I'm going for a walk. Perhaps you'd like to help.

Hello friends.

A little break from comedic programming here for a pledge drive of sorts.

It's been almost a year since I lost my brother Rick to suicide. It's been a year of walking in darkness and searching for light. Fitting then that I should be participating in the annual Out of the Darkness Overnight, a walk to raise money for suicide prevention and to raise awareness of one of the leading causes of death in this country. Every 16 minutes in America someone dies by suicide.

Since I first heard about this walk, I've found it absolutely fascinating. It's in Seattle on June 21st (New York has one on June 7th) and the idea is that you start walking around sunset then walk about 20 miles, ending at sunrise the next morning. You walk through the darkness into the sunlight, hopefully bringing some attention to the cause with you into that light. Most of the people walking have been affected by suicide in some way, either within their families or circle of friends. I'm coming back to Seattle, however briefly, to be in that crowd and to walk those long miles. I've never been one for causes but I am now.

And oh yes: the fund raising part of it all. It's organized by the American Society for Suicide Prevention. The money goes to research and prevention programs, specifics of which are described here. All participants are asked to raise at least $1000 for the cause. I've set a tentative goal of $2000 since I think I may know a few more people than the average participant.

I would like your support at whatever level you feel comfortable with. In return, you will receive gratitude, some photos later on, and knowledge that you helped spread some sunlight on this terrible darkness. It's not about me, it's not my therapy, it's a chance to help other people.

The event's website is here. To donate, please go here. I've also included an ongoing link in the upper right hand corner of the blog up there.

Thanks,
John

UPDATE: $355 in so far! 17% of the way there according to the thermometer with dorky sound effects on the web site. Thanks a million to all.

And because it's been a while...

I'm on to you, Jay Leno. And I have been for years.
I'm on to you, Quinoa.
And Eva Longoria? I'm afraid you've been found out. I'm on to you, too.

(see previous posts)

(also, I just Googled "I'm on to you" and this blog trails only a couple of references to a Neil Diamond song. Nice work, y'all! I'm on to you, algorithm!)

And what/who are YOU on to?

(update: and for the record, yes, I realize everyone is on to me as well. Thank you for your that.)

We Are In a Different Part of the World

Japan, specifically.



Only quarrels: the omission of a Japanese Kim Carnes to drop in "when we" (Japanese Diana Ross steps in instead) and the omission of Japanese Dan Aykroyd to stand around in the background making people wonder "what the hell is THAT guy doing there?"

Japanese Cyndi Lauper is all kinds of awesome, though.

What's It Like in Minnesota?

Well, there are trade offs. Things tend to even out.

If you want beer, you must work for it. It is not at the convenience store or even the grocery store. It's at liquor stores. And the liquor store near my house closes at 8pm. Because who would ever want to buy beer after 8pm?
BUT
This is a place where they have The Onion free on newsstands with local entertainment sections.

Temperatures have soared to the high 40s here lately which means all the ice and snow are melting and I may yet avoid learning to work my new big flat shovel.
BUT
It gets cold again at night so in the morning when I walk to work (3 miles!) I step on wet sidewalks and puddles that are actually tiny ice rinks causing me to slip and flail about madly as though in a cartoon.

People are very nice.
BUT
One of my co-workers thinks that many Minnesotans are kind of superficially nice. Like they're just acting nice but they don't mean it.
BUT
That's fine with me. I don't want to share my soul with the lady at Caribou Coffee, I just want pleasantness. Isn't superficially nice just another term for polite? And I'll take that over the folks at Uptown Espresso in Seattle where I felt like I was really ruining their day with my perpetual demands to engage in some sort of "cash for coffee" business arrangement.

A brief encounter this morning:
ME: Good morning.
PERSON WHO IS APPARENTLY MY CO-WORKER: Good morning! Wait... are you Roger?
ME: No. I can be if you'd like. I'm John.
PWIAMC-W: John MOE, right? Weekend America?
ME: Yeah. Hi.
PWIAMC-W: I was thinking it was Roger. I guess I was thinking of Roger Moe.
ME: Who is Roger Moe?
PWIAMC-W: Nobody. I've never heard of Roger Moe.
ME: Okay then. Well, nice to meet you.

New Kid in School

This week, my kids started at their new schools. It made me think about the role of a parent in that situation. I read one time that Eminem would go visit his daughter's school from time to time and that when he did he made sure he wasn't seen as big rap star but just as "Hailie's dad". In that situation, he didn't want to be Eminem as the world knew him.

Got me thinking. He's on the radio. I'm on the radio. But his presence on the radio is kind of the opposite of mine. Maybe I should go the opposite direction of him and be as much like Eminem as possible in the school.

So when I dropped the kids off I made sure to launch into angry violent rhymed tirades about all sorts of people. I made sure to get a really short haircut and glower menacingly. I made sure to bring in a reluctant Dr. Dre to the school (easier to do than you'd think) to be my mentor. And I made absolute certain to sign on with director Curtis Hanson to film a tense gritty drama based on my hard scrabble upbringing (harder than you'd think it being Federal Way). Finally, I made sure to disappear from public view for several years and make people occasionally wonder what the hell ever happened to me.

I think it made a big impression on both teachers and parents.

What Happened With The House

So you may have noted a rapid embargo of real estate information immediately after the house went on the market and the Hey Look At Our House era ended. Two reasons: rapid sale and the Interweb.

We put the house on the market on Friday the 18th of January. I was hosting Weekend America that week (shrewd planning, Moe, maybe you'd like to adopt a chimp that week too just to keep a bit BUSIER?) and so I went off to work, kids went to school or Grandma's for the day, Jill, well, I'm sure she did something. Life was a bit of a blur. Afterwards, we all went to Tukwila (suburb south of Seattle) and checked in to a hotel so we could be out of the way and so the kids wouldn't spill food and fling toys all over the house we were trying to sell for a whole bunch of money.

Cut to Saturday morning. When I host(ed) the show from Seattle, I would get to KUOW by around 7am to make sure everything was ready to go and to do last minute script tweaks. I check my email and it's our realtor saying there's an offer. After one day. If you listen to the show I hosted immediately after, I believe you can hear many things in my voice, including exhaustion, madness, hope, and cynicism trying to drown the hope. I couldn't quite believe that in 2008 an offer could be made so rapidly. I also knew it was a great house in a great neighborhood at a fair price.

So later on Saturday, we get an email with an attached scan of the offer. I read the names of the potential buyers and what's the first thing I do? Right: I Google the crap out of them. Within less than a minute I have at least a cursory knowledge of who they are. Then what happens? Right: the dawning of the knowledge that they've probably already done the same to me and there are many, many things about me online. And now I knew how people in their 20s who grew up online feel ALL THE TIME: everything I ever did online is out there somewhere. And look, I've always written online as if anyone in the world could read it (not that they'd want to read everything I ever wrote) but still, I lead a sort of public/private hybrid life and much of it's out there. I hope they never found out about My Terrible Secret! (note: no terrible secret).

