Not Ready For X-Mas

As I write this, I'm traveling on a Virgin America flight from San Francisco to Seattle. My first ever blog post from an airplane! Free wi
This is also means that I am typing in the presence of other passengers, which is a little stifling to my creativity. Someone looking over my shoulder constantly while I type is a little weird. Well, I guess they're not reading this. It's pretty boring so far. I don't blame them for looking elsewhere. Virgin America provides customers with plenty of distractions via the personal television screen - movies, music, games, and a map that shows the flight's progress.
Thanks to a special Google Maps program, I've determined I'm about to fly over the Columbia River, south of the Cascade Parks West neighborhood outside of Vancouver, Oregon.
Since I've typed this, I've already passed La Center and Woodland, parallel with I-5. Now I'm almost directly east of Kelso. You get the picture.
I'll be in Seattle shortly, which gives me just enough time to tell you about something I noticed this morning.
There are two movies currently broadcast on television called "A Dog Named Christmas" and "The Dog That Saved Christmas." The former film, a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie, has received 9.6 out of 10 stars on IMDB. Maybe it's a little premature to gauge the quality of that film. The latter features former Superman Dean Cain. Since it's time to turn off this electronic device, I will let you determine the merits of each film.
Goodbye from the friendly skies.

Going Back in Time!!!

After much deliberation, I'm going back to my hometown in January. I studied conditions in both Portland and Seattle, and I ended up choosing the Emerald City. The City of Roses won in several categories, including transportation, cost of living, and men-to-women ratio. However, the decision came down to John Cusack and a puppy.
Let me explain. Part of the selection process was based on watching a movie filmed in each city, and judging each film on its merit and lasting impact on, um...okay, I just chose the one I liked better. Portland's landmark film was "Drugstore Cowboy," and Seattle's big flick was "Say Anything."
"Drugstore Cowboy," directed in 1989 by Gus Van Sant ("To Die For," "Good Will Hunting," "Milk"), is an artful tale of a group of junkies who scam and rob drugstores in 1970s Stumptown. It features an outstanding performance by Matt Dillon, who is fearless and delusional and caring and aloof and conniving - in short, an accurate portrayal of an addict. The seedy setting is one of the reasons this movie works, and Heather Graham's appearance doesn't hurt.
But who is more adorable and charming and perfect than Lloyd Dobler (John Cusack) in "Say Anything?" The answer is: Ferris Bueller. Unfortunately, the city of Chicago is not a serious candidate. Cameron Crowe's directorial debut in 1989 matches the genius of John Hughes' pictures, plus a bit edgier. This movie is an achingly perfect love story and great from start to finish. It includes a surprising performance by Lili Taylor and superb cameos by Eric Stoltz, Bebe Neuwirth, and Joan Cusack. Like Lloyd's repeated phone messages on Diane's answering machine, I just could not ignore this film or say "No" to Seatown.
Second matter of business: I have been promised a puppy. When I move in with my friends into a house, two of them are getting a dog. Which means I will be an uncle.

So I chose Seattle.
In the words of Mr. Dobler, "I am looking for a dare to be great situation."

The Best Roast Beef Sandwich In Washington State

I just asked myself, "Jamie, aren't you working on a novel? Why are you blogging again?"

The answer I gave myself is: "I have trouble focusing on one thing for very long. Call it attention-deficit disorder, if you like, but I would liken it to multi-tasking and not placing any limits on my creativity. I will continue working on my novel tomorrow and get to my goal of 5,000 words. So leave me alone, guilty personality."

For the moment, let's concentrate on the demise of one of our most lovable American franchises, Arby's. I recently read an article on Slate about the decline of this fast food restaurant, while other franchises like McDonald's are seeing profit gains. The writer claims that Arby's (a) has not changed its menu to include seemingly-nutritious items (like the McDonald's salads, which are not that healthy), (b) it does not offer any popular items besides its sandwiches (like Wendy's original Frosty), and (c) it hasn't had a memorable ad campaign (since forever ago). Furthermore, Arby's has allegedly suffered by merging with Wendy's in 2008.
I visited an Arby's on a lunch break to see how the atmosphere compared to other successful fast food restaurants. After ordering and eating my meal, I'm a little baffled why Arby's are failing around the country. The restaurant on 15021 Pacific Avenue S. in Tacoma may be some anomaly in the whole Arby's culture, but that place has the best customer service of any fast food joint I've been in. I expect about half of all fast food cashiers to be apathetic and indifferent about their jobs, and it's sort of understandable. Many of the employees are teenagers who would rather be doing something fun then standing behind a counter wearing brightly-colored uniforms and pretending to be friendly. The young man who helped me with my order kept addressing me as "sir," which I think shows a mark of respect toward customers (call me old-fashioned). He was polite and smiled often, and it felt genuine.
I should tell you this is not the first time I've been here, and I felt exactly the same way when I interacted with another employee. Arby's is definitely doing something right. It just doesn't involve flashy ad campaigns that involve blockbuster movies or popular boardgames. At least this particular restaurant is hiring great employees and training them to provide first-class service. In addition, the Arby's I visited has two bells posted at each entrance. Next to the bell reads a placard that says: "Ring For Great Service!" On my way out the door, I did not hesitate to make some noise. I think this is a fantastic way to create a fun environment that rewards employees and invites customers to show their appreciation.
In regards to the food, I have to say the curly fries are pretty tasty. Second, Arby's is unique in offering Arby's original sauce and Horsey sauce, and allowing customers to put as much sauce as they want on a sandwich.
Not sure what Arby's needs to do to stay relevant. Perhaps it needs to come up with a character more captivating than "Oven Mitt." I don't think it needs to offer more healthy food. I don't go to Dairy Queen because I want apple slices. I want a frickin' Blizzard! For the same reason, I want to be able to drown my roast beef sandwich in Arby's sauce. I have a much better view of Arby's than Jack in the Box, Carl's Jr., or Taco Bell, because I've never gotten sick from one of its sandwiches. That fact, however, can't be communicated in a commercial or print ad. "It doesn't cause diarrhea" doesn't sit well (no pun intended). Maybe the franchise needs an elite celebrity endorsement, such as the man discussed below.

********************
For some reason, I can't get the Poll gadget on my blog to work (thanks, Scott, for letting me know). It requires users to sign in, and I don't know how to deactivate that. So here's my poll for the day, which may require you to listen to Journey songs on youtube.

How much do you love Steve Perry?
A. Separate Ways
B. Open Arms
C. Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'

Day After Veteran's Day

Never work in a public library the day after a holiday.
People are crazier than normal. One day of being closed completely throws off the weekly rhythm of our patrons. It's like they've been deprived of a drug, and now their craving (for information and time on Facebook) is ravenous and they are more irrational.

So when the power goes off for a half second in the building, causing all the computers to reboot, it's not a minor bump in the road. It's a reason for someone to complain, "My computer's not loading worth shit," and soon others chime in, "Mine's not working, either."
I wanted to say to all of them: "There is not a fucking magic button that immediately makes all the computers run at full speed. If I knew about this button, I would be either ridiculously rich or I would at least hold a position where I didn't have to talk to you. The only thing I can suggest is patience, a virtue that does not seem to be in your possession."
Instead I said, "Try logging off and on your computers one more time, and hopefully it will work. That is all I can tell you right now, and I might need to call tech services."
Deal with it, people. Try living in another country, where events transpire much slower. Look what instant gratification has gotten you thus far: an unplanned pregnancy.
Okay, my last comment went too far. But dealing with angry people who only think about themselves gets a little tiresome. Most of the time, this frustration can be suppressed and I can shrug it off. Today was different.

