Remember kids, God is dead and we're alone.

Now it's my turn to link to YouTube! Check out a clip from comedy genius Louis C.K.'s new sitcom on HBO. YouTube is the only place I will be able to see this show until 2010 when HBO releases it on DVD. In the meantime, I can take comfort in the fact that this clip is pretty funny and true to C.K.'s form. He takes the premise of the loser family man sitcom and actually makes it watchable. I have yet to see the interactions with his wife character but I have faith that he won't just do the usual sexist as hell “My wife always nags me and all I want to do is watch the game” jokes.



This article was seriously on the FRONT PAGE of our local paper this morning. What? There's nothing more important going on the world than teenagers feeling alienated by MySpace?

looking for you

Plight is on hold. The budget is just too unfeasible for a first-time feature. This doesn't mean it won't get made. It just means we're putting it off until we can make it right. In the meantime, we will be focusing on Faye's ghost story script, Fetch (which has little to no special effects and only a few characters…think Japanese horror film but without Toshio!). This also puts ME on the back burner a bit. The only reason both of us were directing Plight is because we both wrote it. So this time 1 writer = 1 director. Dom said I can co-produce but what does that mean in terms of an uber indie film? It sounds kind of like “associate producer” and anyone who's seen State and Main knows what that means.

I'm excited for Fetch. The concept alone makes my skin crawl and the Japanese horror film style is hot right now so it has a good chance of going somewhere. There's also a chance that we could get one of our favorite little blonde teen detectives to star in it. I always wanted Faye to get Fetch made. I just assumed it would happen after we got famous together.

In the meantime, I have been commissioned to work on some of my ideas “just in case”. Unfortunately, none of them are particularly cheap or as much of a winning concept as Faye's. They are more along the lines of “hollywood horror for a quick buck”. One is basically an Eli Roth movie. Maybe I'll write that one and send it to him along with a picture of my boobies and see how far that gets me. Going through my short Rolodex of hackneyed ideas makes me feel a little bit like, well, a hack.

Anyway, I'm just a little worried about how I fit into this new GadZook plan, is all. I am happy to take one for the team if it means I will be brought back into the picture at a later date. I just feel a little redundant right now.

I'm sure Faye and Dom will try to argue with me here (or at least I HOPE they'll feel the need to do so) but there's no need. I know I'm still part of the team and blah di blah. I just wanted to whinge a little.

my zejom



The weekend kicked off with dinner and cocktails at the Liberty. In attendance were Brugos, Elyse, Booze (who would apparently be disturbed to learn that she is being mentioned in a blog) and Scott. This was a totally different experience than my first one with Meep on a Sunday afternoon. Of course, a Friday will always have a different vibe than a Sunday as far as clientèle and crowd size, but this was also (and perhaps more so) an employee issue.

The sushi chef and waiter were different than the ones Meep and I encountered previously. I ordered the same drink that I had gotten before, but, for some reason, it wasn’t nearly as delicious (partly due to lack of a sugared rim?). The sushi rolls that Brugos and I ordered, whilst still delicious, weren’t presented as fancily. Perhaps these details had something to do with the difference in treatment of two single girls on a Sunday versus a group of mixed gender folks on a Friday. Regardless, it was a bit disappointing.

Things only got more uncomfortable as our waitress’ demeanor was slightly odd. She seemed like she had never waited tables before and was extremely nervous about it. She was meek and forgot drink orders repeatedly. Still, she carried a certain charm in her shyness. And she seemed to appreciate the fact that every time she came to our table, we were talking about something weirder. We also had a little drink mishap wherein the drink that Booze ordered (being the same drink that she had just gotten and liked) tasted different, and not at all pleasant. We passed the drink around and confirmed: it was gross. Scott remarked, with the waitress present, that it tasted like baby aspirin. The waitress thought he had said “baby ass”. Luckily, she seemed to find that funny, and not at all disturbing that this man might know what baby ass tastes like.