Part of the staging of the house involved the placement of a bottle of wine (given to us by Jeannie Sleater-Yandel) on this antique radio we have. We decided that when the house sold, we would uncork that wine. We signed the offer, the deal was in motion before an open house was held, the house went through inspection, and that wine popped open.

But in real estate there is the SOLD sign going up and then there's closing, usually many weeks apart. And so: information embargo. Talk about packing on the blog, I figure. Talk about sports and Obama and all that. But as for real estate talk, lips zipped shut. The house closed just as we were boarding the train.

Next time I'll tell you about the train.

It was minus 8 when I woke up today

Which means that Monkey Disaster is now a St Paul based publication.

Many details to follow, including sale of the house.

But first I must huddle by a radiator in terror.

UPDATE!

After tonight's final mission of Chicken Starship, the band and assorted groupies will be adjourning to Leny's - 2219 N 56th st, 98103.

There Are Other Blogs

Turns out my sister writes one. It seems to be mostly about jewelry and even then mostly about jewelry using quotations from Shakespeare and even then mostly earrings. Shakespearrings she calls 'em, as you might expect. I think she should work up a set of earrings with the opening lines from The Merchant of Venice where Antonio says "In sooth I know not why I am so sad," (left earring) "It wonders me, you say it wonders you" (right earring). You know, for chronically depressed people! Then maybe with a picture of, like, a dour Patrick Stewart or David Suchet or something. My sister calls her blog Bijou Bliss but I DON'T KNOW WHY!

I have another sister but she doesn't appear to have a blog. So what can I do, really?

The Final Voyage of Chicken Starship

On Friday night, there will be a concert. By the most important rock band in the WORLD. It is the final performance of Chicken Starship, a combo I have been fronting for most of the past two presidential administrations.



Oh yes.

The idea is that it's not a farewell show, it's just a pre-reunion show. There will be more shows but just not as many and not for a while.

Chicken Starship has been a wonderful part of my life for many years. Some key points in the history:

1993ish - I am living near Green Lake with Joe and Sean. There is an evening of Beer Theater (self explanatory, no?) coming up and we decide to form a band: Sean and I on wooden spoons and car keys and vocals, Joe on guitar. Band is named Free Range Chickens after a product spotted at Albertson's. And we are Joe Chicken, Sean Chicken, and Little Jackie Chicken (me).
1994-95 - Randy Chicken joins on bass followed by Scott Chicken on drums and Steve Chicken on more guitars. There are amps, there is noise.
Mid to late 90's - Much playing, many bass players, Weird Al comes to see us. Stardom never grasped, never reached.
Very late 90's - Following a wretched gig at a tiny club with a bass player who hates us, we kind of realize it's done. Sean Chicken moves to Bellingham.
2003- Jill Chicken (my wife) secretly arranges a surprise party for my birthday and gets the band back together with a new bass player. It's supposed to be a one night only thing but we realize it's still fun. Also realize that we can approach it like a bowling league with beer and fun and non-sexual male companionship. Band is re-christened Chicken Starship, using the "starship" name to denote bands that should have stayed broken up but ill-advisedly re-formed. I decline Grace Slick style jumpsuit.
2005- Tom Chicken joins on bass. Only took us a decade to find the right bassist.
2007 - I announce my imminent departure to St Paul.

Thus, the prereunion show. Afterwards, there will be adjourning to a bar. Don't know which one.

So come!

Hear hits like Let's Go Camping, I Don't Wanna Die, and Divorced White Male Seeks Anybody.

See the chicken suits!

Meet Charlie (age 7) and Kate (age 5)!

Rock!


Friday, February 29, 2008
Time:
7:00pm - 10:00pm
Location:
Seattle Drum School's L.A.B.
Street:
12510 15th Ave NE
City/Town:
seattle, WA


Why "Pre-Reunion"? Well, Jack Chicken is moving to Minnesota to be closer to Target, but rather than break up the band we're going to "go on hiatus". So this is our pre-reunion show, since the next one will be an actual reunion. Unless, of course, we replace him with Gary Cherone or something...

Anyhow, we're sending Jack off with a final show at the L.A.B. at Seattle Drum School, up at 15th NE and 125th in Seattle (the address is 12510 15th Ave NE, and the map is here). Relatively easy access from I-5, and while the show is all-ages, there is a tavern about a half mile north on 15th for those of you who can't watch us without getting your drink on.

Kicking off the evening's entertainment are Dapper Jones, a band we've never played with but sound cool, at least based on their MySpace stuff. Kind of a power-pop-punk thing.

It's an early show - 7:00-ish start - and it's a Friday night, so get off work early, come on out, and give Jack Chicken the all-ages sendoff he so richly deserves!

Kevin Durant? Weirdly, he's a fervent Mike Gravel loyalist

Greg Oden comes out for Obama. Norse God Odin still undecided but leaning toward Ron Paul.

Oh well hello old friend

Good lord, it's been since last Saturday? Well then:
1. Early on in this blog's life, I kind of felt it necessary to sort of blog In Character, you know? Be arch, be snide, be above it all. But now it's just talkin'. Oh, I'm still snide and arch and above it all from time to time, but I come by that sincerely now.
2. Thing is, Obama is just running a better operation. They haven't panicked once. Dude used to organize GOTV efforts in Chicago. Dude's a Chicago politician. Some would argue Obama's got better positions, some would say the same about Hillary, I'm not saying that about either one, but he runs better plays. It's like football. They're both good quarterbacks, but one of them happens to also be a brilliant head coach.
3. I drove from Seattle to St Paul in a little over two days. It was me, a loaded minivan, and Fuzzy the hamster. First night we reached Billings, MT. Second night was harrowing, driving through North Dakota at night when THERE ARE NO TOWNS FOR MILES AND MILES and therefore no lights along the freeway. And through parts of it, Fargo for example, the temperature was 20 below. 20 below. Such things happen, evidently.
4. We stopped in Fergus Falls, MN that night, a few hours north of St Paul. It was 15 below. Here's what you do in that situation: run from the van into the hotel. Run. Get the room. RUN back to the van, get the hamster, and RUN back in when no one's looking at the fact that you have a hamster.
5. I ate at Applebee's that night. It was packed. In 15 degree below zero weather. If 15 below happened in Seattle, buildings would explode, people would physically shatter apart, newscasts would be nothing but shrieking for 30 minutes straight. This would not be an illogical response or even an incorrect one. Mastering living in Minnesota will involve carrying on with life as if these temperatures are acceptable. That's what I've done with rain most of my life. Okay then.
6. The lady at the hotel in Fergus Falls used the term "Uff Da" unironically.
7. Reached Twin Cities, dropped Fuzzy off at the sitters, put stuff in the new rental house, soon headed to airport to fly home.
8. Numbered lists make you feel like you're getting somewhere, even if all you're getting is to the end of the list.
9. I've got to stop ripping off John Hodgman's technique of CAPITALIZING things for COMIC EFFECT. But the thing is, it WORKS.
10. I spent much of the van trip listening to cassette tapes of my college radio shows. Which was PAINFUL.