One of the reasons our patrons were irritable is because the library recently shifted to a new computer reservation system. When we first unveiled it, people were eager to try it out and encouraged that they could book a computer station hours ahead of time. However, there is a percentage of people who fear change. They are comfortable with writing their name on a waiting list, and they are not interested in learning a new technology. They seem to think that the new system is a waste of time, conveniently forgetting about all the time they've waited for computer stations in the past. Many library systems use this method (Seattle Public and King County's users have been reserving computers this way for years), so Pierce County is just catching up with the cool kids. It's that awkward phase where we have to convince people it can be more convenient for them. I acknowledge it's not an easy transition for everyone, but it is more efficient (less work for us and them monitoring the list on paper) and prevents mix-ups about who is first, second, third, etc. in line to use a computer.
Sometimes it pains me to confront people who are so resistant to change. Because if they are furious about a simple procedural change (one woman commented: "Now I remember why I don't come to the library"), how can we even start to fix broader problems like health care and education?
And the answer is unfortunately: We ignore these cantankerous people and we force the changes on them.
Oh God, my rant got political. And I realize that I am fully in favor of totalitarianism.

Alright, let's end with a funny story (and then I'll get back to writing my novel):
A woman came up to me the other day at the information desk and asked me for books about names. I showed her a few items, thinking that maybe she was trying to find the perfect name for her baby. Then she whispered to me, "Do you have any books about identity change?" She was talking so quietly that I almost couldn't hear her. As if someone would overhear our conversation and immediately reveal her true identity and her past would come crashing down on her. She was wearing a straw hat with a wide brim, that no doubt kept others from noticing her.
What was this woman's story? Was she on the lam after fleeing a crime scene, a crazed husband, or a failed embezzlement scheme? Something about a woman on the run turning to the public library for a fresh start is humorous to me. Maybe one way for libraries to evolve in the twenty-first century is to provide a certain degree of "protection" for patrons. Either that, or offer private investigation services.

Blogger Hiatus

No, I'm not going to Italy again. I'm doing something even better - writing a good old-fashioned novel. After this morning, I have 967 words. I'm aiming for a total of 50,000 words, because it's a nice round number. So I'm going to be laying off the blog for a little while. My creative energy and powers of observation will be focused entirely on composing a New York Times bestseller, that will eventually be made into a Coen Brothers film. Don't tell me I'm delusional. I'm going to be rich. Filthy rich! And that's when I'll start blogging again, as a conceited celebrity who just wants to be loved and not judged for his drug habit and drunk driving charges.

Either way, I hope to be done with the first draft well before March Madness, which is more important than anything.

Measuring Success At Two In The Morning

What are the indicators of a successful party? How do you know when your holiday bash is meeting standards for fun?

Okay, you had plenty to drink and felt buzzed. Maybe you danced with a cute girl or boy. And you liked the music and cupcakes. But what benchmarks or milestones show that a good time was had by all? Last night I was at a Halloween party that went pretty swimmingly. Several factors made it a rollicking good time, and I'm going to share them with you. If these things happen, you know your party is going well (for a social gathering that has 30+ revelers).

1. The song "Thriller" is played during the middle or second half of the party.
2. You have to yell really loud to get people's attention.
3. Every last drop of the mystery punch is consumed.
4. People are constantly flowing into different rooms and areas of the house (and thus mixing with strangers and getting to know new people).
5. Two people who meet at the party end up making out.
6. A contest or activity attracts avid participants (this party had a costume contest as well as fire-twirling in the backyard).
7. There are five people dressed as California Raisins.
8. Some object is completely destroyed (Devon and I jumped on Neal's refrigerator costume repeatedly and it was very gratifying - it was our version of a pinata).
9. The dance floor is consistently populated.
10. Conga Line! (I confess I joined the line because I got to dance behind a very hot female version of Mega Man).

Laws of the Friendly Skies

During my flight from Milan to JFK International Airport last week, a strange thing occurred. An American Airlines sweater (belonging to a flight attendant) was allegedly stolen by a passenger. Of course, the announcement over the intercom never referred to the act as theft. "If you accidentally picked up the sweater on your way into the cabin, please return the item." Later, as we descended into New York, a stewardess issued a warning over the speakers. She told us that security would be notified and that they would search our bags if the sweater was not recovered. An empty threat and a nice scare tactic at best.

I don't believe the sweater was returned or found, because the flight attendants eyed us suspiciously as we got off the plane. They still said their friendly "goodbye" and "thanks for flying" as we entered the ramp to the gate, but their stares were fixed on our bodies and carry-on luggage - scanning for evidence of stealing, such as a piece of blue fabric sticking clumsily out of a gymbag. It's not clear what happened exactly. If someone had pilfered an airline sweater and had been caught, though, I'm not sure what law applies to that passenger. It was an international flight operated by an American company departing from an Italian destination (where the theft probably occurred), with the person possibly being detained on American soil. As a person with a library degree, I confess I don't know how to go about researching the legal implications of this act. Does this fall under federal law laid down by the FAA, the guidelines of the ICAO (an agency of the U.N.), the rules of the NTSB (another U.S. agency), the jurisdiction of the TSA, or all of the above? Enough bureaucratic acronyms to give anyone a headache.

I did find this story about a man who forced his way past a flight attendant to use a business class lavatory when he got "the runs." The man was sitting in coach and was forbidden by the flight crew from entering the first class cabin, even though a beverage cart was blocking his way to the back bathrooms. At the time, he probably didn't know he was choosing between two options:
(a) crapping his pants and suffering humiliation
or
(b) spending two days in jail.

That's a tough choice. Not the best endorsement for Honduran food.

Holy Roman Empire

While I was roaming Italy this month, several questions crossed my mind. They came up in conversation or contemplation while writing in my journal. Now these mysteries have been solved...sort of.

1. Which is older? The "Popemobile" or the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile?
Mercedes claims to have built the earliest version of the Popemobile in 1930. But the car doesn't resemble the model (that capture the full body view of His Grace behind bulletproof windows) we see today. In fact, bulletproof glass on all four sides was not added until 1981, following an assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II. So it's really a matter of determining when "Popemobile" entered our vernacular. Here are some images of the various Popemobiles over the last 40 years. As for the Weinermobile, Oscar Mayer started using the vehicle in 1936 and it has been redesigned at least six times. Of course, it has its own blog.
(for rappers or lyricists, words that rhyme with popemobile include waterwheel and cochineal)

2. What is the difference between surrealism and dadaism?
This question popped up after a visit to the Vatican Museum, which houses $40 billion worth of art. We all know Salvador Dali was a surrealist, and liked to paint melting clocks. According to several sources, surrealism is an art movement characterized by unexpected juxtaposition and exploring the creative power of the unconscious mind (started in the 1930s). As my friend Allison so aptly put it, "when stuff doesn't make sense." Actually, I think she was describing dadaism. But it's important to know that surrealism was born out of dadaism. Dadaism included art that rebelled against the so-called civilized world and the barbarism of war. It was a response to the horrors of World War I and tried to subvert what was traditionally beautiful. Some examples of Dadaist art included photomontages assembled from magazine ads and illustrations, collages made from pieces of litter, and ordinary items (such as a bicycle wheel mounted to a stool). This was not a Renaissance with pretty oil paintings; it was a hostile reaction to the declining values of mankind and it sought to illuminate the absurdity in the world. Surrealism was more about expressing the perspectives of the "metaphysical world."

3. What's the chain of command in the Catholic Church?
It's not a rigid heirarchy, except that everyone answers to the pope and a particular bishop. In order of closest to farthest away from God: The Pope (successor of St. Peter and Bishop of Rome and Latin Church), Cardinals (make up a College of Cardinals that advises and elects the pope), Archbishops (head of Archdioceses - duh!), Bishops, Priests, Deacons.

Thanks be to Wikipedia. Amen.

