Skull / Bones

“TVs are made out of human blood.”

“What does that mean?”

“Plasma tvs.”

“Hm. Okay. The future, Today.”

“I’ll look it up on wikipedia.”

“There’s no way it can be the same plasma.”

tap tap tap.  “This isn’t as sensational as I thought it might be.”

“Well, you can just believe it.”

“Sure.”

“His first stop was in Medford.  That’s the Meth Capital of the Northwest.  There’s something in that.”

“Really?  Medford?  Meth Capital?”

“Yep.  You know what the Pot capital is?

“Yeah, Eugene of course.”

“Yeah that’s some really good weed from there.”

“Don’t like that town otherwise.”

“Well, it’s basically a college town.”

“Hm.  So, what’s Portland?”

“I dunno.”  Several seconds of silence.  “The thing is.  He lies alot.  The first lie I heard from him was the one where he said that he has slept with Hillary.”

The trend that is sweeping this city of mine, as well probably any number of cities with the same cosmopolitan-yearning demographic is…

Bottled fungi-marionetted water.  Apparently a man in Los Angeles has cornered this market, so buy some up and help the man build his empire.

Also, marionetting your own water with this fungi in a musky jar placed in some corner or other of your home.  I figure this substance is a sort of once every fifteen year fad which breezes through, leaves a mark, and than vanishes to plot its return.

I note that an “I Anonymous” gretting was recently published in The Portland Mercury which focused venom on the perils of a Kombucha Tea.  And I note that radio host Rick Emerson alluded to his hippy-ish wife growing it.  The cultural zeitgist of this city has officially picked it up.

I feel as though I am in on some bizarre in-joke.  The back of the bottled Kombucha Tea says it is native to some spot in the Himalyans, and I assume this to be the case.  It is also native, as I have said before, to a place in the middle of Siberi, probably far less exotic to name drop than the Himalyans.  I note that a google search for “Kombucha Tea” brings it as 100 times more popular than “Kargasok Tea” — where it sits at #1 suggesting that I am as big a lynch-pin as any to the task of keeping the phrase “Kargasok Tea” in the popular domain — and this phrase edges out “Manchurian Mushroom Tea”.

I also note a note placed next to the stock in the cafe in Powell’s which says it all.  “It’s supposed to taste like that.”  An acquired taste with supposed health benefits.  Hm.  I occasionally news-check ”Kargasok” (a place I was in for, like, 2 days with my parents, and which is nothing one can possibly reference in any conversation) — the residents of the area do indeed experience health problems, meaning the Wonder Cure for Every Known and Unknown maladay has not solved everything.

Which means I will not partake of it.  Unless I find myself in any place in the Himalyans which claim it as their own.  Or back in Kargasok.

Speaking of which, more fun:  Travel up the Ob River and re-create the journey to far-flung Gulags!  Weee.  (I’ll plug it in later.)

Passing by the protest yesterday, held in the shadow of heavy rain — which is to say, light rain that will turn heavy any minute now — I look over the gathering crowds and what little booths have been put up.  I see three political candidates — first I saw Steve Novick’s campaign, which meant to me that just around the bend, but never next to him, I would see Jeff Merkley’s.  Before I saw Jeff Merkley’s, I saw Ron Paul supporters had set up their little shin-dig — a bit of ideological diversity, I suppose.  I am a little bit annoyed — it seems a little tacky for politicians to set up shop in these things, crassly shifting about for votes.

A group of about a dozen O-PIRGers had gathered into what looked like a prayer circle.  Maybe, in a way, it was.  But they threw out a peppy slogan at the end, and I guess you can say were in good spirits.  A smattering of Women in Pink — indicating Code Pink — were here and there.

A ways away there is a memorial, on the edge of PSU, several grassy knolls of white flags representing dead Iraqis, after a handful of rows of red flags representing American dead.  If I find a photograph of it online, I will post it.