Venus has more weekend getaway locations than Mars

We are a little more than two weeks from the move now. The packing is in pretty good shape. The planning is in pretty good shape. The Moe children are in pretty good shape. The Moe adults? Well, they're in different shapes. The lovely and talented Mrs. Moe is having a weekend away with some very good girlfriends. They're at a...cabin?... or something? I'm not sure. I just know her phone doesn't work there. Or, more accurately, I just know that she says her phone doesn't work there.

Me, I had the members of Chicken Starship (the most important rock band in the world) over for a rocky roll rehearsal tonight, in advance of our big Pre-Reunion Final Concert of All Time. There was beer. And electric guitars. Led Zeppelin noodling. In many ways, Mrs. Moe and I were having similar friendship times, living up to our gender archetypes.

But! BUT!

Tom Chicken, the bass playing Chicken, is the husband of one of Mrs. Moe's friends up at the cabin. And he asked, quite sensibly, "can you imagine anything worse than the five of us (in the band) having a weekend retreat together? To just hang out and talk?"

He's right. It would be unbearable. And these are some of my favorite fellas. But a weekend just hanging out in a cabin with them? No. God no. No. I think we'd be drunk by, like, 7pm on the first night, and then what? Braiding our hair? We're mostly balding. Discuss feelings or hit ourselves with hammers? Comparable! I guess we could watch Caddyshack but it's only about 90 minutes and even then I suspect it's not as good as I remember.

No no, a rocky roll practice, a few Alaskan Ambers, and we're just fine, thank you.

Mars has more amps.

Yes, but what's the matter with Kansas?

"The chief songwriter and founder of the band Boston has more than a feeling that he's being ripped off by Mike Huckabee."

I'm on to you...

This was a big hit last time. So I wonder what you're on to since then.

As for me:

I'm on to you, gourmet cupcakes.
I'm on to you panini sandwiches.

Update

All those cards, letters, and notes I said I was throwing away? I didn't throw any of them away. I'm turning them into a radio story.

The Curse of Reach

So I pretty much started this blog in order to keep the writing muscle in shape. I could keep a journal but I'm way too insecure for that. What's the use of writing if no one's reading it? Who's going to give you the approval you so desperately crave? I figure a few friends would read it as well as the occasional stranger stumbling across the transom or someone who knew my work, somehow wanted to see more of it, and googled me. But then more friends started reading it. Then my family. Then my extended family. Latest horrific discovery: lots of people at my old college are reading it too.

That's where I am now. Back at the college. Whitman College of Walla Walla, Washington (they use the buildings vacated when the Wishy Washy Washing Machine Company shut down). I gave a talk here yesterday to loads of students who showed up for some reason (McSweeney's? Boredom?) and a few professors I had when I was here. Many seem to have read the blog.

I've always kind of avoided the relentless self promotion that some of my contemporaries practice on their blogs because I guess I've been sustaining this idea of this being a more personal side away from the book and the radio. But then again, the book was really mostly about me and loads of stuff on the radio is about me.

I'm sitting in the big Campus Center building. "Dancing in the Dark" is playing. "Man, I ain't nothing but tired / I'm just tired and bored with myself". Screw you, Springsteen. I don't need your ham-fisted soundtrack. Why does he appear so chipper in that video anyway? And when will Ben Gibbard cover this song? Tomorrow please?

Anyway, I had a lovely visit to Whitman College, something I would have said even if I didn't know people from there may be reading this. Among the advice nuggets I gave to students (often without provocation):
- Don't go directly to grad school.
- Don't ever go to journalism school.
- Attend a lecture on something you're not interested in.
- Everything you do in college will be on the final. Except the final is life. And it's not a test. But everything will be on the final.
- It doesn't matter what you major in.

College boys look like they're from the 1970s these days.
I'm all, "where's your dune buggy?"
I'm all, "when does Frampton next come alive?"
I'm all, "where is the innocence as to the eventual brutal cost of your excesses?"
Oh, there it is.

Got a good night's sleep

Feeling less morose. Thanks!

Sometimes I can't quite believe it's happening

The last time I moved to a new city was when I came out to Seattle from Missoula. I had everything I needed/owned in the back of a car and there was still room in the car for my girlfriend. And all her stuff. And our friend Bob Knutson. We stopped at Senor Frog's in Spokane on the way. It was tacoriffic.

Well, that was almost 15 years ago. The girlfriend is now the wife of almost 13 years. A home got purchased. Kids got had. Old got got. And stuff accumulated. Up until lately, that stuff has been the big issue. Getting rid of the stuff, throwing it away, donating it, selling it. We seem to have found a moving method, though, that will be cheaper than the full on Van Lines and less shameful than attempting to fix friends' ruptured vertebrae with pizza and beer so stuff management does not weigh quite so heavily. More on that in future posts.

So as the stuff anxiety lifts, other anxieties now creep in. Because something must always fill the anxiety hole. Team Moe is launching this exciting new life in this new city soon. There will be cheaper bigger houses, friendly people (at Caribou Coffee and elsewhere), great schools, mind shatteringly cold temperatures, more and better career opportunities, less of a chance that I'll inevitably end up working at Microsoft. And we brought this all on ourselves. IT WAS MY IDEA with the full support of my employer. But now I think about what I leave behind. The relatives and neighbors who formed an astounding support network that we never managed to repay. The friends and colleagues. The fact that really most of the time a jacket will do.

I think it's easy to see the duality of destination and former home in stark terms: I left there and went there, that's old and this is new, I want that now and I don't want that any longer. But while I don't regret our decision to move (except when St Paul had a high of -4 the other week), I am increasingly aware that it's not a promotion or an escape or a copout or a triumph or anything. It's just a trade. We give up our veteran pitcher to get a hot young prospect. Swap our point guard for a center. We embrace change. And it will be hard and it will be easy and it will be confusing and it will be wonderful and it will sometimes be lonely as hell.

But we will go. In early March. On a train. The reason for the train is that we felt driving out there would be TORTURE and flying would be strange because you sit down for three hours and there you are in your new home. We want that feeling of transition. But something tells me a feeling of transition will happen no matter what we do.

Sometimes I think I get less funny all the time. Other times I feel like well hell I just don't need to be funny all the time. But that doesn't really change the first feeling.

Official Monkey Disaster Super Tuesday Analysis Spectacular

1. Republicans behaved in a predictable way, choosing the candidate they knew best. Because Republicans almost always do this.
2. The Evangelical candidate did well in the South, as Evangelical candidates almost always do.
3. The Mormon candidate did well in Utah, a state that is home to many Mormons.
4. The Democrats had a hard time making up their minds.
5. Super Tuesday did not resolve the presidential race.
6. The campaigns of the Democratic candidates tried to explain the results in a way that favored their candidates.
7. Noisy people shouted things into television cameras in an attempt to attach greater meaning to all this.*
7. Fish swam. Birds, on the other hand, chose to fly.
8. Bears shit in the woods.
9. The Pope is Catholic.
10. Bacon is delicious.

