Happy Halloween!

I remember
My uncle Timmy breaking open a ripe pomegranate over my head, trying to land the seeds in my gaping bird mouth on a warm, warm July day. Tracking red footprints into the house after stepping on all the pieces I missed, asking for the sprinklers on, no one caring about the stains.

I was on the phone with my brother again yesterday, and we were talking about the election. Ryan's in middle school now, so they're starting to teach him things about the government. He asked me who I'm voting for and I told him Kerry. He said, "I would vote for Ralph Nader."
In the middle of explaining to him that it was a nice sentiment and that I hoped he'd always keep his independent spirit (I know, I'm a sentimental schmuck), there was a commotion. Eric was wrestling the phone away from his brother, and when he achieved this goal he shouted into the phone:
"I want to vote for Ralph Lauren for president!"
And I laughed for at least a day. Because really, I also support no separation between fashion and state.

For Halloween? Ryan is going to be Slash (which is entirely my fault) and Eric is going to be "a creepy dead thing."

Also, it is my duty as the friend of a rockstar to tell you all that her band is having a show next weekend:
NOVEMBER 5th – ALL AGES / BAR WITH ID – STUDIO 7

Where: Studio 7
110 S. Horton St.
Seattle, WA, 98134 (South Seattle)

Time: We go on at 9:00 p.m. so be there a little early

Cover: $7

Other bands: Blood Star Halo (LA), God Machine, Cornerstone

Additional contact info: (206) 286-1312 / www.studioseven.us /
info@studioseven.us

And you're all coming with me so you can just stop arguing right now.

Thanks to everyone who came over last night and willfully got their hands full of pumpkin goop (and also to those that watched). I have such cool friends.

In attendance: Jeff, Ryan, Mikey, John, Cat, Tara, Steph, and Ryan. (I'm particularly proud of the appearance of those last two, because I've totally adopted them in my usual 'you'll be my friend whether you want to or not' sort of way.) Also briefly around was Cat's friend Jacob, who carved a misshapen pumpkin and left, and who I didn't really learn anything about because I was busy being a bad pumpkin-goop-covered hostess. But I hear he has a hot tub.

It was as much folks and pumpkin as my apartment could handle.

Sometime during the party, John wrote the following on my typewriter:

"The Pumpkin News
IT was a dark and stormy night,
The pumpkins were hung by the chimney with care, in hope that
the gay episcopal bishop soon would be there.
The variety was vast and the carvings would last,
but the pumpkins ablaze had their candle burn fast.

The only thing that is really lacking at this party is a karaoke machine with a plethora of hot 80's hits. I would so like to sind or sing a rousing version of "You spin me right round".

I dont think that I would like to type a vonel onthis thinkg."

(Aside: It would be impossible to recreate the actual typos, so you'll just have to imagine.)

I sent my ballot out in today's mail, and so barring anything unpleasant, I have officially done my major civic duty and voted for President of the United States.

Now, I try to keep this website nonpolitical, and indeed relentlessly narcissistic, but this is not the time to be without politics. And although I think it's perfectly obvious, you should all know that I voted Kerry.

Because, you know, I believe most firmly that everyone has the right to have opportunities to be happy, healthy, protected, and well-fed, not just people who are male, white, heterosexual, and rich. I believe that my uterus is my own concern, because I believe that you own your body outright. I believe in science and in protecting our environment so that my grandchildren will not just be reading about trees in books. I believe that if grown folks want to get married, we should let them.

And beyond all that, I'm absolutely positive that we've been going in exactly the wrong direction for the last four years.

You don't have to agree with me. I imagine that if you don't, you'll tell me so at length. And that's fine. You do, however, need to vote.

(In a completely unrelated aside, don't forget pumpkin carving tonight. If you forget me, I might cry.)

Man, do I love me some fall. I hereby declare all three-leaf clovers lucky.

Dear Women Who Use the 6th Floor Bathroom,

I know that the fact that the toilets flush when you leave the stall is nifty, but please listen for the noise in order to be sure that everything has functioned properly before you exit the bathroom. This will make all of us, but especially me, much happier with our excretory experience.

Thanks,
samantha

I have a cold, and colds make me grumpy. (The bottom line may be that everything makes me grumpy, but I'll leave that alone for now.) I've been huddled in my cubicle for the last two days poking away anyone that tries to send me home. It's a funny thing. If they told me to go home early on a day when I wasn't sick, I'd be out of here so fast there'd be a little puff of cartoon dust behind me.
This has always been trouble. All the way through college I'd duck out on class for the slightest reasons, but the second I felt feverish I'd dig in and become studious. I went to class the whole week when I was so sick with pneumonia and bronchitis, and I wasn't even going to meals then. I'm sure I must feel that I have to prove something, and I'm sure I should stop. But I probably won't.
In which case, I should really disinfect my cube on Monday.

