must. get. haircut.

So here's a story that I'd intended to write a couple of weeks ago. I think that maybe, due to the nature of the events I'm about to recount, I'd subconsciously suppressed the memories of that evening. I have to thank a good friend, the star of the story, for reminding me...

Now, keeping in mind the implicative nature of my story, and the future political aspirations of my good friend, I will avoid using anyone's real names (yes, I'm being over-dramatic, but it's more fun that way). So for the sake of the story, let's call my good friend "Phil", and his long-time girlfriend "Shari". There we have it: Phil & Shari.

A few days after I'd returned to Seattle, Phil, Shari, myself, and another good friend (let's call him... "Sue") went to a concert at a downtown venue called The Showbox. It's a good venue to catch a show... holds about a 1,000 people with a large recessed dance floor in front of the stage where folks cram in to be close to the band and each other. Behind the dance floor, on either side of the main entrance, are two large raised areas, each with bars in the back pouring over-priced drinks. This is where we usually end up standing... close to the drinks, away from the sweaty masses, with an unobstructed view of the band.

The opening act is playing, and the four of us are yelling at each other, barely able to carry on a conversation. I'm talking to Shari who stands to my right, and Phil stands to my left talking to Sue. Shari and I are trying to catch up on the last eight months. Phil and Sue are talking about who-knows-what, and we're all intoxicated by a mixture of booze, youthfulness, freedom, and the company of good friends.

Not turning my way, Phil pats me on the back, and I look over to him thinking, Yeah, it's good to see you too bud. He continues to jaw at Sue, so I turn back to Shari and continue catching up. Phil stops patting me on the back, but his hand remains resting there, in the middle of my back. I think to myself, Hmmm... well, okay... Phil's a pretty affectionate guy. We haven't hungout in 8 months... he must be be happy to see me. I'm happy to see him.

I'm talking again with Shari when Phil's hand slips down to the small of my back. Slightly alarmed, I say to Shari, "hold on a sec," and turn my head, tilt it, and squint at my buddy Phil. He never looks my way... just keeps jawing at Sue. I turn to Shari and say, "You know... I think Phil thinks I'm you." She looks at me quizzically.

Still not looking my way, Phil slides his hand up to the base of my neck and he starts rubbing at the hairline, kind of playing with my hair, and I think... okay, this is too much. "Hey Phil," I say, and he finally turns my way, nonchalantly taking his hand away, "...dude, did you think I was Shari?" I continue.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" he says, turning back to Sue to carry on their conversation.

Shari won't let him off so easily... "OHMYGOD Phil! You did! You thought Tim was me!"

"What are you talking about?" Phil repeats... maintaining an amazing poker face.

"You were totally rubbing Tim's back!" Shari yells/laughs.

"Okay, can we just not talk about this?" says Phil, embarrassed, mortified even. "Tim... I'm... I'm... I..."

"It's alright Phil," I laugh, "I'm almost... flattered? In a creepy sort of way." This is too good, I think to myself.

"Didn't you notice he's wearing a t-shirt? I have a halter-top!" Shari laughs, and patting my back, "Tim's back feels nothing like mine."

"Yeah Phil," I continue (we're ruthless), "didn't you notice... no bra-strap?"

"I mean REALLY... can we NOT talk about this?" Phil yells/whispers.

"Phiii-iil... didn't you notice..." Shari tries to continue the roasting.

"Can we pleeease not talk about this. It's embarrassing enough already."

And so we let it lie. Sue was laughing in the background the entire time, and the rest of the night the four of us take turns suggestively patting and rubbing each other's backs. ahhh, friends.

Listening to...

Alexi Murdoch - Time Without Consequence
Saw him at The Tractor two years ago. Great show. Not sure what took him so long to release the record, but I think it was worth the wait. Mellow, sweet songs.

Wolf Parade - Apologies to the Queen Mary
Another great band from Montreal. Steering-wheel drummin' music.

M. Ward - Transistor Radio
Plays Seattle 9/1 and Vancouver BC 9/2.

A Movie...

...to skip: Nacho Libre

It should've been a great movie... team up Jared Hess (Director, Napoleon Dynamite) and Jack Black as an aspiring Mexican wrestler. Such promise, and such a let down. Somehow the movie seemed to try too hard to attain the quirky odd-ball comedy of Napoleon Dynamite. It has its moments, but still. Maybe my expectations were too high.