The small space began to fill up and, by 9, there were groups of people playing table vulture. Our couch spot was much coveted, but we were just about done anyway. A new waitress arrived on the scene. Unlike our cute and sensibly dressed shy waitress, this new blonde girl wore a ridiculously short shirt which would make it impossible for her to daintily lean down to take the orders of people sitting on couches. She, clearly believing herself to be super hot, didn’t seem bothered by this. She helped clear our table and asked Scott if he would like another beer. He said no thank you and she respondede with a bitchy smile with what I SWORE sounded like “good”. What the fuck? I asked Scott if she had just said “good”. It was loud in there so he wasn’t sure. However, after we had settled the bills with our shy little muffett, the blonde bitch (who Booze and I had just witnessed making a BIG show up putting her long, flowy hair in a ponytail), came up to us to collect our bills. “Are we all set here?” she asked. We said yes. This time, in NO uncertain terms, she flashed her cunty little smile at us again and said “good”. It occurred to me then that she was taking over the shift and knew that she wouldn’t be collecting the tip from us, so she wanted us out of her section ASAP. But she shouldn’t make it THAT obvious to people who may, one day, be in her section and responsible for her tip. Needless to say, I won’t be spending a lot of time in that place on a Friday or Saturday. Sunday is the way to go.

After we vacated the Liberty, the Boobergs and I crashed a birthday party for one of Brugos’ friends at the Canterbury. The birthday girl was extremely drunk. I’d never met her before, but she apparently felt it was her duty to mention the fact that she caught Brugos leaving Capital Hill at 7:30am on a weekday. She didn’t “want to get [him] in trouble” though. She mentioned it two more times, even after I told her that there was nothing suspicious about this and that the girl she saw him with was most likely me.

T’was the evening of the bitchy blonde waitress. I missed that sweet little blonde waitress with the piercing and said so, realizing after the fact that it made me sound like an 80 year old man. I suppose that wouldn’t be the first time I have sounded as such.


I spent most of the day getting ready for the Hovelwarming: Two trips to Safeway, one trip to Walgreens, one trip to the liquor store and one trip to the party store on 15th. (Thanks to the ailing Meep for accompanying me on errands). This was followed by a good cleaning of the apartment. Of particular note, I used TWO lint rollers in their entirely in order to clean all of Tobe’s hair off the couch. And this was AFTER I vacuumed it. Note to self: invest on a cream-colored couch cover and pillow set ASAP. Or shave Tobe.

I then started in on the baking. I finished decorating the Triscuits with easy-cheese just as the first guest arrived.

The party was a lot of fun. And most of you should know as you were there. Thanks to the Boobergs for the truly lovely orchid (my first plant in the new place…god, I hope I don’t kill it) and to Meep for the AWESOME framed picture of my sweet little Tobe. Thanks Borg for the long-coveted costume dress (which I can only hope looks at hot on me as it did on Borg). Thanks, Ahe for the gourmet boxed wine and to Howland for the traditional Franzia variety. I now have enough cheap wine and beer in my apartment to last at LEAST a week.

The only awkwardness occurred when LITERALLY everyone I work with arrived. They had been drinking since noon. They were in frat mode. They didn’t mesh with my other guests. They also may have pissed off my neighbors when they loudly shotgunned several beers out back. Note to self: keep co-workers and friends separate when’ere possible. Further note: hide rubber novelty dildos when boss is in apartment, for he will surely chase the receptionist with said novelties.

The evening finished out with Sherwood, Borg, Howland and me enjoying the cool night air in the parking lot and debating not whether or not the destruction of humanity will occur, but when and how. It looks grim, but if I find myself at the end of the world with similar company, I won’t complain.

Something compelled to wake up early and clean. Perhaps it was the knowledge that I had a bit of a search on my hands for all the kitchen objects that my boss and the intern had decided to hide the previous night. Perhaps it was the dips and hors de’ oeuvres festering in the kitchen. Regardless, I was quite proud of myself when, an hour later, the only evidence of a raging party sat in 3 bags of recycling. If I can keep up this kind of compulsive cleanliness, I might actually be mistaken for an adult.

Brugos joined me for breakfast, after which we hit the road to seek out the ultimate mini-golf experience. This experience was found at Parkland Putters in Tacoma. It was a lovely day to be outside. With 4 courses to choose from, we ventured the “wild and hilly” course. It was indeed challenging, but we welcomed it. And we each scored a hole-in-one during the course. We received ribbons to commemorate our competition. Brugos was sported the blue and I the red, but it was a close game. Besides, everyone knows that first place is second loser. NO FEAR!