Happy birthday, Tara!!

Dear Everyone,

As per usual, it’s been just slightly too long since I’ve written to you. I think and think about all the things I would like to tell you, but I get so busy thinking that I forget to start writing down. And then when I get to writing down, I’ve forgotten what it is I wanted to say.
I suppose you may have heard that I’ve finally landed a new job. I don’t actually do anything of a whole lot of difference to the outside world, but then I guess that what I do directly benefits people that are trying to make the world better, so that all works out. I heard recently that the place I just quit working at will be shutting down at the end of the year. I know that I shouldn’t be as satisfied as I am at hearing this, but it is nice to feel like I have the power to close businesses…even if I don’t have a whole lot to do with it. Anyway, the best part is that I can do things like eat lunch and pee whenever I want, and have holidays off, and go on vacation. It feels like the right thing.
Someone threw a rock through my sliding glass door last weekend. There was a crash and a couple of thumps, and I immediately ran through in my head all the places where I could escape or hide. It’s an instinct left over from the days when someone was often on their way over to kill us because of things my ex stepfather had done and I would have to jump out the window quickly. I remember spending afternoons practicing pretending to be just one stuffed animal in a pile in case a day came when I couldn’t escape fast enough. I know it’s been about five years since he attacked and I hit the road, but the first thing I thought was that he was coming to get me. He’s probably dead by now, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he will be lurking just behind me nonetheless for the rest of my life.
I know I say I’ve forgiven my mother for all of that, and maybe I have. What I haven’t forgiven her for is pretending now that it never happened. I may be just her daughter, but I deserve more respect than that.
In general, though, things are looking up. I feel better about everything than I have in a long time, and I’m nearly ready to resume taking it all on. The leaves are falling and the roads all look like car commercials right now, and the seasonal drizzle insists on leaving a curl in my hair and a spring in my step. If I could write songs, this would be the time for it.
But I go on too long. It’s been ages since I’ve heard from you, also. Are you happy, well treated, and nicely dressed? Are you making an effort to smile at everyone you say hello to? Will you be a pumpkin or a witch or a bouquet of roses for Halloween? I want to know. Even if I’m looking in a different direction, you know, I’m still concerned about you. I just sometimes forget to stop and tell you.
I hope everything is well. But then, you’d tell me if it wasn’t, I think.

Love,

samantha

So who wants to come over and carve pumpkins? And when?

I swear I'll stop with the lists soon, but for now, here's what I want to be for Halloween:

A flapper
A ladybug
A fairy
An elephant
Something involving leather

I was downtown this afternoon, finding birthday cards for Cindy and The Peach People. (Did I also buy a coat from GAP Kids? You bet your bippy I did.) While I was picking through the cards I starting thinking about those Create-A-Card machines that used to be in grocery stores and Wal-Mart when I was younger. I always thought those were the best, with their zingy Hallmark-y one liners and their zippy pens. I'd hover by the machine, waiting for someone to come and make a card, so that I could watch.
I haven't seen one of those things in years.

Today:

I got a voice mail at work from the person who told me 6 years ago "you can pawn my knight any day, baby" and who I haven't spoken to in at least a year. The voice mail was the first one on my new work number that I've had for a few days. I hadn't told him about my new job.

I said "call me cowboy" to someone at work and they -did-, without even asking any questions.

I may have skipped most of the way home.

Tara was -really- cute.

My mom called to tell me that this guy will be playing at the Clearwater Jazz Festival. Anyone in the neighborhood who wants to go and moo and throw nougat and other sticky things at him has my blessing.

I actually had this conversation: "I thought it had 'samantha' all over it." "You mean than in an 'ew, someone got samantha all over this' sort of way, don't you."

I left some music on when I got into the shower because I'm a little nervous of the silence in my apartment these days. When I got out I heard noises, and as I opened the bathroom door I thought "oh no, someone's here. They're...uh...doing spoken word? Oh. CD."

Nobody ask me how much time I spend putting white out on my hands and then taking it off while I'm at work.

Things I like about walking home from work:

The feeling of the sun (when there is sun) on the backs of my legs.

The smells: chlorine from a hotel pool, Lake Union, construction sawdust.