On The Shores Of The Great Como

I have never been on a trip of such magnitude, where offerings of wine, champagne and chocolate dessert were deposited before me at regular intervals. Every three or four hours, servants with white gloves attended to my needs of nourishment and hydration (if one considers replenishment equaling a pleasant buzz). My taste buds did not have time to rest. I would not expect the same kind of service if I had achieved a rank of nobility.

At my cousin's wedding in the village of Blevio (north of Como, Italy), no expense was spared. If every union of two lovers was celebrated in this fashion - a week-long celebration with high-end cuisine, luxury, and glamour - than there would be a vast reduction in the number of divorces around the world...unless couples expected life to continue in the same manner as their fairytale weddings.

A look at the wedding dinner menu (served in six courses) sheds light on the week's extravagance:

Crudite with Gorgonzola cream
Stuffed vegetables Ligurian Style
Vegetables puff pastry with sweet Pecorino cream

Risotto with rosmarin and lemon rind

Chianina beef Tagliata with rosmarin flavour

Crispy vegetables with Modena Balsamic vinegar
Spinach pie
Caponata with light pesto

Apple sorbet with Calvados

Wedding Cake & Italian Confetti

(Italian confetti, by the way, are sugar-coated almonds; traditionally, they are distributed to guests in odd numbers, but generally 5 each - symbolizing the qualities of health, wealth, happiness, fertility and long life; we consumed a lot of them, so maybe Ryan and Alexa will be extra healthy and wealthy and happy)

The villa pictured above (Villa Maria Taglioni, named after the owner and celebrated ballet dancer) was the site of the wedding ceremony, and acted as guest quarters and dining hall. Not pictured is the second villa (Villa Maria Serena) where I stayed with half of the wedding party, south of this building. I was unable to get an exact date on the age of the buildings, but both appear to be Neo-gothic structures from the nineteenth century that have undergone major renovations. The villas look pretty new if you inspect the exteriors, but the stone sea walls look ancient.
The property contains a boat dock, a heated swimming pool, an underground parking complex, and a huge park that used to be a botanical garden in the late 1800s. Though it's hard to explain exactly what this experience was like, the best way to relate is by looking at the Villa del Lago website.

After this vacation, the term "wining and dining" means something different to me. And I don't expect to ever reach these heights of luxury ever again. That's why I want to capture this as much as possible. I lived like a duke or earl or baron for seven days.

Kitschy Krap

I didn't bring back many souvenirs from Italy. My gifts to people usually come in postcard form. For some of my friends, I like to pick the cheesiest postcard possible. I would rather have them experience an alternate reality...where the wealthy lakefront village of Bellagio is synonymous with three golden retriever puppies yawning.

But, then again, I'm not a fan of shopping when I'm traveling. Why spend time wandering through boutiques and bazaars when you can just purchase impractical gifts through the airplane catalog Skymall? On the way back from your time abroad, look inside this magazine and you'll find everything your parents and friends always needed. For example, there's a Christmas platter with an image of a drunk reindeer that reads, "I've fallen and I Chianti get up!" Priceless, right? What about a DNA test for your dog (pictured)? Below is a sampling of items that will be appreciated by anyone (make sure to click on the hyperlinks to see them in their splendor).

The Slanket: One size fits all d-bags!
Forest Face: Squirrels will go nutty for their favorite sports teams!
Helmutt House: By the way, 90% of dogs hate the Big 12 conference.
Truck Antlers: "A great gift for drivers with a sense of humor..." - and feelings of self-doubt.
Jumpin Jammerz: When a Slanket just doesn't cut it, try a onesie.
Zombie of Montclaire Moors: I would actually like to see more of these statues in our gardens. I think it will restore the nation's calm.
Pet Doorbell: Why not just teach your dog sign language?
Skyrest Pillow: Only thing more offensive than a Segway.

I feel like all of the ideas in Skymall are inspired by America's Funniest Home Videos. That's the level of creativity we're talking about.

Dirty Canals

Ciao bella. Come stai? Auito!

Greetings from Italy. The above rough translates to "How are you? I am horny. Extremely!"

Spending the last day of my journey in Milan. Unfortunately it's a Monday, which means all the museums are closed. So I've just been wandering the streets from park to park. And looking into a church here and a Prada store there. Milan is not as pretty as some of the other Italian cities.
Today, I visited the Navigli District, a network of canals and footbridges in the southern part of the city. The system was originally designed by Leonardo da Vinci and it's described as the "Venice of Lombardy." Umm, I haven't been to Venice...but I'm pretty sure it's not a bunch of non-moving piles of garbage. Seriously, this water was shallow and not going anywhere, and had newspapers, an umbrella, a beer glass, food wrappers and lots of litter. Thanks a lot, Leonardo da Vinci! Did you manage to make anything beautiful during your career? Anything? Name one positive thing you did for the people of Italy.
I've noticed a lack of water movement before - when I was in Florence. The Arno River does not flow. It just attracts mosquitoes. It's time for Italy to establish a national directive to get its water back on track and on the move. The Tiber River is the exception. But that's not surprising. Everything in Rome is bigger and more beautiful.
Since I was just aimlessly ambling around Milan this morning, I noticed a lot more store signs than usual. Here are the top 5:

City Life Cafe: Self-Restaurant Steak House
My Grill
Free Time Hair Studio
Jolly Hotel President
Baby Killer: Outlet Bambini

The last name is sort of disturbing for a baby clothing store. However, fashion is paramount in this culture. Every time I get on the train, I notice how I have the worst pair of shoes in my subway car. They're a pair of old Nike sneakers, when others are wearing Hogans, La Costes, and various high quality leather shoes. This makes me a little self-conscious about my whole wardrobe, and then I overcompensate with hair product. Just like all my favorite Italian soccer stars. The fauxhawk will never die, as long as footballers are allowed to style their own hair.
Which reminds me - there is a huge poster of half-naked David Beckham and Posh Spice in the city center. It must be at least 100 foot wide. Beckham's head is as big as a Smart Car.

I was glad to finally find this internet cafe. It was my third try. Guess that's what happens when I'm using a guidebook from 2003. I promise my 4 or 5 followers that I will provide more tidbits on Italy when I get back. I've been keeping a journal and there are more highlights to come in online form.

Me & Tussin

I had a weird version of the flu recently. It was predominantly feverish, where I would experience chills and overheating constantly. It resulted in excessive sweating during sleep. I would wake up every hour or so, and feel like someone had dumped a gallon of water on me. As for the other symptoms, the cold and sore throat were pretty tame. It took me a few days to recover, and now I have this lingering cough.

I'm getting ready for a trip overseas, and I want to be rid of this thing. Apparently herbal tea and cough drops aren't enough. So I've turned to my good friend Tussin. Tussin doesn't actually cure the cough. According to drugs.com, it has a substance called detromethorpan (DXM) that messes with your brain signals, in order to suppress the cough reflex. It provides palliation (another big Harvard word - making it easier to endure symptoms).

I didn't mind taking cough syrup as a kid. Its varieties were definitely sweeter and better-tasting than the alternatives, like Nyquil or Theraflu. But I didn't remember that the doses were so small. Only 2 teaspoons? Really? It's only got 1.4% alcohol.
Now, upon further research, I see what increased doses can do to a young child or an adult. When the prescribed doses are exceeded, over-the-counter medicines (OTCs) that contain DXM can cause psychoactive effects and "complete disassociation from one's body." But, on top of the fun hallucinogenic experience, DMX abusers can feel extremely nauseous. A website operated by The Partnership For a Drug-Free America explains the side effects using a cartoon animal (who looks a lot like Stimpy). The projectile vomiting animation is a little disturbing. A former Robo-tripper testifies on the site that DXM use caused her to throw up foam, in a rabies-like tantrum. There is no indication that her head began to spin violently while spouting curses at a clergy member.
However, another ex-imbiber of Tussin reported that he broke into cars and robbed people, and was not afraid of getting shot. Cough medicine gave him a feeling of invincibility and he didn't care about other people. Perhaps that's why DXM pills are called Red Devils.
I don't get why they're called Skittles, though. Unless it has to do with the drug abusers...who can't afford illegal drugs...and they're forced to resort to a multi-colored variety of OTCs bought from grocery stores and pilfered from bathroom cabinets.