Love,
John Moe, professional political author and pundit.
Conservatize Me, now available in paperback.


* I assume they did. We don't have that kind of cable anymore. Ditched it after the '04 election. We're happier.

PAPERBACK!

In stores today!

Here's the difference between hardback and paperback.
10/06 (hardback release): I'm gearing up for a nationwide tour with several media appearances. There's a release party at The Big Picture.
2/08 (paperback release): I'm getting ready to wake up at 5:30 tomorrow to do a phone interview with some drivetime DJ in Baltimore.
10/06: I'm working at KUOW.
2/08: I'm working for American Public Media.

Can a lightsaber cut through Superman?

Answer here.

Late Breaking Local Radio Firestorm!

In case you Seattlesque people are checking blogs at this hour*...

I'll be on 710 KIRO tonight at 9:30 or so flogging the paperback edition of Conservatize Me. The new paperback is less lethal when hucked than the hardback. It also features new browner cover design (because brown = funny) and a smattering of supportive blurbs. Plus, three fewer typos. The paperback is expected to win the Delaware caucus tomorrow but finish a disappointing 12th in New Jersey, after which the paperback will drop out of the race, throwing its support behind a dream ticket of a Kucinich/Tancredo tag team co-presidency.

The KIRO thing will be part of Too Beautiful To Live, the new evening show hosted by my friend, former Rewind collaborator, and NPR escapee Luke Burbank. I'll try to mention things like sustainability and Howard Zinn just to see if I can make him snap back into pub radio mode.

Afterwards, Luke and I might go to Azteca cause it's just across the street. Also, if you haven't seen Luke's legendarily painful Sigur Ros interview, well, I'll show it you some day. But not now.


* don't check blogs. Spend time with your family.

Attention!

If you wrote me a letter or scribbled me a postcard or even left a memo on my dorm room door from ~1985 to ~1995 (when email started to obliterated all), I want you to know I probably saved it. Today, however, I threw it away. Piles and piles of papers and letters and programs from my late adolescence and early adulthood. Heartfelt letter from people I could not remember. Cryptic letters from people I did remember. Just no room for them anymore. Don't want to pack them.

I did save all the letters from my wife. I destroyed letters from ex-girlfriends, which, if they're reading this blog, they'll understand, I'm sure. Although really, why would they be reading this blog? Also, why do I seem concerned? See, these are the issues to not bring with.

Several eastbound trains leave Seattle in early March. One will be Moeful.

Famous People Who Are Nice: David Sedaris

A series I've been meaning to start for a while now. I've met a fair number of famous folks through my work. Some are NOT NICE. But lots, most even, are very nice indeed. Among the nicest: David Sedaris. A few days after I interviewed him, I received a post card from David thanking him for the interview. Nice fella.

Don't be fooled by what the web content says here. It's me interviewing him.

Honestly, Craigslist scammers, at least try a LITTLE harder

Good day seller,
How are you today and how is work over there, i will
be buying the item you posted here but i will like to
tell you that i will be paying with a certified check in US dollars
and as for the shipment my shipper will come for the pick up at
your location upon your confirmation of receiving the
payment and i dont want you to look for any other
buyer.I would have love to come down for the
pickup,But i do not have chance to do that now due to my job but am
satisfied with your discription of the item i will like you to
give meyour contact info for me to send your payment
.................
1....your full name to be on the check
2..your full contact address to send the payment to
3..your zip code
4.your mobile nad land nunmber to reach you.i will
expect your mail.asap
Thanks in advance.

best regards.......donald

In other news, posting shall be spotty, I think, for a while. Because I'm spent.

"Celebrity" being a loose term in my case

If you're reading this over the weekend and are looking for something to do Sunday night, I'll be doing something approximating comedy here:

SUNDAY JANUARY 27

Celebrity Open Mic at The Comedy Underground

(OPEN CELEBRITIES) Our home club, the Comedy Underground, opens its doors for a “Celebrity Open Mic” featuring local superstars, including tv legend John Keister, cartoonist Peter Bagge, and writers from The Stranger. Some spots will be reserved for newbies, so you - yes, you! - could perform on this night. Arrive at the club by 7:30 pm if you want to put your danglies in the water. Dartanion London and Paul Merrill will host, and Barbar Sehr, Danielle Radford, and Owen Straw will be showing up as well. (Comedy Underground, 222 S Main Street, 628-0303, 8:30, $6, all ages) DARTANION LONDON

It's part of something called The Week of Fun, standing in contrast to the other 51 weeks of the year which are naught but misery, of course.

The Way Games Sometimes Go In My House

When we play Rock Paper Scissors, we count it out like "Rock, rock, PAPER!" or "Rock, rock, ROCK!" So I'm playing yesterday with Charlie (age 7) and Kate (age 5).

ALL: Rock, rock--
ME: PAPER!
KATE: SCISSORS!
CHARLIE: Tidal wave! Tidal waves crush paper and scissors!
ME: Let's try it again.
ALL: Rock, rock--
ME: SCISSORS!
KATE: ROCK!
CHARLIE: GODZILLA! You can't defeat Godzilla with paper or scissors or rocks!
ME: Oh, I have one. Here we go.
ALL: Rock, rock--
ME: LOVE!
KATE: What?!
ME: Love. Love conquers everything. Godzilla, tidal waves, rocks, scissors, paper.
CHARLIE: Oh that's stupid.
KATE: Oh me! My turn!
ALL: Rock, rock--
KATE: HATE!
ME: Hate?
KATE: Hate beats love! And everything else. Hate.
CHARLIE: Well, I'm doing BLACK HOLE! Black hole defeats hate.
KATE: Nothing defeats hate, Charlie.

Small Items

1. With 10 1/2 hours to spare, I'm declaring the house ready to go live on the market tomorrow. We need to take the garbage out, re-make the beds, and dispose of a mystery basket but these are all things that could be done in less than ten minutes if a realtor called and wanted to see the place. Therefore: the house is ready.

2. Getting the house ready = hardest thing ever. Harder than book writing, harder than finals week, harder than an Amazon launch. Theater folk: imagine a month of tech rehearsals where you're the actor, director, light and set designer, board op, stage manager, front of house staff, and stage crew. I hit the wall a week ago but it was not possible to stop. Moving should be easy.

3. The house must sell. It's a great house in a great neighborhood. "I want someone to fall in love with the house," says the astounding Mrs. Moe, "not just buy it but LOVE it." They will.

4. I think the thing with Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes (a musician/band) is those backing vocals he uses. Man. One of those things that makes me love life. That and Homsar.


5. I'll post the listing for the house soon.

Spirit? Snap. Broken.

So we are in the waning hours before the house goes on the market. S'posed to happen Friday. Open house on Sunday. Holy guacamole, cats and kittens. I don't think I've ever done anything this hard before. I really, honestly, have mostly lost my ability to joke about this process. Here are several lines of information about this past week or so.

