Express Yourself

Picking off some grocery shopping, I had my list in hand and bunch of bags in my cart. Rather than stockpile those evil plastic bags, it seems I managed to successfully hijack a pile of SWIFT grocery bags prior to my departure from my previous employer. As I worked my way down the list, I crossed off all my items: free range juice, organic paste, homegrown gluten, yada yada. I've been eating healthier and my cart was a working economic protest against factory agribusiness. Monsanto wasn't getting any of my money. After Food Inc, I was being vigilant.

So when I finished off collecting raw materials for my week of eatables, I saw a gaping opening in the Fred Meyer checkout zone that NEVER EVER appears when I'm ready to check out. Imagine my luck! Holy cow (pun intended), not only was I eating right, making my statement and saving the world, but I wasn't gonna have to wait in line.

I unloaded my goodies: organic, ___ free, no harm chicken, etc., etc. A woman fell in line behind me, as did an older dude. The woman looked at my line up of goods and gave me a bit of a scowl. I looked at her small pile of food lining up behind the plastic separator to keep her goods from touching mine. She had a frozen pizza and two candy bars. Why the fuck is this lady scowling at me?

I handed over my woven bags and gave the clerk a nod. I was looking forward to baking some serious banana bread, chopping up stir fry veggies and firing back a tall glass of hippie juice. The guy behind the lady behind also looked a bit sullen. He had a package of diapers and some baby wipes.

The clerk kept punching in sku's because I had about 15 different items from the bulk section: popcorn, rice, quinoa (keen wa), almonds, etc. He started to look a little bit chapped as well. I was wondering what the deal is. Do all these people hate free eating hippies or is it just me. I looked down to make sure I didn't have my George W. Bush tee shirt on. Nope. Just a plain Hanes. Damn.

After swiping my card and looking at the receipt print out, I figured I had close to $100 bucks worth of Freddies Finest in my cart now. The clerk looked up and sort of frowned when he said, "Just keep in mind next time that this is the express lane."

I shot a look up and saw the 12 items and less sign hanging there. I totally missed it. Duh. No wonder everyone was bummed at me. Fuck! I have to punch myself in the face. Egads!

My dog weighs 51.5 pounds

As a semi-professional complainer, I'm excited to be blown away when someone or something is totally excellent. I defected from the Banfield Puppy Mill Vet Clinic following a lousy experience confirmed by former co-conspirator and puppy parent.
Where should I take my dog? So many choices. I had a harder time choosing a vet than I did a car, motorcycle or mutual fund. Holy cow.

So when my expensive dog food store owner suggested the Harmony Animal Wellness Center I almost snickered. Harmony? Holistic dog whisperer healing the fragile invisible wounds of the animal psyche? I was dubious wrapped in a skeptical blanket. It sounded expensive and like that religion where you can't accept medical treatment. So rather than decide, I procrastinated.

Aside from complaining, I am an excellent procrastinator. I have Christmas lights to take down, a 1998 census to complete and a vet to choose. Since the Harmony Animal Wellness Center is only 300 feet from my house, I decided to walk over and see what they were all about. Suffice to say I was pleasantly surprised.

If you can imagine a veterinary office with oriental carpets on the floor (my dog went sniffing crazy!)and organic fresh coffee, this is your place. It is in an old craftsman home with hard wood floors and really cool modern furniture. There isn't a single fluorescent light in the joint and everyone walked out to meet my dog. After telling me Tikka could only get one of her shots today so they don't overload her system or scare here too much, I was impressed.

Then the vet walked in. I was introduced to Dr. Frank, but his name is actually Frank. He got down on the floor and started rubbing Tikka's belly (Her favorite. She's a bit of a belly rubbing slut) Tikka relaxed while Frank did his exam, checking her teeth and frame for signs of neglect, defect or dysfunction.

He cautiously gave her the rabies shot and rubbed her calmly when he was done. I was pretty stoked on the calm energy, friendliness and vibe at this center. I might have joked earlier, but as usual I was wrong. This place rocks, so if you're in the market for a great Vet Center in the Monroe area, give them a look.
Harmony Animal Wellness Center
505 W. Main Street
Monroe, WA 98272
hawcmonroe.com

And my dog weighs 51.5 lbs. I'm not sure if I someone lunch or not...

You don't need to see his identification...