I know this must sound like an anti-drug commercial. But I can't understand why anyone would overdose on cough syrup when one of the main side effects is stomach sickness. And it's so white trash.

Says the guy who's consumed Sparks and Joose.
Don't judge me.

On special occasions, I put lime in my PBR.

Sexpresso, Part 2

Months ago, I discussed the popularity of bikini-clad baristas at Puget Sound latte stands. I had stated that this kind of coffee service makes me uncomfortable. The same way being at a strip club makes me uncomfortable. Well, that was before I learned what was happening at Grab n' Go Espresso in Everett. Apparently, baristas at this coffee stand allow men to touch their bare breasts and asses, for a minimal fee...which is why five women were charged with prostitution last week.

Yes, just in case you were wondering, it does a constitute a sex act if you pay someone $20 to expose herself. Even if she's in the act of preparing a mochachino with extra foam. But let's not get bogged down in the legal aspects of this kind of entertainment. Should these ladies be criticized for being creative in their means of presentation? When baristas are licking whip cream off of each other, they're just convincing customers of the tastiness of whip cream and its multiple uses. When they offer to play "basketball" (allowing men to throw wadded-up money into their underpants), how is this any different than a carnival game at a state fair? And honestly, shouldn't the Everett Police be more concerned about the kind of prostitution that involves sexual intercourse? The officers probably figured this would be easier and more fun to investigate than going after the pimps.
"Okay, one more whip cream show just to make sure what they're doing is wrong. We just need a little more evidence."

According to KOMO News' Michelle Esteban, customers could order a "special show with their cup of joe" if they specified a "20 oz. latte." This seems like a stupid codeword to me. What if I really wanted a 20 oz. latte and nothing else? Or am I supposed to wink twice at the end of my order, so they know what I'm talking about?

I appreciate the comment left by a reader on the Everett Herald website: "Difficult to make a decision regarding this story: I believe that barista pictures would help the reader's understanding immensely."
Hopefully the above photo will help all of you make an informed decision. I vote YES.

Trash Talking Your Illness

Whenever you get sick, it's easy to get down on yourself. You feel like you're being held hostage by a virus, and you have to wait until the police (i.e. antibiotics) negotiate a safe release. You're helpless to do anything but sit motionless in bed. You might be inclined to try prayer. Or watch your favorite movie in an attempt to ignore the pain and discomfort.

Chin up, sport. You don't have to be so complacent. Tell the cold, the flu, the sore throat, or bronchitis how you really feel. If you just lay there pitying yourself, the virus will think it has won the game, and it will run up the score. Here's a guide to approaching your enemy and retaking your health. Body and mind go together, as well as yo mouf!

1. Question its intensity.
"How many people you kill? I ain't gonna say how many I killed. Don't wanna embarrass ya. You sure you related to the swine flu? Cuz what you're bringing is weak. I mean, your game is pathetic."
2. Remind it of your perfect record.
"Every season, you know who comes out on top? This guy. How many rings you got? I'm undefeated and I'm just getting started!"
3. Talk about endurance.
"You've got to outlast me, son. But you ain't got the stamina! Pack yo bags. Train's leavin.' Get home to yer wife. Dinner's gettin' cold."
4. Point out the scoreboard repeatedly.
"You do realize I'm winning, right?"
5. Emphasize how its play is one-dimensional and downright flawed.
"I'm coming at you from all angles, kid! Hydration - BAM! Nutritious diet - BAM! Loads of sleep - BAM! Theraflu - BAM! All you know are two approaches: throat phlegm and night sweats. I got lozenges and Advil for that! I know how to defend that shit!"
6. Be real.
"I didn't get in to this game to make friends. I came to bring the pain and get paid. You're just another chump standing in the way. Step off before I break somefin' off!"
7. Speculate on the nature of things.
"The way I see it: I get back to 100% and I'm making six, seven figures a year. You know, makin' a name for myself. In the meantime, you're still hopping from person to person, leeching off anyone you can find. No retirement plan, no stock portfolio, no Benzos. Nothing to speak of! Now that's a sad excuse for a life, man."

Advice For Lovers

I am feeling a tiny bit sick this evening. Too much fun on a Friday night right at the beginning of flu season will do that to you. I'm trying to stay hydrated and fed, but my mental energy is zapped. So for today's posting, I'm mailing it in. I'm going with some old material.

Below is a list I gave to my soon-to-be-married cousin for her bridal shower. In a few weeks, I will be joining her and my family in Italy for the marriage ceremony (the Camel leads a tough life, I know). These pieces of advice were not meant to enlighten her or impart wisdom. Asking me for relationship advice is like asking a kitten how to replace a timing belt.
I'm still not sure how this whole partnership thing works. For what it's worth, here are my helpful pointers:

1. Listen attentively to your spouse.
2. Take a lesson from our nation’s two-party system. Filibusters don’t get you anywhere. Compromises get you Medicare and national parks.
3. Take turns making meals.
4. Take cues from your spirit animal. If you’re a dolphin, swim around difficulty. If you’re a rabbit, hop over adversity. If you’re a large smelly walrus, you might want to rethink your choice of spirit animal.
5. Birthdays and anniversaries are obviously important dates to remember. But it’s fun to celebrate unexpectedly, too. So when you’ve prepared a fun evening for your partner and s/he asks you “What’s the occasion?” you just say, “Because this date marks the end of the Franco-Prussian War and because I love you” (nobody knows the exact date, not even Kaiser Wilhelm knew for sure).
6. Never use sports analogies when discussing your relationship, and don’t take steroids.
7. There are certain qualities about your mate that you will always admire and cherish. All other things are subject to change. Be understanding of these changes.
8. Notes, letters and cards are still nice to give and receive, even when you live together.
9. Shouldn’t have to tell you this, but travel every so often. Three-day weekends are rad.
10. A simple yet profound saying from “The Care Bears” cartoon: Sharing is caring.

Next Stop, Sillyville Station!!!

One of the disparities I noticed at the Puyallup Fair yesterday was the amount of cages devoted to pigeons compared to those with bunnies. I mean, there were a lot of pigeons. I'm talking about a full barn of birds that don't differ too much in size or shape or personality. Not as cute as the ducks or as interesting as the turkeys - which is why pigeons are usually ignored. They are perceived as unsanitary street birds who live off the leftover crumbs of city dwellers, and they're maybe only a notch above crows, in terms of respect. According to the dictionary, "pigeon" is actually slang for (a) a young woman, or (b) a person who is easily fooled or cheated. Well, in this case, the pigeons have apparently tricked people into displaying them in large numbers. It's not a surprise that this barn was almost empty, except for a group of people clamoring around a incubator of baby chicks.

Nonetheless, the pigeon barn provided a quiet rest stop from the other activities on the fairgrounds. Shouts and screams accompanied the grinding of roller coaster wheels. Yelps of excitement came from the mouths of souvenir-crazed, face-painted boys and girls. A creepy guttural voice emanated the High Striker booth, where a microphone-wearing carnival worker implored people to slap a hefty hammer onto a metal block.

I am just outside Sillyville, where amusement rides and rigged carnival games mingle with inflatable unicorns and fried food. There are a few language barriers to overcome. A corn dog, for example, is called a "krusty pup." The man who handed me two balls to throw at metal milk bottles is toothless. I can't understand what he is saying. But I know that I lost. My first pitch knocks the top bottle from its perch. My second pitch sails high - wap! - into the plastic drape. I do not win a stuffed animal imported from China and I feel swindled. I should have tried the Hoop Shot instead (and maybe I would have ended up with a framed High School Musical poster).