We wanted to do a little T-Town karaoke but had hours to kill before this would happen, so we decided to fill our bellies and hang out at Point Defiance for a bit. We lunched at El Toro (not the one that Meep and I used to frequent, since that one was reduced to ash and rubble in a fiery inferno, along with our dreams and innocence), grabbed delicious Antique Sandwich Company milkshakes and snagged a nice little spot on the world’s softest grass on which to digest.

After that, we wandered around Never Never Land, Fort Nisqualy, and the waterfront, before heading to Bob’s Java Jive to await the karaoke.

Bob’s Java Jive is the very definition of a punk rock dive bar. Why there isn’t a place like that in Seattle is beyond me. Brugos pointed out that were a punk rock dive bar that had a smoking patio and karaoke 7 nights a week in Seattle; it would have been packed with people, even on a Sunday. In Tacoma, however, the place was empty. Eventually, the DJ showed up. Brugos and I were the only people in attendance who weren’t close personal friends of the Java Jive. The song selection was pretty good and there were definitely some unusual selections available. We were kind of nervous to be singing at what essentially felt like a private party that we were crashing. They didn’t seem to thrown by our presence though. Twice when Brugos was up, the ENTIRE room (which was only 4-5 people) went outside for a smoke. This included the DJ.

Before we knew it, it was 11:45 and, this being a school night, DEFINITELY time to hit the road. Since it was late Sunday night, we assumed that I-5 would be empty and that we would be home in no time. Dead wrong. Apparently, some genius decided that Sunday night was the perfect time to reduce I-5 from 4 lanes to ONE. Very frustrating. This was compounded by the fact that we both had to pee. Eventually, the merging was complete, we had peed, and traffic was moving normally. But it was well after 1am by the time I was snug in my bed. Amazingly, I am only HALF a zombie today.

confederacy now?

I know a lot of people have blogged recently about the governments' proposition to put severe, ridiculous restrictions on abortion and birth control. This week, The Stranger has an article that outlines all of these threats in one, horrifying, concise list. It's all very Handmaid's Tale and it makes my vagina clench with fear. There isn't, however, any suggestion on what can be done about these threats. Just the notion that we should all be aware of what's being proposed. So we're aware. Now what? I don't want to wake up one morning and find out that I must now make babies for wealthy white men and their frigid wives through a hole in a sheet, or else run away and become a prohibition-style whore. But to whom can we voice such concerns (besides the other liberal bloggers out there)? And how can we make sure this doesn't happen?

The obvious choice.



After work, I met Meep at the grocery store to purchase provisions and catch the buses to Fremont for Elyse’s birthday party. I made a little bus cocktail for us.

On the bus to downtown, we overheard two crusty, possibly homeless, possibly just hippy types exchanging recipes across the aisle. Apparently, they were all about the “fresh grated parmesan. Not that other shit.” We also saw a teenager holding a bouquet of flowers and inexplicably taking swigs from a bottle of Tabasco sauce. We could not figure out her motivation for doing so. She was alone so it didn’t appear to be peer pressure.

While waiting for the Fremont bus downtown, Meep and I consumed our bus cocktails. The bus to Fremont was less eventful than the bus downtown. We got to Fremont 30 minutes early, so we decided to have a drink at the much lauded Buckaroo Tavern. It was, indeed, a very pleasant experience, full of gentlemanly bikers and big comfortable booths.

We arrived at Elyse’s just in time to test out her karaoke machine, which is one of those self-contained mic units that gives you a grade when you’re done with your song. Early on, Meep set the precedent with a score of 92 that was, to my knowledge, not beaten. Her song was “Alone”, by Heart. Naturally, she did a great job with it. More people showed up and someone had the idea to play suicide karaoke, wherein you let someone else choose your song. I played one round and got a song I had NEVER HEARD in my LIFE. I powered through and made up a melody, but the machine knew, and gave me a mere 27 points for my efforts.

A special mention must be made for the hors de’ oeuvres. Apparently, they were all from Trader Joes. Nonetheless, Elyse did a fabulous job heating up those mini quiches and onion tarts, the memory of which still haunts my taste buds with deliciousness.