Truth.

Evil eye

I remember tuning up a monster doofkin and walking into a Jack Daniels event in Boston. While I was blizzed, I couldn't help but notice the Yuppie costumes everyone was wearing. Fu Manchu was ripping through their sonic ear buster, "Evil Eye."

There was a stack of free Domino's pizza boxes in the corner. I lifted the lit and waved to Mike Brown. We each grabbed a fist full of slices and headed to the bar. The bar was lined with these weird wine cooler looking Jack and Coke foo foo drinks. When I order a Jack and Coke, I prefer a 1 to 3 ratio of Jack to Coke. I tried one of the free wine coolers, and realized it was a -3 to 1 ratio of Jack to Coke. WTF?

I asked the bar tender for a jack and coke. He looked at me like I had two heads and pointed at the bar. I handed him a twenty dollar bill and asked him for two doubles. He scanned left, then right, and then took the loot.

Two minutes later he handed me two Jack and Cokes, proper. Mike grabbed one and we walked to the front of the show. There was nobody within twenty feet of the stage, and Fu Manchu had their shit dialed up LOUD. I was pumped when they played Boogie Van. Jack Daniels might have blew it on the sauce, but they threw a bullseye on the band. Certainly did.

Really? Are you fucking kidding me?

So the job search continues... I suit up and head to Westlake for an interview at a brand marketing firm. For whatever reason this little voice in the back of my head started in on the "Um..." apprehension weirdness.

I park the car, check my tie and wander into a Zen garden that is the complete opposite of what I was expecting. A fountain sits dead center in the open office. Very mellow. I can already tell this isn't going well.

I meet the Account Director and Principal. It turns out they are currently putting together a rebranding package for my old employer.

"So do you know Bonnie?" I'm asked.

Fuck! I go from candidate to cadidon't in a nano second. Once I had to reveal my axed status at said previous employer, there was just a slight change in the temperature of the room. From 62 degrees, to now 61.5. It was barely perceptible, but I'm a perceptive dude. It got colder. For sure.

Long story cut short, much like the remains of the interview, I don't think I'm getting that gig. Who would have known that Community Transit went ahead with that rebrand project? Not me. Who would have know Parker LePla would be working with them? Not me.

I walked outside into a sunny monsoon. My suit got wet while my spirits were already significantly dampened. It is only the absolute irony that permeates this situation that keeps me from doubling over with frustrated angst. All in all, if it happened to somebody else, I would think it hilarious. C'la vie.

Analog technology is the new digital

I have to admit that shiny new gadgets are cool. I updated my cell phone from the 80's with no camera and two ring tones to one from the millenium with a camera, but no internet. I'm a cheap bastard. I'd rather save money for motorcycle parts and restore some old Japanese rust heap than replace my I-Pod that is the same size as a pack of smokes (4 gigs no less!).

But when I saddled up to head to Seattle this morning that little voice in the back of my head suggested taking the car, rather than riding my 1976 Yamaha XS360. I trusted my trusty steed would handle the cold spring to Seattle. It did, most of the way. Once I hit the U-District my headlight went out. In a car, this isn't a huge deal. One a motorcycle it is a recipe for disaster.

So when I reached AltRider I tore into the headlight, dreading the tax I'd pay some Seattle fashionista accessory center for a new light. After running some scientific tests (holding the light terminals against a battery to light it up) I realized that the problem isn't the headlight, but instead a fuse.

One nice thing about technology is that is has really evolved in how it is delivered. New bikes and cars use special prong fuses that make a short circuit easy to trace and easy to fix. Let's just say that 1970's bike electrical systems are fairly simple, but never easy to fix.

Long story-short: I repaired the fuse and got my headlight back. That is just one aspect of trying to keep 34 year old machines road worthy and running well. If you want the nod of respect for running a vintage bike, you better have the wherewithal to now how to fix it. Otherwise, you're gonna get taxed.

I love my dog: Prepare to Weep

I was checking out some blogs while pretending to work and found this amazing video short about a tough situation. I get mad at my dog for digging holes in the yard. I'm gonna leave early today and take her for a run where ever she wants to go. Nothing like sitting at your desk with tears streaming down both cheeks while strangers look at you, to distant to really want to know, to awkward to ask... Heavy.

Last Minutes with ODEN from phos pictures on Vimeo.