- We've painted mostly the whole interior of the house. There's a bedroom and a rec room unpainted. I think I need to do touch-ups on the rec room. Aaaaand the bedroom.
- I used to hate painting, then I loved painting. I'm back to hate and in hate I shall stay.
- Our contractor is more or less part of the family, for good or ill.
- Pressure washing is an almost unbelievably awesomely fun thing to do. Until your hand cramps.
- A pinched nerve hurts like a son of a bitch. I got one in the neck. Yes, prepping the house was A Real Pain In The Neck.
- Having a tattooed Iraq/Afghanistan war veteran do your carpet cleaning is a really interesting thing to have happen.
- The kids are getting sick of watching TV. Think about that.
- Please buy our house.

Finally, I got a comment on the blog the other day that called the blog "a harsh judgmental snoozefest". I didn't publish it, of course, because how dare you judge me, you know? But the phrase Harsh Judgmental Snoozefest stayed with me. It sounds like a some sort of music festival. Who would play at Harsh Judgmental Snoozefest? Ryan Adams? Oasis? The Singing Senators?

Small Items

1. We're trying to get the house on the market next weekend, which means all sorts of work. We're looking for a good house cleaner or cleaning service that can do things like return our calls, get to the house quickly, and do good work. Any ideas?

2. Luke Burbank, with whom I go way back, has forsaken NPR for 710 KIRO. He has a new show called Too Beautiful To Live in the evening slot at 7pm weeknights. They say the ghost of Tony Ventrella still haunts that building. Tune in if you've always wanted to hear Luke do something other than agitate you to fly on Alaska Airlines.

3. Good Will Hunting with all the Minnie Driver scenes edited out would be a damn fine movie. Someone get on that, okay?

4. The Sacred Truths are a rock band full of geniuses and pumpkins. Tomorrow night they play their final gig and my band, Chicken Starship, opens the show at 10pm. We've been practicing up the Truths' song Unlikely Donut Picnic for the occasion.

5. Did I already mention the house cleaner? We need one.

Oh my

This whole Clinton campaign is beginning to feel just a bit like one of those casino shows by a band that should have broken up a while ago. They used to be awesome but now...


"There's lots of things I can't do," he says.

He also can't make MC Hammer any younger, Skee-Lo any taller (or a baller for that matter), or Monie Love a male.

Obama and me but barely me

So in 2006 when my book came out, I did a little book tour all over the country. Went to book stores, nice crowds, pleasant. The last stop on the tour was the Texas Book Festival where I was scheduled to be on a two-person panel about first-person humor writing with the brilliant David Rakoff. Our event was happening in the Texas Senate chambers. At the same time over in the Texas House chambers, there was an appearance by another author, Senator Barack Obama.




His event was packed like the Beatles at Shea Stadium. Our event was more like a Mets game at Shea Stadium in September when they're not going to the playoffs. The room was actually full but many attendees were disgruntled folks denied admission to Obama and, yeah, humorists were no substitute. The panel went really well, folks laughed, all that.

Afterwards, David and I were escorted to a tent outside where people could line up and get books signed. David had a steady trickle, I had occasional visitors. And as we sat there chatting with readers and mostly each other, there was a roar outside that got louder and louder. We looked to see what it was. Obama walking across the lawn surrounded by hordes of devotees.

"This is the exact same thing that happens when I do an event with David Sedaris," said Rakoff, ruefully.

Mrs. Clinton, I don't know how to get in touch with David Sedaris but I do have David Rakoff's email if you need someone to talk to.

HLAOH and the Pressure Washer

We need to pressure wash our deck, sidewalk, driveway, and maybe even house to get ready for HLAOH (Hey Look At Our House), currently scheduled to go on the market 1/17 or so.

Cost to have mullet dude in Harley Davidson jacket come do it - $350
Cost to rent the thing and hope for the best, bearing in mind our contractor's information that "it's fun!" - $65
Cost to download Queen & David Bowie's "Under Pressure" to listen to on iPod while having said fun - $1

So. $66 it is.

Mr. Megnorium Munger Penorium

That's what Kate called the movie I took the kids to the other day. Her re-titling was the best thing about the experience.

1.
The holidays this year were a time of melancholy to some extent in our family, the kids knowing that Uncle Rick wouldn't be around for this or any future Christmas. But they're holding up pretty well. On a recent rainy afternoon, I took them to the Admiral Theater for a matinee of what we had hoped would be a fun movie. A few minutes in, Dustin Hoffman With Ridiculous Accent (DHWRA) reveals he's dying. That's the premise of the film. DHWRA is giving up his stupid store which is full of crap-ass old-fashioned toys and a few Hot Wheels there because of paid product placement that all come to life and move very slowly for no real reason at all.

2.
CHARLIE: Oh no, he's not really going to die, is he?
ME: Well, I think he might. He's saying something about going to heaven.
CHARLIE: Is heaven where you go when you die and you see your mom and dad again?

3.
Mr. Megnorium apparently has been alive and bothering people for 240 years and runs this magical Penorium. DHWRA employs Natalie Portman Resembling Audrey Hepburn On Quaaludes (NPRAHOQ) to help him. She used to play piano when she was younger, a fact we are reminded of constantly even though it does not ever matter. As DHWRA gets ready to die and my poor son gets ready to weep, DHWRA decides to give NPRAHAOQ the store so apparently she can be cursed to 215 or so more years of annoying people. There is also a kid who makes mournful expressions and owns many hats. And Jason Bateman who helpfully grits his teeth along with the rest of us.

4.
Apparently the broader message of the film is "toys are magical and we all should be more like kids". Yeah, that would be great if all adults acted like kids and played with toys. Why doesn't anyone make a positive uplifting movie about how kids need to discover the magic of dressing sensibly and taking on responsibilities? That would be fantastic.

5.
As the apotheosis of DHRWA approached, my son went to the back of the auditorium and covered his eyes and ears. He did not want to see DHRWA die. By this point in the film, however, I was completely okay with this development. The sooner DHRWA goes to heaven, the sooner he gets off my screen. Kate, meanwhile, happily watched the whole thing and enjoyed some popcorn. Should have gone to Bee Movie in the theater next door.

6.
JILL: How was Mr. Megorium's wonder whatever?
ME: You mean Mr. Megnorium Munger Penorium? It was chock full of death.
JILL: Ooh. Should have gone to Bee Movie.
ME: This is what I'm saying.
JILL: Who was in it?
ME: Excruciating Dustin Hoffman, bored Natalie Portman, and Jason Bateman picking up a check.
JILL: They should just show the actors literally picking up a check in movies like that.
ME: That would be great! Like in the closing credits, just do a whole montage of the actors out of costume and makeup picking up actual checks and driving off the lot.
JILL: Happily whistling to themselves as they stop by the bank.
ME: Maybe an animation of the numbers in their bank account rolling up.

6.
KATE: I want to get some toys from Mr. Megnorium Munger Penorium!
CHARLIE: NO!

Goodbye 2007

and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. Because that's my job. I will remove the door from its hinges and hit you with it myself. Repeatedly.
But oh 2008, you sexy minx. We're going to have a great 12 months together.