Considering that Meep and I were already two drinks in by the time we arrived, and wasted no time opening our bottles of libation, the evening flashed by. Before I knew it, everyone was extremely drunk and it was time to go to Laser Floyd already. Unfortunately, Elyse had to wait for an out of town friend without a cell phone, so she was unable to come with us to the laser show; the activity that SHE had chosen for her birthday. Part of me wondered if this was some sort of prank that Elyse had come up with to entertain herself on her birthday; getting all her friends to go agree to a laser show and then making up a story about an out-of-town friend so that she could stay behind and we could spend our Friday night with high school kids. But since the show actually was pretty neat, I’m sure Elyse would have come if she could.

Still, it was kind of weird to be waiting in line with a group of teenagers right behind us. We began to joke about what laser shows were comprised of in “our day”. The best one was Borgia’s “Hand Puppets and Glen Miller”.

Despite the show being pretty neat, I was still laying on the floor after consuming mass amounts of alcohol, so sleep was inevitable. I think I was only out for a minute or two.

After, we discovered that Meep had left her bag at Elyse’s so we went back for it, finding the birthday girl already snug in her jammies. And for the rest of us, it was most definitely time for bed.


The morning and afternoon were spent doing very little and enjoying every minute of it. Brugos and I got breakfast at the Wayward café, which is all vegan and very delicious. I must attempt to make those chocolate coconut pancakes on my own.

We talked about walking over to the Fremont Solstice parade but TV and laziness won out.

At 5, I met Sherwood and Dom at Araya (second vegan restaurant of the day! Mark would be so proud.) and we stuffed our faces with scrumptiousness. Then we got in line for the Seattle premier of the Strangers With Candy movie. Meep was supposed to meet us too, but the poor girl was still hurting from the night before. I had no trouble selling her ticket, however, as the movie was apparently the hottest show in town. This would be the only SIFF movie I would see this year. Every year, SIFF gets more and more mainstream. I used to think it was neat that such a big-deal film festival was in my town. But now, why would I pay $3 above regular movie price to wait in long lines for a movie that’s just going to be out in theatres in a few months anyway? I wouldn’t. But I made an exception for Strangers With Candy because 1) it’s a movie I’ve been excited to see for a while and 2) I assumed one or more of the filmmakers would be in attendance.

Turns out it was just ONE filmmaker, Paul Dinello. Still, it was pretty cool to see him introduce the movie. The movie itself was funny. I definitely think that Strangers With Candy works better in a shorter format. As it was, it just felt like one long episode. I didn’t much see the point. But it was in the spirit of the show and still funnier than, say, Nacho Libre probably is.

Afterward there was a Q and A. It started off kind of annoying. It was the usual extreme fan boy questions (“My question is about this thing that you casually mentioned on the season two, disc 1 commentary…”) but eventually someone asked a question that “Amy would know the answer to”, so Paul decided to give Amy a call. She was in New York, working on a book which is why she wasn’t at the screening. It being close to midnight in New York, she was also asleep, but she very graciously answered the question on speaker phone, and also said hello to 700 very excited fans. It was neat.

After Amy hung up, someone in the audience shouted “Call Colbert”. Paul said that he was probably asleep as well, being that he was in North Carolina with his family, but that he would try his cell and we could all leave a voicemail. He put the ringing phone up to the mic and the voicemail kicked in “Hello. This is Steven. I’m not here right now…evidently. So please leave a message.” After the usual 5 minutes of operator instructions, Paul left a quick introduction to why 700 people would about to be cheering into Steven Colbert’s voicemail, and then we all cheered. It was neat.

Next, we parted ways with Dom and then Sherwood and I caught a bus back to the Hill. Sherwood went home and I met Brugos at Neumo’s for the Twilight Singers show.

The first opener was a guy called Jeff Klein, who was in love with his large guitar pedal collection and wouldn’t let us forget it. He also clearly had a tendency to do his hair in the dark. We couldn’t wait for him to get off stage.

The second act wasn’t too bad. They were called After Hours and their sound was all over the map. One minute they sounded like old Afghan Whigs and the next minute they sounded like ELO. It was enjoyable, though.

