Dissecting A Sign

A combination found only in Seattle...

This past weekend, I was wandering the streets with a friend chatting when we both looked at a building with a sign that said “Butters” on it. She and I had a five minute discussion about how her first instinct was to laugh because it said “butt,” then she noticed it said “butters,” and then finally she finally associated it with the South Park character of the same name.

What is remarkable to me about this conversation is that her thought process was exactly the same as mine. This is not an isolated incident. I find that the people with whom I best get along all have the initial reaction to laugh signs such as this. If you must, call it a bit of 14-year-old immaturity still residing inside of us, but it’s there. You can’t deny it.

Nor should you.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered this sign on my corner while walking down the street to the nearby, run-down corner shop. This barbecue place shares a building with the shop that I frequent when I run out of Diet Pepsi at my apartment and need a 20 ounce fix. It began life a few months ago as the Fighting Cock Rotisserie, but now it’s a full fledged BBQ/Espresso place.

Of course, I’m glossing over the fact that the name inspires a sophomoric chuckle. So I snapped a picture with my camera phone and decided to write about why, exactly, I have to laugh.

The reasons…in bullet point format:

• I’m from Oklahoma, and I know that the sign is wrong. Cock fighting in Oklahoma was a legal sport until 2002, when the state finally decided that forcing chickens to fight one another to the death is a bad thing. Plus, I’m thinking that if you’re implying a fighting rooster is the type of meat you serve, then you’re not doing your business any favors.
• Only in Seattle would such a combo restaurant exist. Seriously…barbecue and espresso? I don’t think I’ve heard of a weirder food combination since my last viewing of Talladega Nights, when Cal Naughten, Jr. says that he and Ricky Bobby go together like “Chinese food and chocolate puddin’,” which reminds me, does anyone know of any Shake n’ Bake-themed restaurants?
• This place is obviously confused about its sexuality. Yeah…I know. You all were waiting for this one because it’s the first thing you thought of when you saw that sign. I’d be lying if I were to say that’s not the reason why I initially laughed as well. Seriously, you have to admit that there are some people out there who are still 14-year-old boys at heart who are going to think to themselves “Oh my god! They are talking about penises!” Let’s spend a moment on this one. Fightin’ cock…doesn’t that imply that this restaurant is struggling with the fact that it’s gay, much like a certain former Idaho Senator? To take this one step further, isn’t naming a barbecue joint with such sexually ambiguous and punny name much like naming an upscale boutique store something like Buy Curious? And to take this bullet point well past the point of good taste and restraint, how do you say that name? Where do you stress it? This is very important. If you put the stress on the first word – FIGHTING Cock Barbecue – then it sounds vaguely homophobic. If you stress the words “cock barbecue,” then it sounds like a party that Jeffery Dahmer would have had.

Anyway, there are signs like this all over the place. They don’t necessarily inspire such juvenile observations as the ones that I’ve just made, but still…they are out there.

Witness:  Thai One On – a Thai place in Lake City that is a pun of “Tie one on,” as in to go on a bender.

Witness:  PeePod – a deodorant cake that is suspended inside the upper lip of a urinal in a white-ish plastic cage.

There are tons more signs like these, and as long as I have a decent camera phone with me, I will snap pictures. They are the eccentricities of our cities and our towns. They are bits of our local color. And they are constant reminders that we are a lot dumber than we give ourselves credit for.

Life On Pause

I came home sick from work earlier today. I woke up and found it difficult to swallow. My throat felt, still feels, like someone is choking me, but only slightly…only enough to be annoying. Leaving work was decidedly not fun. I had ridden my bicycle to work as I usually do. However, I couldn’t bring it home on the bicycle racks because Metro won’t let you mount a bike to a bus in the downtown ride free zone. I had to leave my bike at work. This also meant that I left my keys in my under-saddle bag. I discovered this once I got to my apartment and realized that I had no way of opening the door. I had to catch a bus back downtown to grab my keys from my bag. It was an ordeal, but only a small one…only enough to be annoying.

I finally returned home. The apartment has been quiet since my former roommate, Thom, moved out. It was usually pretty quiet when he was around since he spent a good deal of his time in his room. However, there is an energy when another person is in the apartment. Once that person moves out, it feels like ghosts are keeping you company as you watch the dust settle.

