Moe's Mo'roc'n

Back in the 90's there was a club on Capitol Hill in Seattle called Moe's Moroc'n. I briefly served as Chef there, until my cat died, I broke up with my girlfriend and decided to travel around for six months. I wound up in Brooklyn, but that's another story.
Moe's was partially owned by at least one member of REM, though I'll be damned if I can remember which one. I'd signed on as an 8 dollar an hour cook, hired by a little fat guy with bleached hair named Pat. The Chef at the time was Michael Anderson, ex-husband of Linda, of "Linda's" fame.
Though she was a successful club owner and he was a 23,500 a year Chef, he had to pay 400 a month in child support.
(If you are divorcing, don't ever think you don't need a lawyer.)
Michael was one of the finest Chefs I ever had the pleasure of working under. Despite his lack of knowledge regarding divorce law, he amassed a huge repertoire of recipes in his brain, all of which he was capable of disseminating to a mixed crowd in the most efficient style. He could turn a junkie dishwasher into a pantry chef in about eight days. Our menu focused on spicy foods, boasting the world's largest collection of hot sauces. Inventory day was a bitch, lemme tell ya.
My favorite waiter was a 6' 3" drag queen named Venus. A very non-passable yet exquisitely glamorous Native American, she was always Johnny-on-the-spot with my morning Bloody Mary's.
I'd be blearily pounding out chicken breasts and there'd be the clack of high heels followed by the sound of a heavy pint glass hitting the counter. My salvation, an icy glass of vodka, dripping with condensation, tinged with just enough tomato juice and Tabasco to turn it pink, with a sculpture of pickled vegetables balanced on a heavily salted rim.
"You just holler when you need a refill, dear."
Then she'd sashay off to the first table of a Saturday morning, usually some sorority sisters dragging their homophobic fraternity studs in to be mocked in high fashion by Venus. While they were ordering, I'd drink my breakfast, then roast a fat bowl in the walk-in. By the time I was high enough, there would be 5 tickets waiting, with people piling up at the door. Time to shine. The rest of the morning would blur by, as I flipped omelets, dunked homefries and chatted with the patrons at the counter while downing Bloody Mary after Bloody Mary. While many customers actually were rock stars, only a few would act like it. Naturally, these were the ones that had to take up cherished counter space. The local music talent would sprawl their shit across three stools, then casually hold court for three hours as fans swirled around them. I feel I showed remarkable restraint, only once "bumping" coffee into a certain drummer's lap. At 3PM, the night shift would step in and I would take full advantage of the unlimited bar tab that was part of my salary. It took the management only a few days to recognize the foolishness of that perk. Whiskey, top shelf and lots of it was the way to unwind. Followed by a spleef of titanic proportions in the VIP booth while that night's band did a short set for their sound check. Then a race down the hills of downtown Seattle to the Georgetown flats on my beloved StumpJumper mountain bike. That I'm still alive today is due simply to dumb luck and the ability to take horrific impacts with the kind of zen relaxation only the truly inebriated can aspire to. Though "healthy" was not a word I would ever choose to describe the lifestyle choices of my twenties, "memorable" was a lot more fun.

Best Obit this year

From Douglas, Wyoming...

Monday, September 15, 2008 2:05 AM MDT

DOUGLAS -- A celebration of life for James William "Jim" Adams, 53, will be held at a later date.

He died Tuesday, Sept. 9, 2008 at Memorial Hospital of Converse County in Douglas.

Jim, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle. It was primarily as a result of being stubborn and not following doctor's orders or maybe for just living life a little too hard for better than five decades.

He was born June 8, 1955 in Garrison, N.D. the son of James William and Ruby Helen (Clark) Adams.

He was sadly deprived of his final wish, which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a date. True to his personal style, he spent his final hours joking with medical personnel, cussing and begging for narcotics and bargaining with God to look over his loving dog, Biscuit, and his family.

He would like to thank all "his ladies" for putting up with him the last 30 years.

During his life, he excelled at anything he put his mind to. He loved to hear and tell jokes and spin tales of grand adventures he may or may not have had.

He is survived by five sons, Jeremiah Adams and his wife, Nicole, Mica Olivas, Wade Olivas, Brice Simpson and Cole Adams; sister, Jerri Giegerich; two ex-wives, Vickie Harrison and Marilyn Williams; four grandchildren; two nieces; and two great-nieces.

He was preceded in death by his parents and a brother-in-law.

In lieu of flowers, he asks that you make a sizeable purchase at your favorite watering hole, get rip roaring drunk and tell the stories he no longer can.

Gorman Funeral Homes - Converse Chapel of Douglas is in charge of the arrangements.

Pat Condell, my atheist Pope. LOVE this guy.

Sesame Street used to do some deep shit, yo.

Jim's house

L'il hobo lawn gnome,Got crabs?
Flowers out front,
Trellis by Jim, Inc.,
The masterpiece, a deep koi pond
Wainscotting by Jim, Inc.,
Most excellent wind chime,
The Superhero, Cock-a-too with rescued cow planter and exquisite birdhouse. (By Jim, Inc.)