Excuse Me? Lady at Starbucks this morning?

Hi. Look, I know you had some terrible news to tell your 10-year-old daughter this morning. I think it was about a dog that had died. Could have been a divorce. Could have been something else. Whatever it was, it made her burst into tears and sobs. It devastated her. You held her close and let her just cry and cry and cry.

My question is this: did you really have to relate this news to her AT A STARBUCKS?!

My follow-up question is this: like, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Maybe there IS a beatific scheme

So I used to write book reviews for Amazon.com. I know, I know, so does everyone but I got paid and didn't use stars and mine were under the "editorial review" section. One of the more popular ones I did was Freakanomics. Since I wrote that review, and subscribed to a Google alert for my own name (haven't you? you should), I see it pop up on loads of small sites trying to sell the book as Amazon affiliates.

My original review can be found here.

But today, I ran across this one, which apparently translated into some other language and then re-translated back to English. And it's got my name on it. So if you ever wondered what it would sound like if I reviewed books after a fairly traumatic head injury, or was Borat, I suspect it would read like this:

Economics is not widely thoughtful to be digit of the sexier sciences. The period philanthropist Prize succeeder in that earth never receives as much message as his or her compatriots in peace, literature, or physics. But if much slights are supported on the idea that economics is dull, or that economists are afraid exclusive with direction itself, Steven D. Levitt module modify whatever minds. In Freakonomics (written with author J. Dubner), Levitt argues that whatever manifest mysteries of routine chronicle don’t requirement to be so mysterious: they could be light and prefabricated modify more fascinating by asking the correct questions and art connections. For example, Levitt traces the modify in ferocious evildoing rates to a modify in ferocious criminals and, dig further, to the Roe v. Wade selection that preempted the cosmos of whatever grouping who would be dropped to impoverishment and hardship. Elsewhere, by analyzing accumulation concentrated from inner-city metropolis drug-dealing gangs, Levitt outlines a joint scheme much same McDonald’s, where the crowning bosses attain enthusiastic money patch scores of underlings attain something beneath peak wage. And in a country that haw signal or assuage worried parents, Levitt argues that parenting methods don’t rattling concern much and that a backyard tearful bet is much more chanceful than a gun. These instructive chapters are distributed by demonstrative passages from Dubner’s 2003 strikingness of Levitt in The New royalty Times Magazine, which led to the aggregation existence written. In a aggregation filled with brave logic, much back-patting veers Freakonomics, still briefly, absent from what Levitt actually has to say. Although maybe there’s a beatific scheme think for that too, and we’re meet not effort it yet. –John Moe

This is how it goes now

So the Mariners signed Carlos Silva, a mediocre pitcher, to a four year deal. Yeah, it was for way more money than he's likely worth but what jumps out more is that he'll be clogging up the rotation for four years of Jarrod Washburn style suckitudedness. Silva used to be with the Minnesota Twins. And I'm moving to Minnesota just in time for the start of baseball season.

Hmm. My fave rave team will always be the Mariners, stuck with Silva. But I'll be following the Twins, free of Silva. I guess I'm glad to have a Silva-less id even as I have an overly Silva-ful superego.

If There's a Moptop In Your Hedgerow...

A clip from the parallel universe Ed Sullivan show. Zeppelin and Beatles, fused.

You Must Not Know About Kate (age 5)

A special message to fellas of the future:

Since some of you may eventually romance Kate, I think it would be best if you realized that she is quite fond of the Beyonce' song Irreplaceable and is learning more and more of the lyrics.

And keep talking that mess, thats fine
Could you walk and talk, at the same time?
And it's my name thats on that jag
So go move your bags, let me call you a cab

Standing in the front yard, telling me
How I'm such a fool, talking 'bout
How I'll never ever find a man like you
You got me twisted

You must not know 'bout me
You must not know 'bout me

Also, she's quite fond of Cheap Trick. And Spoon.

My point is this, fellas of the future: Kate may not be the tallest girl you ever date but she may be more than you can handle.

HLAOH

That's an acronym, meaning "Hey Look At Our House". We've set a target date of January 10th to get the Moe home on the market. All we need to do hit that target is one thing: develop super powers. Meanwhile, as HLAOH approaches, we've been doing the best we can.

Five years ago, we took our massive unfinished basement and finished it off, creating a master bedroom and a big playroom. The only room left unfinished was what was to be a bathroom but we didn't feel like sinking multiple thousand dollars into something we did not yet need. So when we met with our realtor some months ago I suggested simply buying an easel and putting the word BATHROOM on a piece of poster board on it and sticking that in there. That way, people could imagine the possibilities. No, I was told in a tone ordinarily reserved for dense toddlers, you need to build a real bathroom. People simply won't come look at a one-bath house.

Our other big issue has been painting various rooms. Our choices currently stand at three options:
1. Big time professional painting company charging a few grand.
2. Me painting, hampered by the fact that it's time consuming and I pretty much suck at it.
3. A massive handy home invasion where I buy hundreds of brushes and everyone I've ever met stops by and paints two square feet.

For HLAOH, I also need to make it so that the holidays involve no effort or stress and, additionally, that my children are not the least bit interested in touching or playing with anything paint-related and also that they never need anything from their parents. No sweat.

Dear Seattle,

I'm writing you this letter to let you know that I'm leaving you. I've met someone else. Someone named Paul. St Paul. I'm going to be moving in with Paul this coming Spring. You've probably heard me say a lot about Paul on this blog. Maybe you've even had some inclination of my infatuation. Well, we're making it a permanent thing, Paul and I.

Look, we've had a great relationship, Seattle. I've kind of grown up with you, really. I was just a teenager hanging out with Federal Way when our eyes met. I used to take the bus just to meet with you for a few hours and feel cool. Later, after I was done with college and over my flings with New Jersey and Montana, we re-connected and I moved in. And we've had a great run. We went to the theater, we hung out at the radio station, you became friends with my wife and kids. I could have stayed with you forever. I probably almost did.

But then I met St Paul and I think Paul might treat me better. Paul wants to give me a bigger house and doesn't want all that much money for it. In fact, Paul doesn't want to charge me much for anything. Paul has these great schools for the kids. Paul can give me career opportunities that you, Seattle, quite frankly, have a much harder time giving me. But the biggest reason I'm moving in with Paul is for the adventure of it all. Granted, Paul's from Minnesota, a place not normally associated with the Born To Be Wild ethos, but when the offer came, I just didn't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I had taken it. I do love you, Seattle, I really do, but I needed a change. You only get one life and having been to REI I wanted to go the Mall of America, too.

I know you're not the type to come running after me asking me to stay, Seattle (that aloofness is actually part of the problem - sorry!) but I'm sure you'll point out that Paul has a bit of a heating problem and do I really want to live in an environment like that. Well, I spent a few days with Paul last week when the temperature was, like, 5 degrees and yeah, I still want to be with Paul and so does my family. Paul can make me hotdish on a cold night. Also, to my surprise, Paul makes some reeeeeally good coffee and beer so that's actually all covered.