...to rent instead: Thumbsucker

Yeah, yeah... it does have Keanu. But you know what... he's actually pretty good in this one, plays a bit-part, and really funny at times. The acting in this indie is spot-on. The kid playing the lead is incredible. It's an honest and quirky take on growing up, parenting, family oddities, suburbia, uncertainty... I'd also be curious to hear what someone who has been diagnosed with ADHD, and has experience with Ritalin, would have to say about this movie. I did a horrible job of selling the film, but it really is good.

sometimes I just wonder about that kid...

HE: "Wanna hear something weird?"
ME: "..."
HE: "I've never had anything butterscotch. Isn't that weird?"
ME: "..."
HE: "I mean, like, I don't even know what butterscotch flavor tastes like."
ME: "..."
HE: "But, isn't that weird?"
ME: "You ever had a Werther's Original?"
HE: "yeah..."
ME: "That's butterscotch."
HE: "no... really?"
ME: "Yup."
HE: "oh, maaan..."

After-school special

My 16-year-old brother and I drive back toward town along Wawai Road some 5 miles outside Pullman.

"That was a cool spot..." I say, referring to the grain elevators where we'd talked and star-gazed for an hour.

"Yeah, my friends and I like to hangout or whatever. Sometimes we smoke, but usually we just talk...I haven't smoked for like 3 months though."

"That's good," I say, indifferent.

"When was the last time you smoked?" he asks.

"I really don't."

"But when was the last time you did?"

"Well, the first and only cigarette I smoked was in 7th grade. I think it was 7th grade. I stole a pack from Dad, and a couple of us... I think Spence was there... went to the Sunnyside School playground."

"And?"

"I nearly died of an asthma attack. I puked, as I recall. So yeah, that was the only cigarette I tried. My lungs are no good, asthma you know? And, I've never smoked pot."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I've never tried pot... inhaling smoke on purpose never sounded good to me."

"We should go smoke."

"No way man."

"Oh come on... it'll be so cool. I want to smoke out my older brother."

"Cool? maybe for you. Shit... I am the square older brother."

"Oh come on... just try it."

"Okay stop. This is creeping me out... What are you? Part of a bizzaro after-school special? My younger brother is trying to corrupt me."

"..."

"Never mind, but seriously... I'm good."

"Okay, okay... but if you want to try, just let me know."

"Enough!"

pumpkin pie

ma: "We're having dinner tonight at 7:00, okay?"
tim: "Great... what are we having?"
ma: "Well, I thought we'd have a turkey dinner since you missed Thanksgiving."
tim: "Seriously?"
ma: "Yeah, it was kind of hard to find a turkey in June though."
tim: "Thanksgiving in June? This is great! Are we having pumpkin pie, too?"
ma: "Well, I hadn't planned on it, but I can get some canned pumpkin at the store, and..."
tim: "Nooo... it's no big deal."
ma: "It's no problem... I like pumpkin pie."
tim: "Sweet! Pumpkin pie!"


Every mom loves spoiling their "grown-up" kids. And some times, we like being spoiled. If a girl ever wanted to win my heart, she need only bake a pumpkin pie. My mom rocks!

Band Names

If you were to ask me, which of my friends would I want to see as the subject of a documentary film, one would definitely be my friend Shelton from Antarctica. The second, without a doubt, would be my 16-year-old (Cooler-Than-He-Knows) brother.

Maybe I have a really childish sense of humor, or maybe I'm just easily amused, but I swear... the things that go on in that kid's everyday-life just cracks my shit up. I haven't been in Pullman for more than 6 hours before he blindsides me...

"Hey Tim," he starts off, "did I tell you about our band?" He's an alarmingly good musician. Of course I'm biased because he's my baby brother, and I think he's perfect, but objectively speaking... I don't think it would be wrong to call him one of those kids that are "naturals" at these sorts of things... music, I mean. It's really annoying.

"No man," I say, "last you told me, you were jamming with your buddies Joe and... and... who were the others?"

"Joe, Ian and Ephram. Yeah, we recorded some stuff... it's not very good, but you can hear it if you want."

"Yeah... I'd love to hear you guys." I really would. "Who plays what?"

"Joe plays drums for us and sometimes guitar. Ephram plays the bass, and I play guitar."

"What about Ian?"

"Ian sings."

"Which one is Ian again?"

