Allow me to share with you my constitution

I am the sort of cat that not only says 'F*** you,' but says, 'F*** you . . . in the ass.'








This post is dedicated to Sean and Andy.

Kyrgyzstan Story

My host-grandmother was kidnapped by my host-grandfather. Their eldest son kidnapped his bride. Their middle son, my host-father, went about it in the more widely accepted, western way - by asking.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/chi-0507240351jul24,1,1130165.story?coll=chi-newsnationworld-hed&ctrack=1&cset=true

This link provides a really interesting story on Kyrgyzstan, where I served as a Peace Corps volunteer for seven months.

'So this is a rave.'

On Friday night, I had my eyes opened. Much to my shock and surprise, techno is not only admired by e-bombed kids wearing white pants and waving glow sticks, but by Seattle yuppies as well! I went to my first techno show with friends to see Deep Dish who, I am told, is ‘pretty old-school’ when it comes to Progressive House. Huh? In my ignorance, I didn’t even know that techno had sub-forms! I made my first blunder of the night by attempting to wear flip-flops into the club. When I had located some appropriate footwear and was admitted by the bouncer, I made another mistake by saying, “So this is a rave.” My friends were peeved, to say the least. “This is NOT a rave!” They yelled. Oops. I guess I just have a hard time understanding the difference. Here’s what I’ve gleaned over the past couple of days: a)Rave – takes place in a warehouse with flashing lights, kids on party drugs, thumping beats, and crazy outfits, b)Show – takes place at a club (this is apparently a key difference) with good DJs, flashing lights, and kids on party drugs. The only thing missing is the crazy outfits, as the downtown Seattle crowd tends to dress a little more to impress. I’m not going to lie, though, it was a great time. I haven’t been so sweaty on a dance floor since 80’s Night at the 3B in Bellingham. I wish that I could post some pictures of my gnarly blisters and torn-up toes. I’m excited – now I will feel more at home in my future travels! I will no longer be intimidated by Euro trash clubs and pulsing beats. But don’t worry; I’ll leave my glow sticks at home.

Rain, rain, go away!

Above is a picture of my friend, Quinn, peeing into the abyss on Kendall's Katwalk. Note the fog and rain. Welcome to a Seattle summer! Don't blink, or you'll miss it. We have two weeks of absolutely beautiful weather, a couple days of it's-not-raining-but-it's-still-kind-of-dismal weather, and the rest is just rain, rain, and more rain. It's the same as a Seattle winter, only slightly warmer. I love Seattle, but I have begun to feel bitterness toward the incessant rain. True, the grass is always green. True, our trees always have leaves (okay, needles). Yes, you can play outside all year, as long as you don't mind a decent soaking. Are these positives a fair trade for the constant gray? I am especially upset because all week long the weather was hot and sunny, but now that it's Friday everything goes to crap. I guess I'll be wearing a poncho to my friends' barbeque and the festival tomorrow afternoon. One really good thing about Seattle weather is that, wherever you go, you are always appreciative. Blazing heat? Hey, at least its not rain! Blizzards? Still not rain! Tornadoes? Don't even talk to me about it . . .

Innocence Lost

I have no idea how technology functions. Television, for example. How do they get those pictures on a screen in my house? I'm curious as to how television works, just as I'm curious as to how the book I'm reading right now ends. Maybe I'll skip to the end and read the last page, but I know that if I do I'll lose most of my interest in the plot. It's like eating desert before dinner or finding out who won the Superbowl before you watch it (granted, you are in Kyrgyzstan and you have to wait two months for the tape to arrive, but still . . .). Yesterday, I drove down to Portland to pick up Noah the Dog where he was patiently waiting for me at the news station. My brother-in-law decided to show me around 'the compound' so that I could see what a real TV station looks like. Oh bliss! Oh lucky day! But when we got inside, it looked a lot like my office, only less nice and with lots of televisions on everywhere. Where did the magic go? I don't want to know that my local anchorman is cracking jokes to himself because no one is operating the camera. I don't want to know that on the other side of my television screen is a disgruntled, unshaved tech-guy who sits in front of hundreds of switches for hours on end, choosing which images to display. It's just too weird. I do, however, like to know that my brother-in-law sat outside some guy's house in Idaho for three hours in a van with tinted windows, waiting to get a story - now that is magical. From now on I want to know as little about TV as possible. In fact, I don't really want to watch it at all, unless it's the Laguna Beach marathon or Queer Eye for the Straight Guy extravaganza. For those I will make an exception, but I definitely don't want to visit the set and find out that Carson is actually manly and straight and making jokes about hitting-it. Ignorance is bliss.