And hey, Seattle, we can still hang out. I'm probably not moving out until March. We have to sell the house for one thing, which is a lot of work getting ready. Then there's the packing and all. Also, we have loads of family and friends that live with you and we'll come back to see them. Airfare is actually super cheap between here and there. And look, if after a couple of years we don't get along with Paul anymore, we could always come back. I know you'd have us even if you wouldn't exactly throw a parade (not your style, I respect that).

Okay, Seattle. I gotta go. But listen, I'll be writing a LOT more about this in months to come. And if you know anyone who wants to buy our house, maybe some software executive from the east coast who just fell in love with you, let me know.

Take care,
John

UPDATE: Well, no one said there wouldn't be tears.

Among the things that separate Barack Obama from you and me

Instead of thinking of the perfect zinger to shut someone up ten minutes later, he thinks it up on the spot. And it does zing:



I could be completely wrong, but it wouldn't surprise me if this ends up being remembered as a big moment in the '08 race.

Tough News

Anita Rowland lost her long battle to cancer yesterday. She was one of the first real bloggers here in Seattle and was a longtime enthusiast for the power of the net and its ability to bring people together. She was one of the first people I interviewed on The Works (my old business-tech show on KUOW) and her kindness and energy were always apparent in her life on and off line. Here's Anita's site, which features a message from her husband. Rest in peace.

Kate (Age 5) Defines Gratitude

(this is a bit old, from her birthday in October)

JILL: Look Kate, this is from Stephanie.
KATE: Oh, let's see what it is!
(unwraps paper to reveal box)
JILL: Ooh, it looks like a shoe box.
KATE: Oh, I love it! Now I have something to put my SHOES in! A shoe box!
JILL: Well, actually Kate, there's probably another gift actually inside the box.
KATE: There is?! Wow!

She would have been happy with a box. You know, so her shoes weren't just loose in the house. Ah, if only such simple needs would endure.

Huckscuses

Posting has been light because travel has been heavy. I was in Des Moines, Iowa this week covering Huckabee who is suddenly the #1 GOP contender. I'm doing this series for our show called "I'm Also Running For President", which is supposed to spotlight candidates that are running even though they are unlikely to get elected or even discussed. And when I first started looking into doing a story on Huck, he fit that description. But by the time I had worked out getting to where he was, he had become Paul McCartney in A Hard Day's Night.

When I covered Dodd a few weeks back, they let me have 15 minutes of one-on-one time with him, which was easy to do because I was the only reporter at the events. But at the Huck events there was a throng. News cameras, print reporters, fresh out of journalism school web reporters with tiny cameras, people hitting their heads as they pushed through crowded hallways at the financial company Huck toured with all us media in tow. When people are hitting their heads - repeatedly!- in hallways, you know a guy's doing well.

I had no chance for a direct interview so I had to settle for lobbing questions wherever I could. I got in something about campaign finance, other reporters got things in on health care and torture. And, knowing Huckabee played bass, I asked him who he preferred: McCartney or Entwistle. He stopped shaking hands, looked right at me, and was at a loss for words. Finally, he said that he would go with McCartney narrowly just for the overall musicianship although he was a huge Entwistle fan. As executives lined up to meet him, Huckabee told me about this one time in LA when he got to play Entwistle's bass and how awesome that was. "Mitt Romney can't play bass," I pointed out. "Not as good as me," Huckabee boasted.

I was going to tell him that I was just recently at the Hard Rock in Vegas where Entwistle died of a cocaine-induced heart attack but I figured that might not lend much to the conversation.

Anyway, after that I was back in St Paul for a couple of days. Back in Seattle now.

Also: it was so god. damn. cold. over there. Like 5 degrees. It made you believe God did not exist. Then it made you resurrect God just so you could curse God.

Also: I'm on to you, children's museums.

Age-Old Question Answered

If chased by a mob of sword-wielding Samurai, would a champion race walker actually run or walk?

Japanese television runs an experiment. A frightfully cruel experiment.




via Boing Boing

Meeting My Son at The Quad Before the Kegger

So Charlie is awfully fond of Christmas lights. All things Christmas, really, but especially the lights. He requested and was granted a string of lights for his room. But now the room looks like a college dorm room all of a sudden, a resemblance lost on him. And I'm all, "Where's your Bob Marley poster and cinder block bookcase?"
I'm all, "Where's your Sociology textbook and Boone's Farm wine bottle candle holder?"
I'm all, "Where's the girl from down the hall hanging out in your room while your roommate gives you dirty looks?"
I'm all, "Where's your Van Gogh poster and Domino's boxes?"
I'm all, "Where's the corkboard bulletin board thing your mom got you that you never use?"
I'm all, "Where's your laundry?"
Oh, there's your laundry.

Kevin Dubrow

He was the lead singer for Quiet Riot. He was found dead in his Las Vegas home yesterday. No cause of death has been revealed. He as 52.

I remember when I was in college and Andy Gibb died. Some of us were getting ready for spring break and loading up trucks to do a college play in Portland and Seattle. We were all making jokes about Andy Gibb because we were 18-22 year-old smart asses and the guy's music was no longer popular. We just ripped into him. His death was a joke. And finally, Dan Donohue just said, "For God's sake, the man just died. He had a family and friends. Maybe we should lay off." And we did.

There was a lot to laugh at with Quiet Riot. The pants, the hair, the bombast. But they were just guys doing a job, selling records, and having fun.

I had occasion to talk to Kevin Dubrow a couple of times in the past year. The first time was for a story on my kids and heavy metal. I had contacted him through a small record label he was working with and I was surprised when he e-mailed me back himself to set up the interview. In the story that listeners heard, he talked about Jimi Hendrix. But that was only the part we used on the air. He had a lot more to say about all kinds of subjects and we talked a long time. He was a normal guy, proud of his career but slyly self-deprecating, knowledgeable about music, polite, and completely coherent and sane. He was the reverse of the guy in the Quiet Riot videos. I talked to him again a few weeks ago for a story on rock concert encores. My angle for that story was that the encore was no longer useful and should be discontinued. But Dubrow wouldn't go on the record in support of that because he thought his fans would get the idea that he didn't appreciate their enthusiasm.

So maybe you'll be somewhere in the next couple of days and someone will make fun of Kevin Dubrow. But maybe you should lay off.

Recent Questions Posed by the Moe Children, Ranked in Ascending Order of Difficulty

1. Why does Jerry (from Tom & Jerry) eat cheese?
2. Cats and mice don't really hit each other with sledgehammers and blow each other up with dynamite so why do they do that on the cartoons?
3. Which is older, Tom & Jerry or Looney Tunes?
4. Which is older, space or time?
5. What did Santa give Shakespeare?

Now Here Comes WRITING and Apologies

Posting has been somewhat light lately. Sorry. Although, you know, hell, what are you going to do, demand your no money back?