Besides the roller coaster ride, the animals are the stars here. The pygmy goats are admirable because they're small. Their chests hang low to the ground like daschunds and they occasionally bleat, to tell you that one or more of their four stomachs could use nourishment. They're not picky. Just let them eat something. Now.

The piglets laying in the hay next to their massive mother are fast asleep, and nothing will wake them up. They couldn't possibly be the reason behind swine flu. They're much too lazy.

The highland cattle have amazing bangs and facial hair (pictured). They are the hipsters of cows. They shun black and white Holstein fashion and they let their hair grow out. Yeah, they're dairy cows, but don't tell anybody. A few of them have worked at record stores and met members of The Clash. They would like to travel to Eastern Europe.

And then there's the "Doggies of the Wild West" show. I just caught the last few minutes, but it featured a tiny dog climbing a ladder. With a helmet on. You tell me that's not's entertainment.

Let's Peruse The Periodicals

Tomorrow I'm going to the Puyallup Fair, otherwise known as "The Big Fantastic."
Barnyard animals, the Tilt-a-Whirl, mutton bustin' and Fisher Scones are some of the highlights of this 2-week-long event. Being a ridiculously nerdy person with a library science degree, rather than tell you what the other attractions are, I will give you a list of periodicals that describe the plethora of activities and sights. These are, in fact, magazines in print:

• Rug Hooking Magazine
• Creating Keepsakes Magazine (scrapbooking)
  
• The Draft Horse Journal
• Rubber Stamp Madness
• Illusion: The Magazine For Today's Face and Body Artist
• Holstein World
• Juggle Magazine
• Wood Carving Illustrated
• Amusement Today
• Dessert Professional Magazine
  

I'm mostly disappointed there's not a magazine about scrimshaw. And that there doesn't seem to be even a quarterly periodical for circus or rodeo clowns. But I was impressed to find Circopedia, the free encyclopedia of the international circus. You can learn all about clown college on that site.

Sufficient Warning

We've all read the sides of beer cans.
"Consumption of alcoholic beverages impairs your ability to drive a car or operate machinery." It doesn't specify what kind of machinery, or say, the difference between using a blender to make a margarita and driving a forklift into oncoming traffic. But I think we can all agree with the general statement.

A few days ago, I was watching film previews on a DVD and I got a different sort of warning. During an advertisement for the movie "State of Play," there was a message that read: This film contains depictions of tobacco consumption.

Okay. Thank you for pointing that out. I was getting really excited about watching Russell Crowe's latest political thriller, but now...NOW I will abstain. Because the sight of someone smoking causes me to have seizures that are untreatable with modern medicine. The actual act of a person using a Zippo causes instant vertigo. This was so helpful of you, film industry. You just saved me from unspeakable pain and outrage.

Another warning I discovered recently was on the back of my Speed Stick Gel deodorant. It caused me a bit of concern. On the same sticker that promotes it uses as (1) reduces underarm wetness and (2) extra effective, it reads: Ask a doctor before you use if you have kidney disease.

What would happen if I did have kidney disease? Would my armpits melt? Or would my kidneys take unkindly to the Aqua Sport fragance? Regardless, if I have sick kidneys, I would be robbed of a deodorant that is extra effective. I would smell like rubbish. People wouldn't sit next to me on the bus.
That's why I've made the choice to never have kidney disease. Or never acknowledge it. I want to be smelling great until the day I die.

If you do have kidney disease, you should avoid tripropylene glycol. Propylene glycol by itself isn't bad. But once it's been tripled, watch out!

My First Baseball Playoff Game

I know what you're saying.
"But Jamie, the baseball playoffs don't start until October."
Well, obviously you've never been to a Triple-A playoff game.

Tonight, I attended a Tacoma Rainiers playoff game (vs. the Sacramento Rivercats) with my friend Holly. The atmosphere was not exactly electric. The parking lot outside Cheney Stadium was mostly empty, and there were only about 25 fans in the general admission bleachers (usually the most enthusiastic and inebriated section). I guess a Wednesday night does not draw many fans, even if it is Game 1 of a 5-game playoff series.

The night got off to a promising start. Rhubarb, the Mariner Moose look-alike mascot, came up behind me and gave me a back massage. And then he gave me a kiss. Which included a "lip-smack" sound effect. Like mimes, I thought mascots weren't supposed to make sounds. I was wrong.

The game quickly got ugly when the Evil Empire scored 3 runs in the top of the 1st inning. I call them the Evil Empire because they've won the last two Triple-A championships (so I suppose they resemble the Yankees of the late 90s; disregard the fact that Sacramento is an Oakland A's franchise). The Rivercats added two more in the 2nd inning. Fortunately, the disappointing beginning was interuppted by the Fun Squad's dance performance of the song "Thriller." Rhubarb was wearing a red leather jacket, while his dance companions were clothed in ripped zombie shirts. The choreography was amazing. I can't really describe it. Maybe something like this.

Every time Rivercats outfield Chris Denorfia walked up to bat, some heckler would yell:

"Hey, Number 16! Get a real job!"

Yet it was unclear what constituted a proper occupation. Or why 29 year-old Chris Denorfia of Bristol, Connecticut, deserved this taunt more than other players...and if the heckler actually held a decent job.

One of the highlights of the night was receiving a souvenir from the Fun Squad (the Fun Squad consists of high school girls with elite cheering skills and expert swag distribution skills). During one of the inning breaks, the announcer shouted, "Hey Rainiers fans, who wants a softy ball?" I wasn't really sure what a softy ball was. But after two cups of Mirror Pond beer, I was thinking, "Yes, I want a softy ball. Throw it the fuck over here." Two elderly people were leaving early from the game and just as a Fun Squad girl was throwing it toward me, they got in my way. I almost lost my shit. But the older couple did the right thing and they gave me the softy ball. They told me to give it to the "little ones" if I had any "little ones." I was like, "No, I don't have any children, but hand it over, Gramps."

$6 tickets. $6 beers. Free softy ball (pictured above). You can't beat Tacoma Rainiers baseball.

This Photo Has Nothing To Do With My Ramblings

I was just looking for a reason to post this picture. It's the smallest woman perched on the lap of the richest man...back in 1933.
Circus dwarf Lya Graf is seated on J.P. Morgan (during a Senate Committee hearing on the stock market crash of 1929).

Well, I suppose you could connect it to the fact that I'm not the world's richest man. In fact, I'm about to lose my temporary position at the public library, and I'm anticipating a lighter wallet. Which means I need to find another J-O-B, and cut some of my spending.

I've dreamed up a few ideas for limiting expenditures:

• Only drink really cheap beer (exclusively Miller High Life, Fall Series - camoflauge can)
• Get rid of Comcast cable internet and use the neighborhood park's free wi-fi (rain or shine)
• Buy food at dollar stores
• Lights and appliances off at 9 pm every night
• Kraft Singles (no more mizithra)
  
• Make a fake bus pass
• Sublet my kitchen
• Stick to "Fun Size" candy, not "King Size"
  

Ideas for creating cash flow are as follows:

• Gamble on sports
• Plasma donation
  
• Take coins from fountains
• Create some sort of pyramid scheme
• Marry a circus dwarf

If you have any further suggestions, please leave a comment. Of course, I already use the library instead of Netflix.

