I am of the "if you feel the beat, you gotta steal the beat" generation. In fact, I didn't even make up that rhyme. I stole it. And, on second thought, I think the originators of the very phrase would, in the spirit of the concept, object to the quotation marks. And so I correct myself: I am of the if-you-feel-the-beat, you-gotta-steal-the-beat generation. There. That's better. That's more mine-sounding. And what a grand excuse and justification for all the little beats that I steal and remix in my video soundtracks. Sorry. And thanks: oh, Burroughs, you were quite ahead of your time.

It is a grand day to be from Seattle. The Mariner's came back from zero in the 7th with a grand slam plus six. (wowzas! on yo feet and holla.) Fleet Foxes were on Letterman. (ahh, the excitement and irk of the "making it big" vs. "selling out" debate.) Microsoft figured out how to secure The World Wide Web (whatever that means...) Then again, I am packing up my stuff. Each passing day brings my house closer to demise: condos, condos, everywhere condos. Seattle, I love you. Seattle, why you got to be that way?

Last night in the grocery line there was a man with a mini-push cart. He had six items. Exactly six. Two flowers. Two Chefboyardee chicken pot-pies. And two slices of cheese cake. Lucky little old lady. Lucky little old man.

I just got home from almost 3 months in Central America. I stuck my thumb out to the universe just for fun. To see where the hell it would take me. But now I am back. And I have already lost my grip on that fresh, lovely perspective from being far away. Two weeks ago even the most banal of Seattle sites glimmered with a patina of novelty: the Space Needle, the lake, my mom’s refrigerator. Hold on, perspective! Don't go away yet! Don't go away EVER! Don't leave me to slump into a beige-colored normalcy that tempts me into making safe, reserved choices on how to live my life. About where to apply for jobs.

I am at Voxx, a coffeeshop near my house where the key to the bathroom is on a REALLY BIG spoon. I like how eating and, well, not eating are so intimately connected in that little metaphor of an object. life is winking at me. it is time to get a new website...starting now!