More enjoyable still was the flabby, middle-aged woman in a tight black outfit who danced like a maniac throughout the Twilight Singers set. The show wasn’t as good at Neumos as it had been in Austin. But it’s hard to top seeing any band you really like in a small, intimate bar, over seeing them in a large, packed club. Plus, I was kind of tired from having done nothing all day. We left during the second encore to beat the crowd and it was off to bed.


Brugos accompanied me to yoga, which I hadn’t been to in over a month. As a result, I knew it was going to hurt. I was right. I really needed it though. My back, which had been bothering me lately, felt better immediately. It still does. I really mustn’t slack on my yoga.

I briefly considered staying in and trying to finish up organizing my apartment, but decided against it when the opportunity to go to the House of Fun and play Karaoke Revolution presented itself.

Karaoke Revolution is really fun. And it turns out that my fears of it making me feel incredibly untalented were unfounded. I still know I don’t have a pretty voice, but I’m apparently not bad at the game. It helped, I think, that you’re able to create characters that look kind of like you. Like a hyper-sexy version of you. Or, in Brugos’ case, like a version of him in a hilarious tiger suit.

After a while, we worked up an appetite and then got some yummy Indian food, the leftovers of which I plan to consume shortly.

After a feast of Indian food, there’s really nothing for it but more lounging in front of the television. I love a productive weekend!

NEXT WEEKEND: My hovelwarming! Be there, bitches!


This quiz is dedicated to a recent conversation I had with Faye about how we're gross for girls. It's a good thing we're super cool!

You Are 60% Gross

You're more than a little gross, but probably no more gross than the average person.
Maybe it's time to drop some of those disgusting habits that could eventually embarrass you!
How Gross Are You?

I saw you in the croahtom



I began Friday in typical Amazon-groupie fashion, by meeting Brugos and Andrew at Temple Billiards for a co-worker’s birthday. We had a few drinks, one of which was bought for us by Eugene Mirman’s shorter, less pasty doppelganger. That doesn’t sound like a compliment, but it is.

Three drinks in, we realized we needed to eat something. For some reason, Andrew was in the mood for a cheesy, yuppie family-style atmosphere, so he suggested the Cheesecake Factory. I conceded to this idea, despite my better judgment, because Brugos had a gift card.

Luckily, it being Friday at dinnertime, there were NO seats in the place, including the bar area. A much more desirable plan B was quickly formulated in which we would go to the Honey Hole.

As we walked up the hill to our delicious sandwich destinies, Andrew and Brugos, in typical fashion, pointed out the Hey-O’s. As you can probably deduce, a Hey-O is their word for a hottie. Having hung out with mostly males my whole life, this type of thing doesn’t bother me (even when it appears that there is little criteria involved in designating a Hey-O other than a strong suspicion that they possess a vagina). What DID make me feel a little left out what the fact that I wasn’t seeing ANYONE of the male persuasion to Hey-O for myself. This lead into a discussion about the differences between men and women. It’s true, even in the most lusty of situations, I am somewhat incapable of separating a guy’s looks from what his appearance suggests for his personality. For instance, I will refuse to designate a perfectly handsome individual as a Hey-O if they look like they spend more time in front of the mirror that I do. Or if they look like they would bore me to tears with a dissertation on Godard. Or if they look like they probably have centerfolds from Maxim taped to their bedroom walls. I can’t help it. I can’t JUST think about having sex with them. I have to also think about what it would be like to spend even 5 minutes outside of the carnal act with them. And if I deem that time unpleasant, I am not attracted to them at all. Therefore, for every 50 Hey-O’s that Andrew and Brugos see, I MIGHT find one. And if I took any time to analyze them, they would probably be disqualified.

Case in point, at the Honey Hole, I found a total of two Hey-Os. The first was an indie-shirted fellow in dark glasses drinking alone in the corner of the bar. He had a very sensuous nose. He was eliminated by virtue that he looked kind of sad and therefore probably had a lot of baggage. Andrew disagreed, surmising that he was probably in a band and therefore his attitude was justified and also sexy.

The other Hey-O was a typical Buddy Holly, striped shirt type. His girlfriend looked like a controlling bitch. This didn’t make me feel sorry for him. It made him less hot.