Perhaps it’s silly of me, but lately I’ve taken to greeting the empty apartment as if an imaginary girlfriend or wife is here waiting for me. I often walk through the door and say “Hallo, Liebe.” Then I sigh at the silence. Someday there will be an answer. It’s a comfort, but only a small one…only enough to be annoying.

I’m getting these little quirks out of my system before my new roommate moves in. While she knows me and is a friend of mine, I certainly do not want the stranger of my idiosyncrasies to  rush to the forefront of the roommate dynamic too quickly. If grade school and high school’s hidden curriculum is social interaction, then living with roommates in your twenties is certainly an opportunity to hone your skill set.

So, upon returning home, the dance of my day included eating and napping, feeling the growing frustration at the perma-knot in my throat, sipping hot herbal tea (licorice spice), and beginning a Blu-Ray movie or two before slipping into a nap on the couch. I was good enough to turn the movie off before napping. I did not want The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford to influence any dreams I may have had. From what I saw of the film already, there’s a sort of aching and detached beauty and I want to be sure to watch it when I can devote my whole attention to it.

This evening, I started watching BBC’s Planet Earth, and it reminded me of a story that I told to a new friend yesterday about my childhood. I was a strange kid. The neighborhood boys didn’t really cotton to me. Instead, they’d come over and play with my Tonka toys in my back yard while simultaneously ostracizing me from their group. Rather than try and force my way in, I retreated to my parents’ bedroom in order to retrieve several World Book Encyclopedias. I took mini “vacations” by browsing their pages. The World Book is the reason why I could spell my name and write it in cursive before I even entered kindergarten.

So I began watching Planet Earth, the caves episode. It begins with men base jumping from the mouth of a cave shaft somewhere in Mexico that is some 1,300 feet deep. I don’t know if it was the sweeping movement of the cameras, the way that the men disappeared into the blackness, or the shots of them floating down to the cave floor via parachutes, but I had to pause the program.

What am I avoiding?

I learned this behavior a long time ago – avoidance. Rather than confront the issue, I would turn to other things in order to distract myself. It’s a back-breaking thing, avoidance. It cripples relationships and paralyzes people. I have spent far too much time in therapy to avoid critical things in my life. Therefore, I have to examine why I feel the need to retreat and take a mini “vacation.” I have figured out that I have spent a lot of time running away from taking the big chances on the things that I actually want to do and instead have diverted those energies to setting up roadblocks to my personal progress. While I have learned a lot about myself and am a lot better than I have been in the past, it is still a problem. The problem smaller than it used to be, but it’s still there…only enough to be annoying.

And so, I sat here and looked at my list of life goals. I have check off a lot of them already and in short order, too. I think that normal people would sit back and say “I’ve done all of this before I turned 30?!? Awesome!”

However, I am not a normal person.

The biggest life goals on my list are to make at least one movie that receives a premiere and to write professionally. I have spent too much time trying to derail the ambition that pulses deep inside of me, and quite frankly scares me from time to time.

That ends now.

I spent the last week helping out with production work on a huge photoshoot for an online graphic novel dealing with a post-apocalyptic zombie dystopia and shooting footage for music videos. On Wednesday night, I will be meeting up with some people in order to plan a series of short films and hopefully scheduling some writing sessions for a feature length script I hope to find someone to direct so that I can act in it.

And in November, I will write a novel.

Tonight, I signed up for NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. The goal is simple enough: From November 1 through November 30, you must write a 50,000-word (175 page) novel. You have to write roughly 1,700 words a day in order to make this happen. In order to “win” you must meet your goal by midnight of the 30th. The sheer volume of writing that you must do in order to meet goal forces you to forget about editing. You have to tamp down any perfectionist tendencies that you may have. You have to become comfortable with the fact that a lot of what you write will be utter shit. But, and here’s the thing, you just have to write.

I will do this, and I think that I can win. I rode from Seattle to Portland in one day, and much of the last 9 miles was spent riding with one leg, so I think that I can write 50,000 words in one month. It is simply about determination.

When I set my mind to something, it is kind of scary, but only a little…only enough to be annoying.