Today's Libraries: Teaming Up With The Antichrist

While I was waiting for the No. 2 bus last week, a woman handed me a brochure titled "Mark of the Beast: RFID."
For those of you unfamiliar with this technology, RFID stands for Radio Frequency Identification. RFID chips are embedded in some electronic appliances, retail items, and yes, library books. These microchips are used for the purposes of identifying, monitoring and tracking inventory. At the Seattle Public Main Library, for example, there are sensors in the book drop that determine what book is being returned. After its identity is confirmed, the robotic book sorting system directs the item to a location for re-shelving or holds placement. The tag inside each book can also be used as a security device and set off a door alarm if it isn't checked out by a patron.
This system eliminates human sorting (which is costly) and gives robots (who don't take smoke breaks) much needed jobs. Yet the technology itself is costly - each chip costs at least 50 cents (for over 5 million items at SPL). That doesn't count the robotic conveyor belt system and maintenance.

But using public funds exorbiantly and giving jobs to robots are not concerns listed by the brochure. The author(s) is worried that RFID chips will soon be implanted on our bodies, and these "biochips" will be used to monitor our behavior and serve as a form of monetary exchange (remember that scene in "Minority Report" where Tom Cruise's eyes are scanned by The Gap? And the store knew his name?). The brochure states that "there will be privacy invasion and freedom will cease to exist." Furthermore, "anyone who refuses to accept this system will be tortured, then killed [not the other way around]."

And that's where Satan comes into the conversation. "A charismatic leader, who is the Anti-Christ, will rule the whole world through a system that is interconnected and interdependent." According to this logic, accepting a biochip is equated with receiving the mark of the beast, 666. This sin is unforgivable and cannot be reversed by physically removing the chip. Once the chip is implanted, you belong to Lucifer.

So, what does this mean for our nation's library systems? Well, since the Rapture and the Great Tribulation are inevitable (Revelation), I say we do whatever we can to track our items at all times. I suggest 24-hour surveillance from a central control center in which staff members make fun of patron's DVD choices ("'Paul Blart' and 'White Chicks'? You are a pathetic human being.")
Librarians, however, must never accept the mark of the beast. We've stood up against the Patriot Act. And we will not allow anything to be forced on us. Unless Nancy Pearl says it's good for us.

This Stereotype Must Stop NOW

Why can't librarians be gung-ho and cutthroat? Why are we always portrayed as gentle, timid people?
First of all, we are not weak. Librarians develop some pretty good muscles carrying and lifting stacks of James Patterson novels. Second, we have all sorts of books on kendo and kung fu. If we chose to read them, we would be able to kick your deliquent ass (if you have fines over $50). Third, we know more about waterboarding than you think. Librarians listen to NPR all the time. We know that torture has been condemned by the current administration. But we're not afraid to use these methods to determine the location of a Kid Rock CD (after the case has been returned empty).

The following excerpts are descriptions of books that perpetuate the myth of the "unassuming librarian." We need your help to eliminate this widespread problem. Please do not buy or borrow these items. Ever.

Fleece Navidad by Maggie Sefton:
"Christmas is approaching, and the knitters who hang out at House of Lambspun in Fort Connor, Colorado, are working on various holiday projects. Even neophyte knitter Kelly is inspired to help in a project teaching children how to knit. The venture is headed by the quiet town librarian, Juliet, well known for her beautiful hand-knitted Christmas capes. Everyone at House of Lambspun loves the unassuming librarian and is horrified to learn of her death in a hit-and-run accident..."

The Return of Don Quixote by G.K. Chesterton:
"Michael Herne is a gentle, unassuming librarian. When he is asked to play a king in a medieval play he reluctantly agrees. After the play is over, however, strange things begin to happen..."

The Librarian by Larry Beinhart:
"Mild-mannered university librarian David Goldberg decides to supplement his meager salary by cataloging the personal library of Augustus Winthrop Scott, an eccentric billionaire. The fact that Scott is an ultraconservative who thinks nothing of buying politicians and even stealing a presidential election does not bother Goldberg..."

Trojan Enchantment by Kristina O'Donnelly:
"Olivia Hayden, 24, mild-mannered librarian from Indianapolis, USA, is a chrysalis eager to be a butterfly. Until now, just about the only aspect of hers fit to be called free-spirited, was her riotous red-gold hair..."

And finally this review by Publisher Weekly of The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger that paints librarians as somehow disabled, and unable to function in real time:
"Henry De Tamble is a Chicago librarian with "Chrono Displacement" disorder; at random times, he suddenly disappears without warning and finds himself in the past or future, usually at a time or place of importance in his life..."

The only realistic portrayal of the profession comes from Full Exposure by Diana Duncan:
"To the passengers aboard the cruise ship Alexandra's Dream, Ariana Bennett appears to be an unassuming librarian. But her real mission is to probe the underworld of antiquities smuggling and find the criminals who framed her father and caused his death..."

Playing Touch Football In Comfortable Jeans

Above is the most annoying television commercial of all time:
Brett Favre is playing touch football with his buddies in a muddy Midwestern-looking field. He's playing quarterback, of course. All of the sudden, one of his teammates is wide open down field, while everyone else is mucking about on the line of scrimmage. In typical Favre fashion, he throws behind his receiver, so that the player has to stretch out to catch the football. The guy falls down in a puddle because of Favre. Thanks, Brett. You jerk.

Many people like myself fixate on the boneheadedness of that play or a just a blind hatred of Favre. Which distracts us from realizing that the ad is actually trying to sell us jeans.
"Real. Comfortable. Jeans."
I don't think I fall into the category of someone who listens to celebrities when purchasing pants. Especially when athletes and movie stars have cash to buy any kind of jeans they want. These famous people tell me they get their jeans from K-Mart of Target. Am I supposed to believe that? That even Dale Earnhardt Jr., the epitome of a redneck celebrity, with millions in product endorsements, is strolling around a J.C. Penney, looking for the perfect mid-rise fit?

Yet I have bought expensive jeans. And it's not because of Jay-Z. It's because they fit well and look good, and they're durable. My last two pairs of jeans are Lucky Brand. The tag that came with them said the following about me: "He doesn't like to rock the boat too much...it isn't his style. No need to chase trends...he already looks good in his mid rise, classic fit, straight leg jeans." Which really isn't too far off from what Favre's Wrangler brand represents: Just a normal guy who wants to be comfortable in his clothing.

What do other brands promote about their jeans?
Diesel is focused on men attracting women. A recent motto reads: "Diesel Jeans gets you there. The rest is up to you." (and then there's this weird humorous Japanese commercial)
If you're going to wear Abercrombie jeans, only one thing matters: you look good with your shirt off. Your chest needs to be shaved and waxed and perfectly toned.
Lee Dungarees uses an odd little doll named Buddy Lee in hilarious ads. I suppose they're targeting men with a good sense of humor, or at least with the knowledge that jeans don't make the man.
Calvin Klein, as we all know, supports orgies, uncomfortable wood paneling, and Marky Mark. Sort of a mixed bag.
Guess Jeans present confusing storylines, sometimes involving Anna Nicole Smith.

So the lesson of this post is...Don't buy jeans from Brett Favre.
If you're a man, just be a man. Not an egomaniac quarterback with limited vocabulary.

Dewey Revisionism

As a librarian, I really don't know where every subject fits into the Dewey Decimal system. I've memorized the numbers I care about: sports = 790, travel = 910, American history = 970, Calvin & Hobbes = 741.5973, and animals = 590. But outside of those things, I try to remember where books are physically located in my library - not by number. My navigation skills are dictated by physical orientation.
But there's got to be an easy conceptual way to think about the Dewey Decimal Classification (DDC) system. Melvil Dewey, no doubt, wanted to organize books in groups that made sense. How much did he pay attention to the order of these groupings? I'm fairly confident there is a linear relation between the subjects. (You would think I studied this in librarian school, but discussion about Dewey was pretty limited; we talked more about Charles Cutter, the Library of Congress classification pioneer)

So, as a memory device for myself, I've created a simplified guide to the DDC. You can picture it as the development of human civilization in nine steps, or as a progression of human thought. It's neither of these, actually; it's more a personal therapy session. I wasn't sure what to do about the subject group 000, since it now includes computers. Computers surely don't represent the beginning of mankind, unless you're a robot. Though I guess you could say computers are now the foundation of most daily activities. Plus, robots will one day rule all over humanity and their infinite wisdom will be valued over centuries of accumulated human knowledge. To illustrate the comparison, I've included the current class designations for the DDC.

