We met our friend Jesse at the eminently popular Por Que No on the eminently popular N Mississippi Ave. Then we stayed with our Opcode coworker Lenore and her husband Geoff. They had just remodeled the kitchen, and had a very colorful countertop with shards of beer bottles embedded in cement, with a clear top.
The Liberal Media speak as though Donald Trump were some incomprehensible monster, with his wall-building and Muslim hate and White Supremacy. This is a lie. Liberals understand Donald Trump perfectly, and feel the same way that he does, just about different things.
Islam doesn’t bother me much. But if I were president, I would detain all the manufacturers of faucets in the United States and put them in one of the conference rooms at Guantanamo (They probably have names like “The Palm Room” and “Rio Grande 3” and of course “Guantanamera”) and there they would watch live video feeds of their own children being tortured and killed until they settled upon two EXISTING designs of faucets, which would then become the ONLY faucets permitted in the United States: one with one handle that remembers the temperature, and one with two handles in the old style. And I guess you could grandfather in the ones with two handles and two faucets. And one standard way of switching from tub to shower and shower to hand-held nozzle.
The first amendment would indicate you could make other creative designs, but they would be classified as Art and it would be illegal to sell them for less than $100,000, which would prevent their being installed in Motel 6 and airports. And the American flag would do a Google Doodle of that way sexy old post card of the guy washing his feet in a sink. I can’t find it right now on Google Images.
I will not say anything like “I thought I’d seen it all,” with respect to useless technological elaboration, but I thought I had a grasp on the eigenvectors of faucet design. Ha. Ha. Lenore has an encrypted faucet in her kitchen that requires you touch it just-so on the side, in order to unlock the water function. This is not some janky plumbing mishap of the era of rabbit ear antennas on the top of TV sets, this is an intentional design. It’s touch-controlled. You can’t grasp it. You have to brush it gently. I’ve gone on long enough on this tangent and I will stipulate all the sex jokes about touching faucets gently on the side.
Lenore seems to be doing well. Her house is neat. Her daughter Zoe is fabulous. She likes to sort things, for fun. I told her I needed to be her friend on that basis — she can join the conversations I have with Kent about algorithms for that. Zoe used to do gymnastics but now is very interested in the circus; gymnastics was horrendously competitive, but in a circus everyone depends on everyone else.
On Thursday morning, August 24, we met Dave’s cousin Larissa at Jam on Hawthorne, for brunch. There were not two square centimeters of flesh colored skin in the whole place. I used to think that the tattoo fad would come and go, but I now think it will only fade when it is replaced by full motion subcutaneous video.
Larissa’s house makes me wonder how many hours other people have in the day. I feel like I have really done it all, if I have razored off a couple of feet of blue masking tape scraps from the edge of a window. Larissa has painted her whole damn house. And she has a full time job. How is this possible? She also has a golden retriever which insists on taking up 105% of your attention the whole time you are on the property.
Islam doesn’t bother me much. But if I were president, I would detain all the manufacturers of faucets in the United States and put them in one of the conference rooms at Guantanamo (They probably have names like “The Palm Room” and “Rio Grande 3” and of course “Guantanamera”) and there they would watch live video feeds of their own children being tortured and killed until they settled upon two EXISTING designs of faucets, which would then become the ONLY faucets permitted in the United States: one with one handle that remembers the temperature, and one with two handles in the old style. And I guess you could grandfather in the ones with two handles and two faucets. And one standard way of switching from tub to shower and shower to hand-held nozzle.
The first amendment would indicate you could make other creative designs, but they would be classified as Art and it would be illegal to sell them for less than $100,000, which would prevent their being installed in Motel 6 and airports. And the American flag would do a Google Doodle of that way sexy old post card of the guy washing his feet in a sink. I can’t find it right now on Google Images.
I will not say anything like “I thought I’d seen it all,” with respect to useless technological elaboration, but I thought I had a grasp on the eigenvectors of faucet design. Ha. Ha. Lenore has an encrypted faucet in her kitchen that requires you touch it just-so on the side, in order to unlock the water function. This is not some janky plumbing mishap of the era of rabbit ear antennas on the top of TV sets, this is an intentional design. It’s touch-controlled. You can’t grasp it. You have to brush it gently. I’ve gone on long enough on this tangent and I will stipulate all the sex jokes about touching faucets gently on the side.
Lenore seems to be doing well. Her house is neat. Her daughter Zoe is fabulous. She likes to sort things, for fun. I told her I needed to be her friend on that basis — she can join the conversations I have with Kent about algorithms for that. Zoe used to do gymnastics but now is very interested in the circus; gymnastics was horrendously competitive, but in a circus everyone depends on everyone else.
On Thursday morning, August 24, we met Dave’s cousin Larissa at Jam on Hawthorne, for brunch. There were not two square centimeters of flesh colored skin in the whole place. I used to think that the tattoo fad would come and go, but I now think it will only fade when it is replaced by full motion subcutaneous video.
Larissa’s house makes me wonder how many hours other people have in the day. I feel like I have really done it all, if I have razored off a couple of feet of blue masking tape scraps from the edge of a window. Larissa has painted her whole damn house. And she has a full time job. How is this possible? She also has a golden retriever which insists on taking up 105% of your attention the whole time you are on the property.
We realized that we needed to leave for Seattle “stat!” to avoid the horrible traffic. Of course, there is always horrible traffic from Olympia through Tacoma, and that was indeed the case.