So for those of you who wish to follow my progress, here is my NaNoWriMo author’s page. For those of you who are taking part, feel free to add me as a writing buddy.

I’ll post updates here once the event begins. Until then, wish me luck, keep your fingers crossed, and hope like hell that my eyes won’t cross from staring at my computer screen.

Now that this is done, it’s time to learn about caves.

My Future Pup

I want this dog!

“I wanna be just like you. I figure all I need, is a lobotomy and some tights.”

Last night I went to karaoke. I had been battling myself on whether or not to go. The afternoon before I had gone to the movies by myself and yes, it was a movie that dealt with a guy’s relationship and break up. I had originally planned on heading to this barbecue at Golden Gardens after the movie, but thought that I shouldn’t be around people when I’m stuck in my own head. The thing is that when you are stuck in your own head, that is the BEST TIME to be around people. It’ll pull you out of the spiraling holes into which your mind disappears. I always seem to forget this.

Whatever funk I had landed in the day before carried over into yesterday, and so I heard the siren call of pillows and television and computers calling out to me, tempting me to stay in. “It’s raining outside.  You don’t want to go out in that,” they whispered. The thing is, I kind of did want to be out in the weather. I kind of wanted to mount the front fender on my bicycle. I became super excited when I heard the inimitable sound of cars tires cutting through the water on the rain-slicked pavement. It may have only been 63 degrees, but it certainly smelled like a summer rain, something which we had been sorely lacking here in Seattle.

I had told a couple of my friends that I would be at The Dubliner. I really don’t like to renege on promises, so I geared up. I wore my tie and my button-down shirt and threw my rain jacket over that and headed out. I really wanted to go to the Dub and sing “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds. I wanted to dedicate it to John Hughes, whose film The Breakfast Club made that song famous. There wasy no way that I was going to pass up that opportunity.

John Hughes died last week, and that news really bummed me out. So much of why I got into movies in the 1980s is directly tied to Hughes’s body of work. He wrote and directed The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Sixteen Candles, Uncle Buck, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Planes, Trains & Automobiles. On top of that, he also wrote National Lampoon’s Vacation, European Vacation and Christmas Vacation as well as Pretty in Pink, Mr. Mom, Career Opportunities, and one of my favorite guilty pleasure movies, The Great Outdoors as well as the Home Alone movies.

He made movies that were entertaining. He may not have been able to hit it just right every time, but at least you could be sure that, by and large, you’d enjoy most of what you’d see on screen. Sure his output from the 1990s through this decade was less than desirable, but still that doesn’t mar the reverence that I have for his work from the 1980s. Regardless of their plots, the protagonists that he crafted were almost always relatable. Though dated in its dialogue and wardrobe, The Breakfast Club and its main characters are all people that we were or we knew growing up. We all had our Benders and Claires. We were each “a brain…and an athlete…and a basket case…a princess…and a criminal.” His sensitivity toward teen characters and his sharp humor make his best work the types of films that you can go back to again and again with the butterflies of nostalgia churning in your stomach.

Who didn’t admire Ferris? Who didn’t want to punch Vernon just to see if messing with the bull would really get you the horns? I am pretty sure that, for better or worse, most of the dudes I know all at one point or another in their lives related to Duckie Dale with an aching resonance.

And let’s not forget the fact that Hughes can be considered somewhat of a trendsetter. Sure, Quentin Tarantino peppered his films Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction with chatty-kathy criminals and hitmen discussing the minutiae of popular culture, but we can’t forget that those characters and their conversations owe so much to Hughes and his script for The Breakfast Club, which is essentially about a group of high schoolers sitting around and talking for 90-minutes. And yes, though some of that dialogue is dated, there’s certainly a truthful ring to it.

I wonder how Hughes will be revered in twenty or thirty years. Will people care that the dude behind Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is the same guy behind the Beethoven movies, Maid in Manhattan, or Drillbit Taylor? Or will they sit back and enjoy the exploits of Gary and Wyatt in Weird Science while pausing for a moment when Robert Downey, Jr. appearsin the film before exclaming “Holy shit, that’s Tony Stark! In a John Hughes movie! Badass!”

