Another friend

June 9th, 2006

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June 8th, 2006

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The Art of Pizza

June 6th, 2006

Previous research trips have left us with only two acceptable pizza delivery services. We only have one of the twos menus. Circumstance is our major decider.

The technical details are a/my given.

Within 7 days we have had the following as an evening meal.

3 x 12inch
2 x 15 inch (twice)
1 x 18 inch

All good. The best cost/food ratio has not been calculated.

Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp is good. Very good. Omar and I sit watching one episode per night in our monkey masks. We are content.

Seattle. The final moments.

May 30th, 2006

After some casual farewell drinks on Thursday and Friday, I spend my last day in Seattle at Folk Life, a weekend of varied music at the best place in the world, the Seattle Centre. There’s a serious amount of music (and additional food stalls) here. I thought I may only pop down for an hour or 2 to while away the afternoon. Instead I’m there from midday til 10pm, watching acts as diverse and the Emerald City Jug Band, The Panda Conspiracy (aptly named) and the return of our fave, Angelo Pizarro. The man is a legend. Gut-rot red wine is drunk and I even bump into some English people I met earlier in the week.

I return to my apartment and decide to see Seattle off with a farewell drink. One of my local bars is having a late happy hour. I order a single malt. I’m charged 3 dollars, and I quickly ask for a double. I now have a rather large glass of whiskey in front of me. I get more and more tipsy and end up teaching a woman I meet how to perfect her English accent (yet another Sarah, I think this makes her the 7th or 8th I’ve met in the last few weeks), this largely involves teaching her to say “bollocks” and “arsehole”. I’m dragged to another bar, where I proceed to be disgusted by an unpleasant American man (I call him rude names, he thinks I’m joshing with him, those around him seem to know better) and later tumble into bed when I can no longer stand. I’m going to miss my quiet drinks in Seattle.

Onwards to California.

Weird Kid update

May 26th, 2006



Work is followed by some drinks in Ballard.

The evening is of import for two reasons.

1 Excellent use of the monkey mask.
2 Info about the recently elusive weird kid.

It turns out that others know of him. And they have tales. Including one where whilst on a bus, a bottle of booze bursts in his jacket and he wipes his sodden hand over a stunned and unreactive girl’s face. Noone reacts. How very London.


May 26th, 2006


Tuesday is Mogwai day. I walk to the venue and proceed to have a couple of drinks while waiting for my workmate. I bump into a fella from Leeds (big guy with dreads and some violent stories) and his more sedate sister. We sit at the bar and drink, and are shortly joined by my workmate. We carry on drinking. I nip out for a smoke and start chatting to some heavily tattooed young ladies. One has a large tattoo of a heart on her chest. A heart as in the organ. I can’t help but stare. They mock my accent.

Then it’s Mogwai time. They rock my little world.

We leave and get a hotdog. The tattooed ladies grab me and we’re taken drinking in Capitol Hill. Where two new girls (Texas and friend) decide to mock my accent.

My workmate abandons me.

The tattooed ladies leave, barely able to walk, and Texas and friend adopt me and soon we’re off to another bar. A small gay karaoke bar.

We drink and I start to wonder a) why I haven’t passed out yet, b) why everyone I meet in Seattle is called Sarah or Lyndsey.

Eventually we are thrown out the bar and wander.

I roll home sometime around 3 and feel confused.

My silly accent has made me a temporary object of wonderment.

sleep deprived in Seattle

May 23rd, 2006


The weekend starts with a pot-luck party. Don’t fear; this does not involve pot. I practice my monkey impression and see how many wagers I can make. Hence a good night.

On Saturday I decide to do some tourist crap. I wander down to Pike Market, ignore the pro-Hugo Chavez rally and merge with the tourists. No fish are being thrown despite the reports otherwise. I walk along the waterfront and piers until I get to Pioneer Square where I waste some time drooling in a guitar shop and then move on to a rather excellent antique shop (the term ‘antique’ is used rather more loosely here). There is far too much groovy shit. Plans of shipping it all home and making my fortune were barely kept in check, but I did manage to buy a small array of goodies.

I decide to go for a quiet drink in the evening and go to one of my local bars where a rather distinctly average band is playing. I settle at the bar.

And then people start buying me drinks. The barmaid buys me one for having an ‘excellent accent’. I tell her I’ve been working on it for the past 29 years. Then a crab fisherwoman joins me and buys me a drink. I don’t make any jokes about fishwife or crabs. I don’t need to; having spent the last few months at sea with sailors she has something of a potty mouth already. Then her friend Attila joins us, and buys me a drink. Then we bump into a cook from one of the adjacent docked ships and she buys me a drink. Having the foreignness is paying off. Things get blurry after that. I stumble into bed at some ungodly hour.

I wake a few hours later to some kind of spiritual music blaring from the apartment above. Its barely 9am. I growl. I wait, then fall asleep again.

I take it easy on Sunday, and retire early. I fall asleep around midnight. I’m awoken near 2am by the couple in the apartment above screaming/crying/slamming. Either the people who were rowing on my first night are still there or the room is cursed. In contrast to my first night when the man was screaming (like a girl) “fuck off” etc, he’s now begging his girlfriend/wife to stay. I wish the whiney sod would make up his mind. He starts getting higher and higher pitched. I get annoyed. He seems to cry himself to sleep and I doze off near 3.

Before 7am the bugger starts up again. Why is his girlfriend with such an unstable man. He is clearly an arsehole. A loud, obnoxious, whiney man who clearly has no concept of stiff upper lip. Or diginity. He screams. I roll my eyes and grimace.

I’m getting my room changed. A good thing for wanker above me. Otherwise I would have been forced to knock on his door wearing my monkey mask and armed with a spatula. It would have got messy.

3 Reasons

May 19th, 2006

Still no sign of weird kid.

But I dont need weird kid anymore for the following 3 reasons.

1. I arrived at work the other day to find a monkey on my desk.
2. the yankee dollar has crashed, so I’m rich
3. I befriended a local homeless guy yesterday.

Sod weird kid. I don’t need him.

Eduardo Valdez at work

May 19th, 2006

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Please note the following. The comic is Congorilla and S.Seagal is on the back. Are the planets aligning?

tin monkey

May 18th, 2006

tin monkey