Getting warm enough halfway through to take off my jacket.

That everyone else walking down the same side of the street smiles and says hello, like we're in a secret club.

The sound of driving from outside.

The plain fact that all I'm doing is walking and looking at my city, not working or reading or anything else.

That my own little apartment is at the end for me to stumble into because I'm out of shape.

Safety glass, when it breaks, makes a noise different from other glass. It's not like the satisfying shattery crash from when you drop something in the kitchen, but it also isn't the deeper, stunted thwack of windshield glass. Safety glass wants to explode dramatically into a zillion feet-sticking shards, but that's not in its nature. So what it does is, it waits. It cracks a little bit at a time so that you can hear it cracking, sounding like ice in a cup, building the suspense. And then just when you give up and decide it's not going to do anything at all, it falls in a sheet that disintegrates along the way. Sure, it crashes a little bit. But it also tinkles a little bit too.

So you know those bumps in the night I was a bit afraid of? Well it seems that they all got together last night and decided to be a crashing banging noise, which made itself known when someone threw a big rock through my sliding glass door.
So now there's no sliding glass door and my building manager appears to be out of town. It's very cold in my apartment.

Goodbye, Derrida. Your "Grammatology" sliced open language universally, across all lines, and you once hit on Val.

Your sentence, "The center is at the center of the totality, and yet, since the center does not belong to the totality, the totality has its center elsewhere." once kept me up at night for a week. Your philosophy is self-consuming, but you constructed it well.

Sleep nicely, and dream of soccer. Tell Mr. Richard Avedon that I miss him also, I just didn't know it at the time.

So far today:

On the phone, my dad asks me what's going on. I say, "It's raining on my head, actually" and right then the sky clears. I immediately declare myself magic.

There are at least a dozen people playing different types of music downtown. My steps change to match each one of them, although I don't realize that it's happened until I reach the next one and can feel my stride adjusting itself.

I'm there to buy socks, so I go to the sock store. There's no one else there, and I feel the need to justify myself to the people working there. I say, "I need new ones because all my socks have holes in them." They don't appear to care, and I don't blame them.

Later, I go into a different store and one of the girls remembers me. She greets me by name and then looks at me again. "I like your new haircut," she tells me. "Bangs are good for you." I'm absurdly gratified; I like my new haircut too.

On the way home, the bus passes a big gray box with "Gentrification kills!" on the side of it. I read it wrong, though, as "Centrification kills!" and can't figure out what it means. A few blocks later, I figure it out.

I think that the thing to do is make all of my file labels in Comic Sans. Because I'm always thinking of you guys.

Dear Leaves,

Thank you for changing colors in the fall.

Sincerely,

me.

New job day 1:
I may be the only person in the entire country that is overwhelmingly excited about having a cubicle.

Some of you have listened to me complain about my job for the better part of a year, about the stuffed chickens, the bounced paychecks, and the activities of questionable legality. And so you might be interested to hear that I'll be starting a new job tomorrow morning.
I know this is all quick. I've been interviewing with the company for over a month now, and I had my last interview on Friday. They called a little bit later to offer me the job, and so I up and quit the other one.
I was never cut out to sell things to people, it's just something I've done for the past couple of years to make ends meet. Doing my job has not made me into a better person. It has, in fact, made me into the sort of person that thinks nasty things about folks just because they don't want to spend $300 on a lampshade. It has made me wretchedly unhappy, and I wash my hands of it all.
I feel that this new job will be a step in the right direction, which will be something new and different, since all I've done since I've been here is step backwards, sideways, and around in small circles. It is a job with growth potential, vacations, and lunch breaks. I'll be able to pee whenever I want to.
I hope that there will be no stuffed chickens, but then, a girl can't have everything.

I know I'm the last to hop on this boat, but hey, Mt. St. Helens is erupting this weekend!
It wasn't when I was there in March, when this picture's from.
I can't even begin to accustom myself to the idea that there's an erupting volcano two hours from here. I wasn't around yet for the first time it went off, after all, and until someone mentioned a few months ago that Mt. Rainier is a volcano, they rarely entered my thoughts.
Now, though, I feel a little bit like a kid on Halloween...I'm a little excited and a little scared.

So you know, I live alone. And generally I'm pretty good at it. But sometimes I get a little scared of things that go bump in the night. So if you ever come over to visit and find my couches stacked on top of each other in front of the sliding glass door, don't question it. Just sit on the floor and pretend that's how things are supposed to be.