Oh well. At least my vegetarian BLT was delicious.

By this point, we were well on our way to Drunky Town. As we sipped our awful $5 Long Island Iced Tea’s, Andrew began doing lewd things with a napkin and a salt shaker. This was, of course, hilarious. Thank god I had a digital camera on me that took video. In no time, we had crafted the greatest condiment porn ever improvised. I plan to edit it to music and enter it into HUMP. According to their rules and regulations, they HAVE to show every entry. I guess that means I’ll be going to HUMP.

Next, we met up with Derek and a lady friend of Andrew’s at the Satellite. When we showed our condiment porn to them, we were relieved to discover that it actually WAS funny, and not just some juvenile, drunken, in-the-moment thing. Validation!

We saw the angry indie-rock star again, drinking at the bar and then going outside for smokes. Maybe it was the fact that I was drunk, or maybe he really did appear to be in a better mood…but he really was getting hotter. Interesting…

Andrew, Derek and friend then headed to Neumos (perhaps to see our mysterious indie friend perform?) and parted ways with me and Brugos.


After a nice leisurely morning, Brugos and I headed to Cal Anderson Park (formerly Hobo Park) to join the event known as Urban Golf. Costumes were encouraged, so I wore my most hot-topic golf outfit, which was a yellow plaid dress adorned with chains and black lace. I looked pretty straight compared to everyone else. People went all out. It looked like a rave in the middle of the day. One team had a Borg theme and decked out a golf cart to look like the Borg ship. It was pretty bad-ass.

The organizers had designated 9 “holes” throughout Capital Hill, with a bar at the end of each hole at which to take a break and have a drink. They determined where a hole began and where it ended, and it was up to you to get your foam ball there by any means necessary. People were pretty creative. A lot of people weren’t even using real golf clubs. I saw a lot of hockey sticks (plastic or otherwise), tennis rackets, and even a cricket bat. To make it easy on everyone, the first hole was a straight line down the fairway of the park. The first bar we stopped at was the new bar, Purr where one single overworked bartender had to serve an endless line of freaks. She didn’t look too happy about it either.

The second hole began at the bottom of the Value Village parking lot, and ended on the sidewalk above the wall. Urban golf is all about ingenuity. People were using whatever they could find as tees to launch the stubborn little foam ball into the air. In the end, I just decided to lob the thing over. I got a 3 on that hole and I didn’t even have to destroy an innocent piece of garbage.

Then it was on to the Wild Rose. By this time, people already quite drunk. I was certainly feeling a buzz myself. The Borg team arrived and began “assimilating” people by marking them with…markers.

The rest of the holes would take us through alleys, parking garages and parking lots.
We stopped at the Frittes place, the Comet, Bill’s, and the Kinkora. If nothing else, this event was REALLY good for Capital Hill bars. Every bar we went into was packed. I had to leave right after the Kinkora to catch a ride to Queen Anne for Dom’s party so I didn’t get to finish the game. Before I left, I posed in a bulldozer in front of the fancy-pants condominiums that used to be mine and Dom’s low-rent apartment building. I love a new MySpace Photo.

I don’t know if I would have won the game, but I was doing pretty well when I left so I’d like to think so. I really hope they do this again. I will definitely be in. Maybe with a better costume next time.

I met Faye and Borg and we drove to Dom’s new apartment for the Dompire Housewarming. It was REALLY nice to see “The Empire Strikes Back” uncut and in widescreen. I haven’t seen that version since, well, since it came out in the theatre. Quite a treat. Thank you, Dom! Dom’s place is really nice. I hope we can have many more movie nights there.

After, the movie, things started winding down. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but fall asleep on the couch. Sorry, guys! The old lady needs her rest.


I began my morning with a little DDR-size. Then I went to Faye’s for brunch and a movie. We watched “Me, You and Everyone We Know” which I’d seen a week before and loved.

The day was too beautiful to waste so we went to Volunteer Park, stopping on the way to get waters, magazines and a $5 child’s badminton set.

We played a mean, only slightly awkward round of netless badminton. I’d like to think we would have both been much better if we hadn’t been playing with mini-rackets and foam shuttlecocks. Amazingly, my arm is still sore today, as if I’d actually been doing something athletic yesterday.