Walking around the bend, I see a man with a black handkerchief over his mouth, handing out fliers.  Pretty interesting — this is the infamous “Black Blocks” of these marches.  Or so you think.  I take a flier, look down on it, and see that he was mildly co-opting the situation – and there was a large troupe of Scientology critics waving signs aimed at the downtown Scientology Center.  A fat and well dressed man stood at the door-way of the Scientology Center, staring at the crowd, waving signs “Keep the Faith.  Lose the Corporation”; “Remember Lisa McPhearson”; “I Like Science Fiction Too — But I wouldn’t–”, et al.  It was … interesting.

I overheard a conversation on the MAX the other day which ran the gambit from Dungeons and Dragons to World of Warcraft.  The conversation was just as geeky as you will imagine.  The person I was sitting next to made some snarky comments that I was supposed to share, and felt compelled to jump off the Max at an early stop to get away from it.

The co-creator of Dungeons and Dragons died the other day, a man who I guess created a whole sub-culture of complicated and intense fantasy games for to lose oneself in.  The one thing that I found odd was a fascination some people, roughly around middle school, — outcasts drifting toward dressing in black — had with multi-sided dice.  20 sides!  They seemed to think it was very cool, in and of itself, outside any game sphere (and mind you, at this point Dungeons and Dragons wouldn’t be much played… we’re in the world of “Magic: the Gathering” — and if it relies on multi-sided dice, feel free to correct me and tell me so).  I failed to see the magic — not in the “Hipper than thou” model (Clearly I was and am not), but I tend to see a cube of 6 sides as symmetrically wondrous, and anything beyond that as awkward and bumbling — it does not role to a side.

Two people on the bus talking in that somewhat incoherent griping about the government, and the neo-cons (”They’re not Conservatives; they’re Globalists!”), and the way the Man Is Putting Us Down.

“Something should be done about them.”

“I think they should be tried and prisoned.”

“I think they should be hung for Treason.”

“And that Mortgage Crisis?  The Bilderburg Group orchestrated it in 2005 at their meeting!”

… To line their coffer from Us Down here, I suppose.

“I hope Ron Paul will get in, but he will be shot.”

Ron Paul.  Bingo!

“Is he an old White Man?”  (Here I might as well point out that one of these two are black.)

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

“But he’s against the Corporate Agenda.”
“They don’t like him?”

“Hm.  Marginalize him.  You have to lick their boots in order to get into any power position.   Why he would be shot if he got anywhere.”

I am thinking about pointing out the nature of the old Ron Paul newsletters, but think better of it.  Best not to rock the boat.

Why in the world would somebody place a sign in their car’s back window with the message:

“Doctors Are Bastards”.

I suppose it’s a protest against Doctors, but… Why? I am completely baffled.   I would like to ask the car owner what prompted these strong emotions regarding this class of peoples.

“I’m going to lose weight this year.  I’m tired of being plump.”

She is thinner from when I first met her (comb through this blog and you’d find a recounting of such).  She’s said any number of things such as this before, and I’ve elected to say “Hm”, or to grunt.  Desiring to say something more substantial, I think for a second, before saying,

“I think I’m going to try to gain weight this year, and see if I can become morbidly obese.”

Ba De… um… Dum?

Interesting sight yesterday, walking down the street downtown:

A woman, I don’t know — early 30s? — non-chalantly carrying a blow-up sex doll (fully blown up).  I did what is the equivalent of a double-take, except I guess it’s a “Linger and Focus onto object for a second.”  I passed by her, and pacing her was a woman, I think walking along with her, giving a broad knowing smile, which forced me to awkwardly look away — I may or may not have been blushing.

I half expected a “Hidden Camera” to be filming in the area for a 6th generation “Candid Camera” program.

A man in a cigarette costume was standing across the street from Pioneer Square this afternoon. Clearly a part of a contingent waving signs urging a “Yes” vote on Measure 50, ie — fighting the influx of Tobacco Company Advertising for the “NO On 50″ campaign.

The image that popped into my mind, however, was the Cigarette character that appeared in Doonesbury over the years when Gary Tradeau wanted to portray the Tobacco industry. I also had half a mind to go up to him with the assumption that he was a Tobacco Industry mascot and was dispensing free cigarettes. Which would work well, I suppose, and may be something they should do tomorrow — Measure 50 has gone down to defeat.