January 20th, 2008
3:09 pm
The week before last, I drove home one night and saw a bunch of people crowded around the northeast corner of 28th and Jackson. It was dark and raining hard, and while looking at the crowd over to the left I nearly hit a pedestrian walking from the right out into the street. I slammed on the brakes, waved meakly at the man I had nearly killed, and he headed over to the corner to join the group huddled around the entrance to Flo Ware Park. There were a bunch of soggy people there, with candles and flowers all over the place, and one girl I happened to make eye contact with appeared to be crying.
The next night, it was the same scene, with maybe 5 or 6 people instead of the 20 or so on the first night. Then then night after that, I worked extremely late, and coming home after midnight there were four people there in the freezing rain, sitting on folding chairs in front of a pile of soggy flowers and cards.
I figured somebody must have been killed there, in a car wreck or a shooting or something. That intersection has a fair number of scary-looking guys hanging around some nights, so a shooting seemed likely to me. But I did many searches and never found the story. I really wanted to take pictures of those people at the nightly vigil, I must admit, but I felt like it would be a bit creepy to stop and hop out with my Nikon and start shooting.
Then yesterday, Megan and I were having lunch at a Chinese restaurant over in Chinatown the International District, and two cops were at the table next to us. So I asked one of them, and he told me what that was all about. Allen Joplin, a local teenager, had been killed at a dance downtown, and they were having the nightly vigil back in his neighborhood. That’s why I couldn’t find it in my searches, because the actual killing had happened far away from the location where those sad soggy people were sitting every night last week.
Here’s the story as reported on a local news channel.
January 19th, 2008
8:25 pm
I noticed this morning that Megan has put up yet another scrap of paper on the refrigerator door. This one contains “Triolet on a Line Apocryphally Attributed to Martin Luther” by A. E. Stallings …
Why should the Devil get all the good tunes,
The booze and the neon and Saturday night,
The swaying in the darkness, the lovers like spoons?
Why should the Devil get all the good tunes?
Does he hum them to while away sad afternoons
And the long, lonesome Sundays? Or sing them for spite?
Why should the Devil get all the good tunes,
The booze and the neon and the Saturday night?
Reminds of the lyrics to one of my favorite Leonard Cohen tunes, Closing Time.
Coincidentally, it’s Saturday night, and I’m not working at all this weekend (for a change!). Wish us luck.
January 18th, 2008
7:58 pm
OK, this is something I’ve wanted to complain about many times. Today’s the day. Finally.
My rhetorical question is very simple: why the hell do so many people call me “Dough”?
Not out loud, mind you. Only once, in a Chicago courtroom long ago (don’t ask), can I recall somebody saying “dough” out loud. Dough Mao, actually, and I rather like the name; I can still hear that stern portly court clerk barking it out.
No, I’m talking about email, where people often address me as “Dough.” I just did a search, and at this very moment there are 46 such emails in my in-box. That’s quite a few, especially when you consider that I sometimes delete them without reading beyond the damn “h” when they start that way. (You think I’m non-responsive on email now, just try starting your emails with “Dough.”)
I thought at first it was an English-as-a-second-language thing, sort of like how everyone in France calls me Doog. (I like that, actually.) But there’s no pattern to this abuse. I have all kinds of people emailing “Dough,” from many countries, speakers of many languages, everyone from peons to upper management, including people with advanced degrees in everything under the sun. And it seems to be getting worse. I’ve even noticed people who had emailed me as “Doug” suddenly switch to “Dough,” as if somebody got to them and told them what to do. “It’s a little thing we like to do around here, keeps him humble you know.”
Microsoft takes a lot of pride in being an accepting, diverse, culturally sensitive place, so I sure hope this stuff only happens to us white males. Otherwise, we’re in big trouble the first time somebody not named Moohammed or Songjay files a lawsuit. Well, not “we” … I’ll take the other side and get even for this daily indignation, by golly. “Yes, your honor, it’s demeaning and makes me feel abused and worthless, but I just thought it was best to keep turning the other cheek. Maybe I’ve just brought this on myself by dressing like the Pillsbury Dougboy … I should probably stop wearing the chef’s hat.”
I better stop writing before I think of anything else that pisses me off this much. It’s time to delete 46 emails and call it a day.
January 9th, 2008
8:49 am
Some folks have noticed that I’ve gone quiet on the househunting front. That’s because we have made an offer, which has been accepted. We have the inspection this weekend, and if all goes well (which we expect it will), then I’ll be blogging away.
But until then, we’re being very superstitious. We talk in code, and we meet with Ricklie the Realtor in ever-changing locations, always under a dome of silence. When we visit the house, we both cross-dress and we arrive in a rental car, with Megan driving. A Hummer.
As for the house, it’s not the pool house. Nor the big 7-bedroom one with a view of the power lines. Nor the cute brick one in Madrona, or the fixer-upper on Seward Park Drive. It’s built in 1929, like many houses in the areas we’ve been looking, and it needs no work at all: we can just move right in and start partying. Or working 16 hours a day, as the case may be.
What the hell, a little sneak preview couldn’t hurt:
More soon …
January 3rd, 2008
11:21 pm
They keep showing the percentages for the two parties independently, and the headlines say things like “Obama wins Democratic Caucus,” but here are the total numbers (from Dailykos), out of 356,000 total voters including Democrats and Republicans:
24.5% Obama
20.5% Edwards
19.8% Clinton
11.4% Huckabee
The #1 Republican comes in 4th.
Barack Obama’s victory speech
January 1st, 2008
3:48 pm
2008 has arrived, and it’s house-hunting season for Doug and Megan. Today at the crack of dawn (10-ish), we were out looking at houses. Well, not “houses” … house. The same one Megan already fell in love with.
I must say, it’s growing on me, too. For starters, my truck clearly fits into the carport, a crucial detail …
It’s a sprawling rambler in a quiet secluded neighborhood, and has the feel of a party pad in suburban California, mid-60s: big hair, big sideburns, bushy mustache, tan lines, walking around dripping wet, neighbors with pimpmobiles up on blocks, you know the type. There’s retro decor everywhere (the General Electric power fixtures are to die for), and it has the stuff we’re looking for: a kitchen, a living room or two, some bathrooms and bedrooms, and places to hide offices and a gym room and stuff like that.
The landscaping is classic Californica, sort of a bonzai-on-steroids thing with overgrown shrubs encroaching on the walkways, lots of concrete slabs and gravel. There’s not a square foot of lawn to mow, a definite plus. Some of the water fountains and other details look like science-fair projects gone awry, but a layer of moist Seattle leaves over everything really smooths out those harsh details. We may want to stick with that approach, since it seems pretty easy to do and low-maintenance.
Next step is to really check it out, of course. Actually go inside, look around, get some details, find out why the smart money would run, figure out a corresponding offer. But the hard part’s done: we found a house we both like.
Oh, did we mention the pool?