The 11th dimension...

This whole show is what my brain does most of the day. I swear, it makes it kinda hard to focus sometimes. Wish I hadn't sucked so hard at math. Very fun series, view in four parts.
1.

2.

3.

4.

Science Rules!

Paris??????????????????

See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

I'm afraid I have to go from calling for her head... (She's Marie Antionette! Kill it!) to a half respectful "Awwwww, isn't that cute?"

The 21st Century MarkTwain

Charlie Brooker is the most clear, concise and humorous speaker of TRVTH now that Carlin is dead. He's the younger, print version of his countryman Pat Condell, with a broader focus. Every single column in his Gaurdian.UK profile is bust-a-gut funny and succinct. I love this guy's stuff and hope more Americans will discover him.

Owwwwwww... my eyes...

Days With My Father
1.Use the flash version, fullscreen and the pause button to read the text.
2. Get tissues.

WOW!

This is the most lucid, brilliantly written summary of science vs religion I have seen since "There's no God and you know it."

Spokane

Dad is... well... Dad...
Technically alive. What more is there? He was wheeling slowly around the inside of the steel smoking hut when we got there.
Downtown Tekoa is nice...



Don't know who Debbie was, but it sounds like she was a popular girl, the cemetery down the road was peaceful and breezy, the kind of place I wouldn't mind rotting slowly away in.



Wheat fields and canyons...









The step-nephews like video games,

Inspirational poster

My favorite video today

Beacon Battery and Lynden

"New" back tires for the Jetta, bad food in Lynden...

Beacon Battery is a wonderland... of TIRES! ...and rims.









A beautifully stock Thunderbird with a bad red paintjob, I think the guy meant hundreds when he said "Sixty five", Mike thinks he meant thousands. Should Google comparable collectibles and settle this bet. Or just call the dude.
Bringing Jaegermeister and Marlboros to Lynden.

MerMike

Creepy mural in Post Office.

Douglas Adams

Well, I'm my favorite number now.

From Wikipedia:

"In The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (published in 1979), the characters visit the legendary planet Magrathea, home to the now-collapsed planet building industry, and meet Slartibartfast, a planetary coastline designer who was responsible for the fjords of Norway. Through archival recordings, he relates the story of a race of hyper-intelligent pan-dimensional beings who built a computer named Deep Thought to calculate the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. When the answer was revealed as 42, Deep Thought predicts that another computer, more powerful than itself would be made and designed by it to calculate the question for the answer. (Later on, referencing this, Adams would create a puzzle which could be approached in multiple ways, all yielding the answer 42.)

The computer, often mistaken for a planet (because of its size and use of biological components), was the Earth, and was destroyed by Vogons to make way for a hyperspatial express route, five minutes before the conclusion of its 10-million-year program. Two of a race of hyper-intelligent pan-dimensional beings who commissioned the Earth in the first place, disguise themselves as Trillian's mice, and want to dissect Arthur's brain to help reconstruct the question, since he was part of the earth's matrix moments before it was destroyed, and so he is likely to have part of the question buried in his brain. Trillian is also human but had left Earth six months previously with Zaphod Beeblebrox, President of the Galaxy. The protagonists escape, setting course for "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe". The mice, in Arthur's absence, create a phony question since it is too troublesome for them to wait 10 million years again just to cash in on a lucrative deal. Their new question was 'How many roads must a man walk down?'"

If Science actually was a religion... this is priceless

(clickypiccymakeybiggie)

More Flobots

My favorite song about the fourth

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zc7MraaUb8M

Seattle

They stole a pair of sunglasses and a hand powered flashlight. Now, maybe the next time they smash the window out on a 1992 Mazda in the middle of the night, they will know in advance whether or not there's even a stereo in there to steal.
Jesus, this is gonna cost me 35 bucks for the used window and a deli sandwich for my friend to install it properly.
On the plus side, I LOVE Seattle. I was born there almost 42 years ago, (my favorite number, 42, I'm gonna be it! YAY!) and I never get tired of going home. I had a blast at the Market, met my love's best friend, saw some strange scenes.
But damn, you stupid crackhead, there was a 200 dollar bike rack, a 30 dollar helmet, a 20 dollar bike pump, 4 bucks in change, several books in good resale condition, and lots of personal info in the glove-box.
Why'd ya have to take the pair of sunglasses that Taylor gave me when I showed up drunk with a brand-new rented Cadillac?
He said, "Take these, you need them."
They've been my faves ever since.
Gradient tint, mirrored just enough to seem wrong and creepily trapezoidal. With thin silver frames. Never gonna replace those. C'est la vie.

Been kayaking to work, got strafed by a seagull this morning. I saw it when the fucker stared me down, I came too close to the seawall and he launched without ever looking anywhere but my eyes. Poo all over my skirting, but the lame-ass missed my head. Gonna smack him with my paddle the next time.