I typically don’t react to celebrity deaths, but Hughes’s passing really bummed me out for a day and a half. I didn’t know the guy, obviously. And I was never going to meet him. However, his work left an indelible mark on my life. When I was a kid, his best movies were the only ones that could compete with my childhood top two of The Goonies and Amadeus.

Yes, Amadeus was one of my favorite films as a kid. I was weird. So what?

I was shocked to learn that he didn’t agonize over writing scripts. He wrote all of the drafts of Ferris Bueller in less than two weeks. He wrote the script for Planes, Trains & Automobiles over the course of a weekend. Roger Ebert once said something to the effect of Hughes writing compelling stories about relatable characters about which he had very clear ideas. The quickness with which he wrote would certainly prove that.

Maybe his is a lesson from which I can learn. I have some very clearly defined characters floating around in my head. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and I can hear them talking. I have even dreamt of situations in which they would find themselves.

Some of my favorite story ideas have come to me while falling asleep.

I suppose that all that’s left to do is actually write the scripts. I hope to make a single film one day in the not-too-distant future. And once it is made, it will be dedicated to John Hughes, who is, in my mind, an unlikely fallen hero.

And so, to Mr. Hughes, I would like to say that I left my apartment last night in order to sing a song dedicated to your memory and it was just the right thing to break me out of my funk. I wound up having a great time. Rest in peace, sir.

Words Count, Not Word Counts

I often joke about people sucking off of the same brain tube. I think that I may be just as guilty as everyone else. It’s been hard for me to come back and start writing again since this incident. I don’t know if I’m paranoid or not, but a lot of my ideas and the ideas of my friends find their ways into other people’s books, movies, and songs. Does this mean that we are all in some way or another plugged into the some thought stream of popular culture?

I went to the movies today in order to see 500 Days of Summer. I was more than a little worried, because I had heard of a really interesting use of split-screen, and I had shot a short film last year utilizing the technique. It was important that this movie didn’t use it in the same way that I did because I am working on that story again with the intention of fleshing it out into a feature-length script.

Luckily, the split screen scene in 500 Days was nothing like what I am working on, so I can breathe a sigh of relief.

Still, though, I’m not so sure I’ll be posting details about what I’m working on any more. I may make some vague comments about structure and things of that nature, but I’m going to avoid detail. I don’t want to supply anyone with any ideas unless they first get those ideas from stuff I make.

I will get back into the habit of writing again. Stephen King said that in order to be a good writer, you have to dedicate a few hours a day to the craft. I want to be a good writer; therefore I will make the time.

I want to institute a word quota. Not that I want to emulate Mr. King, but he does set a 2,000-words-a-day goal and he keeps pushing until he reaches it. When I was waiting at Love Field in Dallas in order to catch my flight back to Seattle in May, I fired up my computer and wrote about my trip back home. Before I knew it I had 2,000 words. Not every day will be that easy, but I’m going to give a goal of 1,000 words a shot.

I figure the easiest way to keep track of my word count is to compose my blog posts in Microsoft Word. There is a word counter in the bottom right-hand corner of the document window.

A 1,000 word goal will also force me to begin writing earlier than 12:30 AM.

I should probably add something like this to my blog:

Disclaimer:  The author of this blog has set a 1,000-words-a-day goal for writing. There may be long periods of senseless rambling. Posts may erratically jump from topic to topic before circling back around and meeting up with the original point of the post. Not everything you read will be good or compelling. But it will be something to read at the very least. The author also wishes to keep whining to a minimum.

The whining thing will be flexible.

Weekend summer is as follows:

Friday:  Headed home after work and began streaming season one of Lost on my TV through my blu-ray player and Netflix. I have never seen the show, so I have A LOT of catching up to do. Made it through the first half of the pilot when I received a phone call from my friend Shiloh letting me know that she and her boyfriend Joe were finished hanging out with Joe’s mom and that they were coming by to pick me up in order to head out to the Atlantic Crossing for drinks and chilling out on the back patio. Once we arrived, we sat down and began to have a series of long, heated, and intricate discussions about many topics. The last 70 minutes of conversation was spent between Joe and his friends Chris and Spike. They were discussing the Terminator film franchise and the impact of causal loops in the story’s time line with such detail. I had absolutely nothing to contribute to the discussion. It was obvious that they had all thought about these movies much, much more than I ever have. After the AC, Joe and Shiloh brought me back to my place in order to watch another couple of episodes of Lost.

