my page in tribute. I can't tell if it's the same thing as PHPTinyBlog which has a snarky FAQ and doesn't link to me. Plus, there's what looks to be a Japanese weblog tool written in Python called tinyblog. (Google translation is no help.)
And then now, there's actually another tinyblog BLOG. Well, technically it looks like it's called tinymeat tinyblog. It looks nice, but I'm still grouchy about it. Mainly because me and the weblog tool used to have the whole first page of google! Mainly because when I wanted to find an old post all I had to do was type tinyblog and a few words of the title into google. Now google's starting to index him and my precious namespace is under competition.
For christ's sake he even has a Tinystore. I mean, tinyplace is kind of different...I never capitalize the 't'. Hehehehe, but clearly it's a similar theme. However, Tinymeat is clearly a primarily dot com kinda thing, and tinyplace is strictly a dot org kinda thing. I just loved having this namespace to myself, but I guess all good things must come to an end. I'm just sore cause he never said "hi", but I never really said hi to him either.
But hey, a referrer log means more than an email anyway. So I guess this is my "hi". Hi, Tinymeat, you slick design bastard. We even have kind of a similar design sensibility. Only the tinyblog design is like from 2000. Who knows what it would look like if I designed it today.
I think the tinyblog has a limited lifespan. I think when I leave Seattle and go to Berkeley I'm going to retire it.
At least I have danieltalsky.com.
How did the internet get so damn crowded all of a sudden.
Ben made his camera go away the other day. Gone, gone, gone. It was a good little camera and it gave the tinyblog much photo love.
Thank you little Kodak Easyshare.
Now it's just me and the cameraphone.
Maybe I'll even break out the film camera
Flatbed scanning.... noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!.
Asshole posted the pictures of me in six braids on her Fangsgiving post, but like, Frida Kahlo styley.
Also, when we were in the car she coined a term to describe my general personality, "cantankerismé". I spelled it cantankarisma, but. she said it had to have an é to make it "frenchey pretenchey"
I did a little butchery this evening.
Last year, almost to the day, saltcellar brought a frozen 22(?) pound turkey to my house in his backpack.
"Here," he said, "my mom bought a hundred dollars worth of groceries at Fred Meyer, and she got this turkey for free. She doesn't eat birds, so I thought maybe you could use it.
"Sure. I'll take it," I said, and put it into my freezer.
Since then, I have entertained many guests by showing them the entire turkey in my freezer. It filled up almost my whole freezer. I wish I would have taken a picture.
I don't have a big roasting pan, and really wasn't interested in roasting the whole thing, so I just left it in there for a long time. Finally, the discussion went in the direction that if I wasn't going to roast it whole, I could probably thaw it, cut it up, and roast or boil the individual parts and get Ben, the human eating machine, to help me consume it's raw protein goodness, so the turkey's life would not have been in vain.
Now, as you can probably imagine, this is not a pleasant job to attempt, and one has to think several days in advance to defrost the turkey before one attempts it. So, after a good solid year in my freezer, I finally pulled it out and slammed it down on the grate of my fridge just a few days ago.
Then, I didn't do my normal grocery shopping for work on Sunday, and we went out to eat today. It seemed like it was tonight or never to do this bird in.
I covered my floor with newspaper and a big pan, cut open the webbing and sliced open the bag. I let the turkey drain a little and pulled out the organ meats. Then, I set the turkey on a pan, and grabbed my Henckels 4-star and dug in. I wish someone would have been there to witness me slicing and rending this great beast on my kitchen floor.
Finally, I popped the wings in the oven to bake for a midnight snack, popped the meaty carcass in a pot of boiling water for broth for tomorrow, and put the breasts and legs into big gallon ziplocs and put them in my fridge for easy cooking and consumption.
Thank you to the turkey, may it experience many lives better than that one.
Just pulled the wings out of the oven. Delicious.
(in no particular order)
Bought a new mala.
Got clean laundry to 90%, for the first time in a month. This is very difficult for me and usually requires outside assistance.
Started reading another Saul Bellow book.
Took Rowan to Game Day and really had a great time with her because she's a smart, fun kid.
Found out people were gossiping about me at a party. (gasp!)
Made stuffing.
Talked about an upcoming website called Eyeball Tornado.
Drank a lot of coffee.
Sliced my finger to the knuckle.
Enjoyed The Stranger's first annual Uncle Issue "Touched by an Uncle" and all of its various grodiness. That's what makes The Stranger so cool.
Drank a white russian made by the deft hand of Asshole.
Did a lot of few minute massages.
Got very wet in the very seasonable Seattle rain.
Found out that there are a range of mountains called Blue Mountains in Washington state. The internet is almost silent about them. Anyone know?
Some other cool stuff too...
Say hi. Who reads these days?
So I broke my phone, but I was on the way out with the phone company anyway. I have a new lil phone that's sleek and works well and doesn't have any visible antenna. And it has a camera too. Seems a little better.
I did six braids. I already took it out or I'd show you, but next time I will.
Some good friends gave me an old computer and a monitor. It was running Windows 98 but I put a stop to that. I put a nice fresh install of Ubuntu, the latest version, "The Breezy Badger". Now I have a rock solid little box for my living room. It's like a pentium 3 but Andy's grandpa or whatever put a buttload of RAM in it. (That's a metric buttload. (1mBL)) So it runs pretty nice, actually.