"He's the one who wears the dark-rimmed glasses and dresses funny with scarves and stuff. Everyone thinks he's gay, but he's not... he's just kind of eccentric. He watches that show Gilmore Girls, and we're always like 'Dude! What the hell do you watch that crap for?!? It's a chick-show!' and he's like [makes his voice kind of squeaky] 'It's a really good show guys... you should really check it out.' We give him a lot of crap for watching Gilmore Girls."

"Okay... now I remember Ian."

"Oh, so yeah... when we started playing together we had to come up with a band name. I came up with The Dudesons [as in Dude-sons], and we went with that for a while."

"Okay," I follow along.

"We jam after school, you know, and during our jams Ian starts calling us Follow Us To The Edge Of The Desert. The new name kind of grows on us, and we all start calling ourselves Follow Us To The Edge Of The Desert."

"That's cool. Kind of a long name, but it's original," I say.

"So last week, our friend Joel is like, 'You guys know where Follow Us To The Edge Of The Desert came from, don't you?' We're like, 'No, what'd you mean? Ian made it up during our jams.' And Joel's like, 'It's from the Gilmore Girls you guys. It's the name of the band that the kids on Gilmore Girls start.' And we're like, 'What. The. FUCK!'..."

"Are you kidding me?!?" I stammer, bug-eyed and doubled-over with laughter.

"Yeah, as it turns out Ian named us after the band on the Gilmore Girls. We were going to kill him, but first we were freaking out. We were like, 'Ah fuck... what do we do? What do we do? We've already played two shows as Follow Us To The Edge Of The Desert... ah fuck, ah fuck... the girls at our concerts must have known... they all watch the Gilmore Girls... ah fuck, ah fuck... why didn't they say anything? We look so stupid! Shit, maybe we can be an acronym band... F.U.T.T.E.O.T.D.... futt-eot'd? Fuck. That'll never work.'"

"Oh my God," me laughing, "What'd you guys do?"

"Nothing... we still haven't figured out what we're going to do. Ian, man... he must have known how pissed we'd be when we found out. We were going to find out. He was like, 'I'm sorry guys... but I don't see what's the big deal.' The whole time we were getting ready for our shows... he knew how fucked up this was going to be, and he didn't say anything!"

"This is awesome!" I laugh.

"This is not awesome. We're screwed." He buries his face in his hands, over-dramatically.

going home

I recently had a conversation with a friend who also grew up in the small Eastern Washington town of Pullman. Somehow in our meandering conversation, we started talking about how what we identified as our home towns had changed over the years. Maybe it's the same for others from small rural areas, but nowadays when someone asks me where I'm from, I proudly declare "Seattle." My friend now considers Portland her home town. What is it about growing up in a small town... why is it such a source of pride to have escaped, moved on... why is the idea of remaining in your small town so frightening, even shameful?

I've been living in Seattle for 8 years now... 8 years! That's almost a third of my life. And, whether it's justified or silly or whatever, I do take pride in being from Seattle. It's not that I've escaped... it's more that I challenged myself to try something different, and lucky for me I liked that 'different'. Small towns, home towns... there's nothing wrong with them. But I would say that everyone should challenge their environment before they settle on the only thing they know. Escape, move on, or whatever... do it for a little while. If it doesn't work for you, cool, now you can settle into that small town life knowing, really knowing, that it's right for you.

My ramblings aside, there will always, always be a place in my heart for my childhood home. Nearly nine months have passed since I last visited my family in Pullman. Diving from Seattle, 300miles across the state of Washington, I was actually surprised by how much I was enjoying the anticipation and, eventually, the familiarity.

Mountains gave way to orchards, then to expansive farm land and the mighty Columbia, then to arid scab-lands, and finally to the rolling hills of the Palouse. The air is sweet here... somehow I always forget that.

The marbles in my head - Part 2

This is the post where I ramble neurotically about my still-to-be-defined-plans for the next year or so. It's good to have plans, I think. Some people swear by the six month plan, or the three year plan, the five year plan... I personally like the one year plan, amended with loose ideas for the two years to follow. I mean, you can never really account for everything that will happen; there's only so much that is actually within one's control. But, it's always good to have goals, aspirations, ideas... I think.