Saturday:  Woke up relatively early (10 AM after having gone to bed at 4). I didn’t sleep the whole night through. I never can. I had a little breakfast and was about to brush my teeth when my brother called. We talked for nearly an hour-and-a-half. I called my dad after talking to my brother. Shortly after that, I called Shiloh. We had made plans to head to the KEXP BBQ at Seattle Center. We headed there a little after two and met up with our friends Joy and David. Shiloh’s boyfriend was working and would meet up with us later. We sat through some crappy music before we all decided to head back to my place in order to make banana and macadamia nut muffins. We also watched some more lost. Joe showed up around 8:30 and we headed out for some pizza.

Sunday:  Woke up. Breakfast. Called my mom. Showered. Headed out to the movies. It was something of a mistake to see that movie today by myself. It was a boy/girl relationship/break-up type of movie. There were some key scenes that hit me kind of hard. So, I started to think about things and without anyone there to rescue me from my own brain, I slid into my own head and barely found the way out. I headed to Target for a toothbrush and then went home after buying some groceries at Fred Meyer. I had vegetarian tacos for lunch/dinner and watched another episode or two of Lost. Netflix streaming started getting a bit wonky, so I struck up a couple of conversations with people online…mostly via Facebook. I should have left my apartment after returning home from the movies. I was invited to a barbecue at Golden Gardens. However, I was stuck in my head and thus felt it better to keep to myself. However, I began chatting with one of the Monday night karaoke regulars and we decided to meet up and see a comedy this evening, so we watched The Hangover – bringing my total in-theater viewings of this movie to three for the summer. That’s fine. I only paid full price once and I saw it for free once as well. While heading out to the movies one more time in an attempt to cleanse my palate was good and most definitely a welcome diversion, my head is still circling with thoughts.

Those thoughts, however, will wait for tomorrow evening. It is now about a quarter-after-one in the morning and I have now overshot my goal by about 150 words. Not bad, albeit somewhat rambling in nature. The focus will come later.

One Of These Things Is Not Like The Others

So, I’ve been taking it fairly easy today relaxing my slightly aching muscles and the achilles tendon which I tweaked on the route yesterday. I was looking at ESPN this morning while icing my ankle and noticed a FanZone Poll that reminded me of this classic Sesame Street bit:

Which one is different? Do you know?

Here’s the thing – you have four deserving plays. However, the plays each take a backseat to the leading vote-getter. The one for which most people are voting is not even a play at all. It’s a no-hitter. A no-hitter is a complete game. While the pitcher is throwing the ball and his stuff is ultimately being missed by opposing batters, the catcher is calling the game and his teammates are making plays on balls in play. Even though the effort is sometimes minimal, a no-hitter still requires some amount of teamwork.

Each of the other selections are singular plays made by a singular player on a ball set in play. While Daniel Murphy’s fantastic, off-balance flip required the pitcher to cover first and catc the ball in order to complete the force, he still had to make that initial, singular play. It was one out, not 27. It was a moment in a 9-inning game, not nine pitched innings.

I know this is a silly thing to be writing about, but if the staff writers at ESPN can’t tell the fundamental difference between a no-hitter and a diving catch in centerfield, then perhaps they should hire me as an editor.

204 Miles To Go Before I Sleep

I just got home from the Mariners game not too long ago. As soon as I got home, I opened a Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi and set to work on my bicycle saddle. When I rode to work on Tuesday, I noticed a popping and creaking from the seat, so I decided to fix it tonight.

Tonight was the only night that I would have a chance.

The fix was simple enough – remove the saddle and seat post, remove the screws, clean off the road grit, apply grease to the screws, reattach the saddle to the post, put it all back on the bike. This also gave me the opportunity to better center my new saddle on the post. I’ll test it out by riding to therapy, work, and then home tomorrow. Everything should be alright. Everything needs to be alright.

On Saturday, I ride my bicycle to Portland.