They may be humble toys...no tiny Ipods or whatever, but the fact that I have a little music server in my living room, and a way to write and watch movies is a pretty big improvement.
Being able to make calls from my office is pretty cool too.
I keep wanting to show this comic to my east coast friends ever since it showed up in a recent issue of The Stranger. It's not on the artist's website, but other hilarious comics of his are. If he minds me posting it here, I'm sure he or his lawyers will ceaseanddesist me.
Hey, thanks to everyone who wrote and wished me well. I still feel just as punk, but it was heartening to see so many people cared enough to send me a note.
Last year I started writing a list of all the people I absolutely had to buy presents for, and started writing a book of poetry for other people I wanted to show I gave a shit. Last year I came up with a halloween costume idea and executed on it and carved a damn pumpkin too. Last year I had a ragged joyful fucking Christmas and broke my arm but still felt nonetheless that I was basically on top of things.
This year I am totally behind. This year I am filled with dread at the thought of it. This year it seems too expensive. This year it seems like "goddamnit running my life just by itself is hard enough". This year I can't even write letters to anyone or practice any damn dharma or do just about anything else useful but bill hours and pay my bills. This year I do not feel like I have my shit together.
I know from expereience, that if I ignore the holdays, they just hurt worse. They are rushing up and I just can't seem to stand up and make myself get started. It's true, I'm dealing with some pretty heavy shit, but so is everyone. Fuck, man, it's time to start praying again. I am at wit's end.
I wrote in one of my burning man stories, the story of a mysterious bar out in deep playa. There were hot girls dancing out on the bar in the middle of the middle of nowhere, and it blew my mind.
They put up a cool site for the Sunrise Saloon. It's almost like a little game...there's a little area in each photo you can click to see the next one.
For one thing, this is my 800th tinyblog post. Check out the first one. Or, all of them.
For another thing, I just want to give props to the sweetest Firefox skin evah!
It's called pimpzilla.
As people who know me even kinda well know, I have what I just found out psychologists now call a Body-focused Repetitive Behavior. I don't remember when I first started biting my nails, but now that I'm 30, I feel like I want to stop.
When I was reading today, I was surprised to see the clinical advice (besides drugs):
Therapy for these disorders consists of two parts. The first, is Habit Reversal Training (HRT), a four-step process which teaches you awareness of your habits, how to relax, how to breathe and center yourself, and to perform a competing and opposing muscle response. (I have described this technique in a previous issue of TLC's IN TOUCH, in an article on cognitive/behavioral therapy for trich, which I'm sure you can get copies of.) It can be extremely useful if practiced daily and stubbornly, as it must become as automatic as the habit you are aiming to eliminate. These are stubborn problems for two reasons. First, you have probably rehearsed the unwanted behaviors hundreds or even thousands of times. It is important to accept that they will not simply be overcome in a few days or weeks. Second, you are fighting the fact that they feel good to do, and provide much short range satisfaction and either stimulation or soothing. It takes time and a good deal of effort to master, but I believe it is worth it. Research shows it to be an effective technique. The second part is known as Stimulus Control (SC). Skin picking and nail biting are a complex behaviors, with many different inputs. SC is a behavioral treatment that seeks to help sufferers first identify, and then eliminate, avoid, or change the particular activities, environmental factors, mood states, or circumstances that have become associated with, and that trigger picking or pulling. The goal here, is to consciously control these triggers that lead to the undesirable behaviors, and to create new learned connections between the urges new non-destructive behaviors."
http://www.homestead.com/westsuffolkpsych/SkinPicking.html
Most of the time I'm in this group:
Some do it in an automatic way, as if they are in a trance and not really thinking about what they are doing. Usually, they are involved in some other activity at the same time such as reading, talking on the phone, working at the computer, watching TV, etc.
So I would say about 90% of the time I really just don't even have it in my mind. One time I tried to stop doing it before, and I just couldn't stand the feel of new fingernails, and I would just notice I was doing it.
I feel kinda crazy lately. SPACE MADNESS!!!
What a beautiful sad lonely night.
As you may know, I did this thing at burning man where I was "The Witness". I even wore a T-shirt. I tried to experience all the creativity that people were manifesting. Then, I took pictures, and did my best to write nakedly and honestly about my experience at burning man.
Lots of people saw me and said that they wished they had written, but it really did take a very specific kind of determination to see through the busyness, excitement, intoxication and haze and just get the writing done.
I prepared as much as I could before I left, so that when I got back I could hit it hard and throw up the photos and stories so people could see it right away when they got back. I think I did a pretty good job. I wish I could have written even more about little playa stories, but I guess this is a handful for anyone to read. Please take a look when you get a chance and let me know what you think:
http://tinyplace.org/thewitness
Finally, all the hummus is made, the eggs are boiled, the laundry is clean, and I am going to Burning Man in the morning. This will be the last post.
The Witness site is up and ready to go for when I come back now. I even wrote myself a little custom content management system so it won't be such a chore when I come back and want to post all my experiences.
I will be available by phone still for Sunday, but then that's about it until the 6th or so. I will be back the 7th. It's been interesting seeing everyone go, one by one. Only a couple of people I know who are going still have yet