Dewey:
000 Computer science, information and general works
100 Philosophy and Psychology
200 Religion
300 Social Sciences
400 Language
500 Science
600 Technology
700 Arts and Recreation
800 Literature
900 History

Jamie:
000 Robots
100 Thinking
200 Believing
300 Sorting Out My Problems (societal ills, mostly)
400 Talking About My Feelings (in different accents)
500 Nature
600 Making Things From Nature
700 Leisure/Partying
800 Writing About My Feelings After The Party Ends
900 I Didn't Want The Party To End; Places I Might Go Next (and wasn't there just a civil war there?)

Titles Of The Week

I could discuss the prospect of losing my position at work. It's something that's definitely weighing on my mind. Hooray for budget cuts.
But that's not my style. I will instead talk about the strange and funny titles on my library's shelves, thus quietly suppressing my discontent.

• Sensual Crochet
• Another Day In The Frontal Lobe
• How To Iron Your Own Damn Shirt: The Perfect Husband Handbook...
  
• Toilet Training Without Tears
• The Bark (dog magazine)
• Party Dancing (instructional DVD)
• Anaconda 3 (DVD starring David Hasselhoff)
• How To Ruin Your Life (By Ben Stein)
  
• The Tacoma Public Utilities Story
• Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of Nine Inch Nails (CD)
• How To Make An Apple Pie And See The World
• Spiritual Divorce: Divorce As A Catalyst For An Extraordinary Life
• Don't You Just Hate That? 738 Annoying Things
• The Zen of Zombie: Better Living Through The Undead
  
• The World According to Pretty Toney (by Ghostface Killah)

Taking Food From Strangers

What's your opinion? If it's free and it looks edible, what would you do?
Push 1 for: Absolutely I would eat it.
Push 2 for: No, it's got rat poison.
Push 3 for: Inspect it thoroughly and weigh your options.

Today, a regular patron at the library brought me half of a sandwich. We had talked earlier about a delicatessen (notice I did not shorten this term to "deli") I had never frequented. She was adamant that I sample the menu from Viafore's, and I told her I was planning on going someday, but limited by public transportation.
Remembering this fact, she called me this morning at the library and said she would bring me a sandwich. I told her, "You really don't have to do this. It will make the other employees jealous." She quickly came up with a solution: "I'll just drop it by and say it's from your mom." Which is exactly what she did.
She's a nice person and not exactly a stranger...but accepting food from someone who've you only interacted with in several two- or three-minute encounters...is a bit questionable.
So what did I do?

I saved it for dinner and polished it off within a matter of minutes. No inspection. Just ate the durn thing.
I am a very trusting person.
You can take advantage of me easily.
If I had been poisoned by a crazy woman, or maybe it's one of those slow-acting poisons, I want my tombstone to read:

"Possessed a hunger for life and sandwiches."

The End Of An Era

If you consider an era to span 6 months...

My time as a (paying) online dater is over. The Match.com experiment has come to a close. And unlike this guy, I haven't found "the one."
Here are some lessons I've taken from my experience and why I'm not re-upping for another $100:

[Disclaimer: I've made three friends through this process, which was one of my goals. When I moved to Tacoma, I wanted to meet people - so it achieved those ends. So I don't believe it was a waste of time or money. But to continue on this path would probably be frustrating.]

I'm pretty shallow-minded. During my search for prospective mates, the focus was primarily on the photos. If the pictures interested me, I would read parts of the bios and decide if there are any mutual interests, red flags, or intriguing statements. If there was no photo posted, I wouldn't even spend a second looking at the profile.

It's easier to be inconsiderate/dismissive online. Out of all the e-mails I initiated to women, I never received a response back (I only met women when they "winked" or e-mailed me first). I'm not saying this is remarkably different from other forms of communication. Women can choose to ignore you in a number of ways. But a match.com e-mail is easier to disregard than an in-person encounter, a phone call, or text message. So I'm basically paying to be ignored. I don't need to spend money to do that.

Where are all the Tacoma women? This is what I sometimes shout outside my apartment window, and there is only the sound of crickets and hobos. There are lots of women from the Seattle area, but not much to choose from in my hometown.

Too many people like John Grisham. If a woman puts "something by John Grisham" or "Grisham's latest" as the last book she's read, that means she doesn't read. Ever. In this situation, I would prefer honesty. To that woman who wrote "US Weekly," I applaud you.

Women who "love the Seahawks" are actually heavy drinkers. I refuse to believe that there are so many genuine women football fans in the Seattle area. The percentage of pictures of women in Seahawk colors is astounding. Is this an attempt to attract men or can they actually name three wide receivers on the Seattle roster? Neither. They like having an excuse to party on Sunday. Now I think about it, this might be a good thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So what's next?
Free dating sites are a possibility (such as plentyoffish.com and okcupid.com). How do the crowds differ on paying sites versus non-paying sites? I am thinking of setting up different types of profiles on these sites, and see what happens. What personality of Jamie is the most appealing?
(a) cocky and career-focused
(b) funny and self-deprecating
(c) obssessed with Rick Springfield
(d) Son of God
(e) relative of Osama bin Laden

Woofstock 2009!

Yesterday, I was walking near the campus of the University of Puget Sound, and I noticed something unusual. Several people were parking their cars and unloading their pets. What could explain this mass exodus of pooch owners? I decided to follow the stream of leashed dogs, and I came upon a large lawn filled with dozens of booths and a rock band tuning their instruments. A traffic sign posted near the stage read: "Pets Adopted: 85."

Below the stage was another sign: "Woofstock: Pet Adoption Music Festival."

Forty years after Jimi Hendrix's memorable rendition of the Star Spangled Banner in Woodstock, New York, a lovefest of a different kind was taking place in Tacoma, Washington. Though the t-shirts for sale are tie-dye (and the pscyhedelic font is used to spell out "Woofstock"), no one here appeared to be a hippie. It was just a bunch of people with confused dogs, enjoying the sun and listening to rock music.
If I was a dog, I would be a bit mystified at the events. "Okay, let me off leash now and play with these other dogs! I am a free spirit and this is the summer of love, man." Woofstock, in fact, is not a festival promoting carefree amorous relations between canines. In the parking lot is an ominous truck called the "Spay Station" (above). Looks can be deceiving. On the outside of the truck, a dog and cat astronaut are frolicking on the surface of the moon. Yet inside, I suspect nothing comparable to a spacewalk is going on. Unless you equate the loss of sexual organs to bouncing around in an atmosphere of low gravity.
The highlight for some dogs were the six or seven kiddie pools positioned on the edge of the fair. Some would jump in and twist around wildly, challenging their owners to hang on to the leashes and not get drenched. Other pups would stand there hestitantly, thinking this might be a precursor to a bath, but appreciating the cool water.
Perhaps the strangest thing at Woofstock was the appearance of Heart's former bassist, Steve Fossen. He played a set of three songs with the Kenmore band Somar (pronounced Summer, named after the lead singer, Somar Macek) - all Heart cover songs - predictably "Crazy On You," "Magic Man," and "Barracuda" (which I now always associate with playing "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas").
When last I checked, the pet adoption total was up to 106. I have to admit, Woofstock is a more comfortable place to consider adoption. You're introduced to pets in a more natural setting - versus a row of sad cages in a flourescent-lit shelter.
I think many of the dogs and cats can echo the simple lyrics of Somar's rock ballad:

Take me to your dreams
Take good care of mine
Tell me that you love me one last time
In my darkest hour
I go to sleep at night
In my dreams everything's alright

Suggestions From The 2 Bus

Everyday on the bus, I receive lots of messages. Messages that I try to drone out with my iPod and by generally avoiding eye contact with passengers. Of course, when I avert my eyes from passengers, I sometimes look up and see the bus advertisements, that are also incredible sources of knowledge. So far, I've learned the following things:

• Smoking is bad (from various memos by miserable smokers who express regret over their habits and how they're about to die; the ads are handwritten to imply that they're real)
• Terrorists are among us (the ad copy reads: "We can always use an extra pair of eyes. Look around. Be aware. If something doesn't look right, please let us know.")
• Don't abandon your baby (that one is pretty straightforward; I can see how leaving your infant in a garbage can or in a cockfight arena might be troublesome)

All great advice.
Still, the bus public service ads are not as convincing as the arguments of other passengers. Today, a man was trying to convince the bus driver that air-conditioned buses are healthier. Without A/C, he insisted, we would just be inhaling exhaust all day. He decided to ignore the following information:
(1) air-conditioned buses only make bus rides more comfortable for 1-2 months a year in the Puget Sound
(2) sudden changes in temperature (from hot to cold and cold to hot) place stress on the physiology of the human body and may make it more susceptible to illness
(3) air-conditioned buses are more expensive and wasteful
(4) freon vapor is heavier than air and can cause suffocation by reducing oxygen available for breathing (although this isn't worrisome unless there's a considerable leak and you're trapped inside a submarine).
The strangest thing about the passenger's complaint? It was a cool, comfortable day.

A few weeks ago, another piece of advice entered my brain: Don't ever steal pickle juice from a crazy woman!
This was confirmed after listening to a lengthy monologue. Here's an abbreviated version:
"It all started with a jar of pickle juice...Pickle juice will clean out your system. I think it's your intestine. Every day I do a few shots of pickle juice - combined with water - and I'm good...He threw out my pickle juice, and I almost broke his fuckin' nose. If I'd had my phone on me, my dad would have been there in ten [minutes]. He would've beat Josh's ass. He's used to takin' on 20 people at once...If only I had my phone on me."

Conversations About Scrubs

I talked to a patron on the phone two times today.

The first time, he began with a ramble of thoughts. I was glad he was could spell correctly, because I could only understand every third word. He was talking about an actress, and he told me her name was S-A-R-A-H C-H-A-L-K-E. Google Images quickly alerted me that she's a cast member on the medical comedy show "Scrubs." I had seen her so many times on the show, but never knew her name. After going off on several tangents, the man finally came around to a question: "What I really wanna know is how she got her career started."
Via IMDb, I told the man she starred on "Roseanne," and before that, she had done some television work and a few movies. Chalke's first movie was called "City Boy" (1992), in which a young man is torn between his logging livelihood and the love of his life (a 16 year-old Chalke). [Maybe the film was playing off the eco-friendly vibes of "Ferngully," released the same year; yes, there's a Ferngully 2]
But this information did not satisfy the man's curiosity. He asked if there was anything else she had done before that movie. I looked further on IMDb and discovered that she had starred in NBC "More You Know" public service announcements. I assumed that she had been in one of them in 1989 because that was the date listed next to "More You Know." I later realized my mistake. She wouldn't appear in a "More You Know" ad unless she was a NBC star, and she only would have been 13 years old in 1989.
Which brings up a librarian critique of IMDb's cataloging (I know - nerd alert!). "More You Know" is assigned the date 1989, because that's the year NBC started running the ads. So I gave out false information to the man on the phone, because I thought maybe she was just an extra in one of these ads before she made it big. The truth is: Following her debut on Scrubs, Chalke has appeared in 9 "More You Know" ads, on the subjects of anti-prejudice, child abuse and neglect prevention, designated drivers, emergency planning, family communication, second anti-prejudice, seat belts, anti-smoking, and substance abuse. Damn, Sarah is a flowing fountain of wisdom.
More than you needed to know about Sarah Chalke.
Rimshot.

For my money, the above interpretation by Zach Braff is better than any of the real public service announcements. There's also this hilarious fake PSA done by a cast member of "The Office."

The second phone call had to do with the man's interest in whether or not Muhammad Ali had smoked or done steriods.

The Ladder (Not Yet Attempted)

For a period of months, my friends and I have speculated about an all-day activity that (to my knowledge) has never been attempted. In fact, the idea could have only evolved in the past few years, due to the recent popularity of alcoholic energy drinks. I must first give credit to Karl for creating, or at least, naming the concept "The Ladder." It's easily the most inventive idea since the Manhattan Project in 1942.
"The Ladder" is the offspring of two heralded traditions: competitive drinking and Scooby's All-Star Laff-A-Lympics (an ABC cartoon series that ran from 1977-78). Although the activity pits people against each other in various games and tests, there is a distinct feeling that everyone who makes it up the Ladder is a winner. Currently there are five stages in the Ladder. Each stage consists of two tasks: (a) consuming an alcoholic energy drink and (b) performing a task.
A winner is pronounced at the end of each task, and scores are totalled at the end of the night (or probably, the next morning, if records still exist). A partially-sober referee is not mandatory, but encouraged. Below is a list of each stage (after the initial Ladder is completed, the order might be tweaked a bit):

Stage 1: Drink a Sparks (6% alcohol) and participate in chipping/putting contest
Stage 2: Drink a Sparks Plus (7%) and fire a BB gun at targets
Stage 3: Drink a Tilt (8%) and play Trivial Pursuit
Stage 4: Drink a Joose (9%) and shoot free throws
Stage 5: Drink a Four (10%) and successfully buy a girl a drink at a bar

Once again, survival is the ultimate goal. But if you happen to nail 8 out of 10 free throws, that's pretty impressive, too. Please submit your suggestions for stage events to the Camel. This is still a work in progress. The Vibe Max could be considered as a beverage, once it has been certified by the appropriate authorities. But, in that case, you're adding 12% to the ladder. I'm not worried about the danger of high alcohol content. I'm just concerned about the integrity of the game and the maintaining a progressive climb.

Dubious Claims?

Recently I've been looking at lodging options in the Puget Sound area.

First off, my parents are coming to Tacoma to visit me, and I suggested the Silver Cloud Inn on Ruston Way. Upon examining the Silver Cloud website, I read that it's the "only waterfront hotel in Tacoma." Whaaaaaat? Can this really be true?

Well, considering there are only about 5 proper hotels in downtown Tacoma and it's the only one located on the water, I suppose the site is correct. In fact, one visitor to the hotel commented: "Our room was right over the water. We woke up to the beautiful sunrise." Not only on the water, but directly over it (which is further proved by the photo). Another vacationer wrote: "The reflection of the water on the ceiling at night is enchanting."

These reviews are more positive than those given to the Rodeway Inn in South Tacoma:
"Staff mistakenly thought we were only staying one night; the 2nd day, they removed our things from the room and ate our food - May 2008."
Then there's the puzzling review of the Days Inn Tacoma Mall posted in September 2008: "Just a roof over my head." Is that favorable? I guess that person just has low expectations.

Later in August, I'm thinking about going camping with some friends after a Flaming Lips concert. I want to stay close to Seattle, and I found a campsite in Fall City called "Snoqualmie River Park and Campground." Some of its features are listed, including clean restrooms, bordering an 18-hole golf course, and fishing and swimming. It also lists disposal station and shade. These two qualities cannot be promoted enough. When I go camping, the first things I think of are:
(A) Will I have some place to put my garbage?
(B) Get that wretched sun out of my eyes.