My Cannondale Synapse Sport 5

I’ll be honest. I know that I can do the one-day ride, all 204 miles in 14 hours or less. However, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. I have never undertaken anything so physically demanding. Never. My longest ride has been 131 miles. On Saturday, I will eclipse that mark by 73 miles. I wonder when the gravity of this situation will sink in. Perhaps it won’t sink in until I’ve completed the ride and I find my friends Shiloh and Baz, who will be waiting for me in downtown Portland.

I stayed up a little extra last night packing my  rack bag. It’s a snazzy Topeak trunk that I’ve had for about four years now. The sides zip down into handy panniers. In the left pannier, I’m carrying my post-ride change of clothes – a t-shirt and pair of comfortable khakis. In the right pannier, I’m carrying a pair of flip flops, my sunscreen, and my friction gel. The main trunk compartment is large and in it I’m carrying a spare tube, tire levers, my bike tool, a patch kit, my map, my wallet, cellphone, my headlight, a tube of Nuun tablets, a ziplock bag of Advil, Tiger Balm muscle strain patches, and four Peanut Butter Crunch Clif Bars.

I packed all of these things three days before the ride. I used to do the same thing when I was a kid during the last week of summer vacation. I would organize all of my new pencils and pens, I would put my new folders in my Trapper Keeper, I would carefully situate everything in my backpack, and finally I would pick out the clothes I would wear for my first day of school.

I have laid out what I will be wearing on the ride this Saturday:

• My STP jersey
• My Castelli bib tights
• My Cascade “Give Cyclists Three Feet of Space” socks
• My Sidi shoes
• My Bell helmet
• My Pearl Izumi gloves
• My Serfas cycling glasses

I’m so ready for this ride that I’m regressing to the excitement that I felt in the days leading up to the fourth grade. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.

For those of you who may worry about me on the road, you really shouldn’t be too worried. This is one of the largest rides in the United States with 10,000 participants. The ride is fully supported, so there will be people along the route making sure we don’t get lost and that we get whatever help we need, be it mechanical or medical. Plus, this is the 30th anniversary of the event and I’m riding in it just four months shy of my 3oth birthday. I will have fun. I will be safe.

And I will be sure to go to sleep super-early tomorrow night.

I hope to have some pictures to share later on.

This is going to be epic.

My Photo From “Barney Stinson Night” at The Dubliner

"...and suit up!"

I think I can pull of wearing a purple shirt rather well.

It’s funny that I suited up for “Barney Stinson Night,” since the consensus among my friends is that I’m eerily similar to Ted Mosby in manner of dress, vocal mannerisms, and in general attitude.

Berlin

I just wrote a lengthy email and sent it to my friend, Amber. It contains a few places she should check out when she is in Berlin later this month.

I miss that city so much.

DAMMIT!

“And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just “Something That Happened.” This cannot be “One of Those Things… ” This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can’t. This Was Not Just A Matter Of Chance. Ohhhh. These strange things happen all the time.”

The Narrator – Magnolia (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1999)

I want to curse! I want to punch the pillows on my bed hard. I am almost mad enough to drop kick a yapping dog.

Why?

Well, after writing about A.V. Club, I woke up this morning to read the article about Nathan Rabin’s new book The Big Rewind:  A Memoir Brought To You By Pop Culture. I wanted to see what the book would be about and was greeted with this description:

“The following is an excerpt from The Big Rewind: A Memoir Brought To You By Pop Culture by longtime A.V. Club Head Writer Nathan Rabin. In each chapter of The Big Rewind, Rabin uses a book, song, movie, album, or television show as a springboard to discuss a period in his life.”

I’m glad that my roommate already left for work, because what I said when I read that wasn’t pretty and was rather loud. You see, THAT WAS MY IDEA! I have been working on something very, very similar since 2007 and have saved it as a book project tentatively titled The Soundtrack of Me. And this is not one of those things where the published work and the work on which I was working are kinda similar but not really.

No. This is not one of those things.

After reading the excerpt, I can definitively say that his book and the one which I have been writing for the last two years are the EXACT. SAME. THING.

Over the last 12 years, my friends Robert, Joe, and I have joked about how people have to have our apartments bugged because so many of the funny stuff that we’ve discussed together winds up making it into various movies. I guess that this is just another one of those instances.

“And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that strange things happen all the time. And so it goes, and so it goes.”