We took a break to drink water and read crappy magazines in the sun. It was also a good day for people watching. Our friends “lurking smoking man” and “shirtless cell phone guy” were in attendance.

After the sun grew cold, we wandered back to 15th. A fortuitous spur-of-the-moment decision led us into the new bar, The Liberty. We selected several vegetarian sushi dishes and ordered a round of fru-fru drinks. (A Lemon Drop for Faye and an Apple Card for myself). It was then that Faye and I noticed the most remarklable thing about The Liberty. It wasn’t their creative drinks or ingenious sushi combinations. It was the staff. For some reason, the nearly empty bar was staffed by no less than 4 people…and they were all HOT. Not magazine hot. Just regular, Saturday night on Capital Hill hot. This came after Faye and I had been lamenting a lack of Hoerauf/Baxter style men to ogle. Apparently, they’ve all just been busy working at The Liberty. “What’s Andrew’s word? Hoo-Ya?” “Hey-O”, I responded. “But Hoo-Ya can be our female equivalent”. Apparently, “Hoo-Ya” is pre-existing Hoerauf family word anyway. I’m glad to be a party of a long-family tradition. There was the beautiful bastard spawn of Scott Grimes and Jason Dohring, the thin bespectacled, sexy geek, the tattooed, understated hottie, and, for the fellas, the fresh-faced natural beauty who wiped down tables. To be fair, these gentlemen were more Faye’s type than mine, but I have always been able to appreciate a Faye Hoo-Ya. There was also a fella working double duty as a Faye and J Hoo-Ya: A boyish face combined with a bit of the tattood scruff. We’re not sure if he worked there; he just sat at the end of the bar reading and talking to the bartenders. But he did seem like he planned on spending a lot of time there. Ladies if you like your men to look like well-combined c-list celebrities or just fun-loving, attractive indie-geeks, get your asses over to the liberty. Also, their sushi was DELICIOUS.

I had planned on actually getting some organizing in my apartment done. Two Apple Carts in changed the plan from “working around the house” to “buying mixers and watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith with Faye”. The movie was, of course, terrible. But it was a great way to wind down an extremely pleasant day.

You got some time

Good afternoon, Mr. President. Sorry I've been away so long. I won't let you down again.



After work, I met Andrew and Brugos at Gameworks, as their company was having a little gathering. I didn’t realize how awesome the Happy Hour there is. ALL drinks and appetizers half price? I found it difficult to argue with a $4 Long Island. So I didn’t. Must remember Gameworks when looking for Happy Hours.

Even though I now live on a bottom floor and can DDR when ‘ere I please, I couldn’t resist playing the arcade version. But not before I watched some CRAZY kid blow everyone away with his skillz. This skinny teenager had his level set to “Methamphetamines”, and his feet were moving so fast that he actually had to hold on to the railing behind him for what I can only imagine was to prevent himself from propelling forward. Not only were his feet moving at an alarming rate, but he was hitting EVERY ARROW in the process. This kid made Green Dress Girl look like a bloody amateur. Incredible. One can’t help but fear for the kid’s love life, however.

Andrew kindly shared with me the spoils of his slot playing, by purchasing me a little plastic army man for the princely sum of 5 tickets. Thanks, Andrew! My army man (Floyd) now resides on my key ring with my bottle opener and my Noel Gallagher key chain.

After lingering too long at Gameworks, Brugos and I were to meet a co-worker of his to hitch a ride to Wenatchee, where we would be white water rafting the next morning. On account of too much Gameworks fun, compounded with Slurpee cocktails, we didn’t get on the road till after 8. The drive up was really cool. It was fairly foggy and the mountains loomed over us with blue majesty as we drove East. We had entertained the notion of camping, but it was dark and raining a bit so we decided that a cheap motel would be the way to go. We naively thought there would be something affordable in Leavenworth. After making one stop, the desk clerk at the Luftwaffle Inn (or whatever), suggested that we would have more luck in Wenatchee proper. So onward we drove, inquiring at a few major motel chains, before settling on the amazing deals at Lyle’s Motel. Our room was sparse, but the price was right, and all we need to do in it was sleep. Brugos and his co-worker went to get a quick beer and I stayed behind to watch Dr. 90210. Apparently, I didn’t miss much. Must not be a big bar culture in Wenatchee, even on a Friday. Or perhaps we weren’t clued in to the hot spots. Meep?