Yesterday afternoon I was offered (albeit informally) a contract to work in Antarctica once more, next austral summer. Back in February, when I finished my four month dish-monkey gig, I only applied for four positions in the Antarctic Program... one of them was for Fuels Operator, more commonly called "Fuelie". This time next week, I'll know whether there is a formal contract that would send me back down to the ICE from late-Sept to late-Feb. This opportunity actually comes as a huge surprise, because, honestly, I never expected to be offered any of the jobs that I applied for... everyone covets those jobs.

So now my mind's racing wildly, and I'm at that place where opportunities abound, anything and everything seems possible, the choices are overwhelming, and I feel wildly alive. It's my favorite feeling.

To be sure... I'm also anxious. Would going down to the ICE another season, essentially extending my hiatus from any sort of "career development" by another year, be disastrous for any longer-term professional goals that I have. Am I being escapist? Foolhardy? Evading life's more difficult choices by justifying this venture as adventure and life-experience? I'm not sure.

But I guess those doubts are mostly moot... if/when I get a paper contract, I'll be headed back to Antarctica for a second season, and my mind swims with all things I hope for next season... a radio slot? run the marathon? MAAG (McMurdo Alternative Art Gallery) submission? rugby team? getting out in the field? learning to weld? books to read? friends to reconnect with?

And after the season? So many possibilities... backpack Nepal, Tibet, Northern India, through to Pakistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgystan, Uzbekistan... or maybe, just do Nepal, Tibet and Northern India then go visit my friend Sarah in London and bum around Europe for a while - Eastern Europe would be awesome... but maybe, I'll do a short stint in Asia, 6 weeks or so, and get myself back to the States to start the Pacific Crest Trail in late April.

Much to think over.

Reverse Culture Shock

A few days ago I returned to the beautiful city of Seattle. I absolutely love this city. It's actually been 8 months since I left... my time abroad (I've never really liked that term, "abroad"... sounds pretentious or something... like, "What are you doing for the summer? Oh that's nice... I'm going abroaaad.")... okay, so my travels took me through Antarctica, New Zealand, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Singapore. Needless-to-say, it's an adjustment slipping back into these once comfortable Seattle-shoes. With that in mind, I'm going to do one of those list things...

10 Adjustments/Surprises/Novelties of Returning to Seattle, USA

10. Driving and everything related to it. I stalled my own car twice... that's just embarrassing. All the cars are huge, the highways are huge, the people are... never mind. Seattle traffic is ridiculous... how'd I forget that? And I actually got excited to find $2.99/gal gas.

9. How incredibly clean everything is... my God, it's unbelievable... this country is practically sterile. Trash, sewage, bugs... no where to be seen. Toilets? Spotless. We have it so good.

8. How far my money doesn't go...
$0.50 in Bangkok = Phad Thai ... $0.50 in Seattle = side of tartar sauce.
$5.00 in Siem Reap = room w/private bath ... $5.00 in Seattle = 1% of rent.
$17.00 on Air Asia = flight across Thailand ... $17.00 in Seattle = 1/2 tank of gas

7. Seeing the temperature (70F), and actually comprehending what that should feel like (Celsius still means nothing to me)... and then finding myself putting on jeans and a sweatshirt because I'm FREEZING.

6. Tap Water... drinking it, brushing my teeth with it, showering with my mouth open, washing vegetables, fruit, and not having to peel the stuff to eat it.

5. Personal Hygiene... every day I find myself in the bathroom, usually in the afternoon, staring at the stick of deodorant on the counter and wondering... "did I put deodorant on this morning?" It's a strange transition - how your threshold for cleanliness changes when you cease the transient life. Where as I would wear the same t-shirt and shorts for a week and shower every 3 days, now I wear a t-shirt twice before it's tossed in the laundry bin, and sometimes I even shower twice in a day.

4. Smoke free bars. Yup... while I was away, Washington state banned smoking in all bars and restaurants. Needless to say... this kicks ass.

3. How is it that every person in Seattle seems to be incredibly stylish, hip and beautiful. Either my standards went down, my self-conscious up, or I'm just out of touch with current trends. I know, I know... all of the above.

2. No. More. Broken. English. I can actually (well, theoretically) carry on complex and intellectual conversations.

1. Radio... NPR... KEXP... 'This American Life'... 'John in The Morning'... 'Science Fridays'... 'Car Talk'... 'The Roadhouse'... so good.

my gift to you...

In case you were having a bad day, or were generally unhappy for some reason.
I present Tate...


She's eating figs... and single-handedly making my day.