Woke in time to grab a quick breakfast with the Sweat Pants Mafia (at least I’m assuming that was the reason for so many teenagers about in sweatpants) at Denny’s. Then we headed to the rafting rendezvous point, only slightly late on account of someone’s appointment with the Porcelain President.

We quickly squeezed into our company issued wetsuits and booties (trying hard not to think about how often they wash them in between tours) and hopped on a bus that would take us to the launching site. (Dubious hygiene aside, the wet suits were fun to wear. I felt like I had finally been asked to ride in the Blackbird.)

I was a little nervous at first, whatwith the “we are not responsible if you die” waver I had to sign and the cautious talk from our guide. Soon, however, I realized that this was quite the touristy event and only a moron who doesn’t follow instructions (of whom, I’m sure, there are enough to warrant these types of disclaimers) would fall to peril. It was actually pretty easy to stay in the boat. (I have this on good authority. Because if it were easy to fall out, believe you me, I would have done it). It may be that the rapids themselves were rather mellow during our time out, but I have a feeling that they wouldn’t allow a bunch of first-timers to go out in dangerous conditions, even with the “it’s not our fault” waivers.

Anywho, the trip was awesome, despite me having to pee pretty much the WHOLE time and despite getting totally biffed in the face with a big wave. It was like the end of the log ride stretched over several hours. And I was in the front of the boat, so, like with the log ride, I got drenched. The sun was shining, however, so I stayed warm enough.

After the trip, we were treated to a BBQ lunch (included in the price), shown pictures of our trip (including several of me inhaling water!) and sent on our merry way.

Since the weather in Eastern, Washington was certainly beautiful, and the weather back West was uncertain, we decided to linger in Leavenworth and play a round of mini-golf at the Family Fun Center. Whether it was due to brownies consumed with lunch of a little bit of sunstroke (from a wicked burn on my poor, pasty arms), my game was suffering. Still, I did not come in last place. So even with a handicap or two, mini-golf is still my best sport. (Shut up).

We stopped at a neat little roadside bar called the Booby Trap for a beer, before heading into Seattle around dinner time. Dinner was eaten and then I promptly fell asleep, not waking up again until after 9. Considering Saturday night a loss, I went to bed. Apparently, rafting really takes is out of you. Or maybe it was the mini golf…


I spent the day organizing my media. It looks much less cluttered in my apartment, but I am still not happy with the overall appearance. Hopefully, I will have something satisfactory by my hovelwarming. However, since it is a Caucasian Squalor party, perhaps having everything neat and organized would be counterintuitive.

Then Brugos and I went to the Central Cinema to catch the last program for the Seattle True Independence Film Festival. I probably wouldn’t have seen anything in the festival were it not for the fact that my friend Danny’s short was playing. Unlike most film festival programs, the shorts were all pretty decent. Danny’s was especially enjoyable. Unbeknownst to me, however, the program contained a feature. LIKE many features in independent film festivals, it should have been a short. A SHORT short. Instead, it was one hour and 16 minutes of silly Jew jokes, pelvic thrusts and references to gay sex (the latter of which seemed to really upset the girl sitting behind us…as every time the notion of a man sucking another man’s penis was presented, she exclaimed “EW!”).

After the movie, Danny and I lamented the fact that such a torturous script could be made with what was CLEARLY a very good budget. (They got the rights to a Hall and Oates song, for god’s sake! That shit ain’t cheap). We lamented loudly, assuming (or at least I was), that since the film was very clearly shot in New York, that the filmmakers would not attend a small Seattle film festival for its screening. Brugos pointed out our mistake in the form of two dudes lurking right behind us. Doh! Oh well. They had to know the truth. And the truth is that Danny and I are resentful assholes who are apparently fellating the wrong penises. (EW!)

Danny was heading to the Rendezvous with his cohorts, but, having only slept 14 hours the previous night; I decided I had better hit the sack.

NEXT WEEKEND: The Dompire Strikes Back!