I've been booked up with our Weekend America Vega$ show, for which I had two stories. One and two. And I've been working on another project that is so strange that I won't really ever bother explaining it to humans. But that wraps up this week.

Meanwhile, here's an article on Wizznutzz, the best website designed by earth people. Alls you need to know is this:
1. They follow the Washington Wizards, an NBA franchise.
2. The Wizards have a talented player named Gilbert Arenas, who sometimes blogs.
3. Gilbert Arenas is insane.
4. So are the authors at Wizznutzz.

You don't need to be a fan of sports to enjoy the article. You just have to be willing to become untethered to reality for a while and laugh a bunch.

Watched the American Music Awards Last Night

and I'm on to you, Daughtry.

Oh, Things Went Down

Make no mistake about that. When my son has a birthday party, things go down. Stuff occurs. There are EVENTS.

Oh yes.

Pokemon theme. Cake meticulously decorated to look like a Pokeball, although with no combat-prone monsters inside.

Nine guest boys. One birthday boy.

A scavenger hunt requiring Dad to climb on the roof to catch stomp rockets and a baking soda-vinegar volcano constructed by Mom. Also, Dad being hit by several whipped cream "pies" hucked by every boy in attendance, thus earning Dad certain enshrinement in the Dad Hall of Fame.

There was a balloon kicking dance party to the music of both Nirvana and whatever shameless goons were trucked in to do official Pokemon "music".

There were sugar highs of mythic proportions. There was noise. There was chaos. There were no tears or fights.

Things went down.

Damn right my boy is seven years old.

Obamapublicans

Interesting article in Time about Obama's support among disillusioned GOP members. Sure, it's a slice of life piece and it's a bit perilous to extrapolate out national trends from it (though that's never stopped Time or Newsweek before, of course) but you'd sure be hard pressed to find a Democrats for Giuliani or Republicans for Hillary Clinton group anywhere.

There are a ton of conservatives and Republicans out there who feel the current state of the GOP is not the kind of party they accepted the Evite to. And if Obama can capture a significant chunk of those people and rally enough Democrats at the same time, he'll be doing well. Interestingly, Hillary's latest poll numbers do seem to have slipped, although if you're investing any prognostication in 11/07 poll numbers, well, you're kind of an idiot.

Okay. Sorry. I'll get back to the precocious kid statements and coffee shop frustrations soon.

The Way Others See It - Special Shadowy Photo Edition

This from the flickr page of someone named "niiiiiiiiiiiki". Not sure I got the write number of "i"s but you get the idea.

you can learn a lot more from listening than you can from talking. find someone with whom you dont agree with in the slightest and ask them to explain themselves at length. then take a seat, shut your mouth, and dont argue back. its physically impossible to listen with your mouth open.

by john moe
radio hose and author of conservatize me

::this is the authors opinon, not necessarily that of starbucks or niiiiiikis::

Yes, I am a radio hose now. But some day I hope to be a radio spigot.

Sustainability

I was in Moline, Illinois a few weeks back and found this outside the La Quinta Inn. The truck/RV took up six parking spots and a bit of a seventh. The Smart Car squeezed into the portion of the seventh that remained. Also, crucially: isn't the point of an RV that you DON'T have to stay in a motel?

30 Second Tales of Terror

So we were trying to come up with Halloween ideas for Weekend America. I suggested horror stories that were 30 seconds or less. Because honestly, who has the time to listen to the...footsteps...getting...closer? My story, Zombie Cat, and others by writers like Neil Gaiman(!) can be found here.

"I'm On To You,..."

I was at a Starbucks a few days ago and they were playing that kind of music they always play. This time it was Joss Stone. I'm sure she's a lovely person and of course many people like her music. But I said to myself, "I'm on to you, Joss Stone". I felt like she was putting one over on people and I wanted her to know that I was not fooled. What was her deceit? Being a young English woman trying to sing with more soul than her life experiences could have possibly afforded her? Maybe. But it was broader than that. I just felt like, "you're not pulling the wool over my eyes, Joss Stone. You can't hoodwink me, Joss Stone. I've done the MATH, Joss Stone."

Or more broadly, I'm on to you, Joss Stone.

Here's who/what else I'm on to:

I'm on to you, cable TV political coverage.
I'm on to you, October weather in Seattle.
I'm on to you, chicken sandwiches.
I'm on to you, Seattle Weekly.
I'm on to you, Curt Schilling.
I'm on to both of you, Maya Angelou and Dane Cook.

It got me thinking, who or what are YOU on to?

Please comment!

The Way Others See It, Special "Missing the Point" Edition

Here's a guy named Joe responding to my Starbucks cup:

"You can learn a lot more from listening than you can from talking. Find someone you do not agree with in the slightest and ask the to explain themselves at length. Then take a seat, shut your mouth and don't argue back. It is physically impossible to listen with your mouth open" John Moe

Thank for the advise Starbucks cup, but I would prefer to not waste my time listening to hippies and those with bleeding hearts (you know who you are).

Glad to hear you liked the advise, Joe. Also, and I am not making this up, Joe posts each day's Garfield strip on his blog. Sometimes I just have to stop typing when I...

Well, where would you think it would happen?

Man arrested with grenade in Federal Way

Okay. Last Time. I Swear.

Three Conversations in a Row with Charlie (still Age 6)

HIM: Dad, don't you think Max is too old of a name?
ME: What do you mean?
HIM: Like it's one of those names that's too short that they used to use. Like Bob or Ted. Max. It's just too short and old.
ME: I don't know, there's lots of people named Max.
HIM: Like Red Max, I guess, from Wacky Races. And Office Max. But maybe Max is used to attract girls and that's why it's still around.
ME: It's like a signal to girls to come around?
HIM: Yeah, I think so.



~~

HIM: Can I get a python?
ME: No way.
HIM: PLEASE?!
ME: No. No pythons.
HIM: But they're harmless! I held one at school when the Reptile Man came and they're harmless. What's wrong with a harmless pet?!
ME: You already have a harmless pet. You have a hamster.
HIM: But I need a python. Just a baby size one.
ME: A python the size of a human baby?
HIM: No! A baby python.
ME: Well, why?
HIM: To scare off the girls! To make sure girls don't come into my room. All girls are scared of pythons!
ME: Kate, are you scared of pythons?
KATE: ...no...
HIM: Well not Kate but fancy girls!
ME: I've lived with you your whole life, Charlie, and I've never seen a problem with fancy girls trying to get into your room.
HIM: Well it could happen. AND THAT'S WHY I NEED A PYTHON!




~~
HIM: Dad, I could defeat the Powerpuff Girls. I hate them.
ME: You love the Powerpuff Girls! You just watched a video of them.
HIM: That was only to figure out how to destroy them. All I would need is a puppy to distract Bubbles. Then with Buttercup, I would just let the government shoot her.
ME: You really want to be on the side of the government in a battle against the Powerpuff Girls?
HIM: Well, I am pretty strong.
ME: I guess. But I think you need to rethink your allegiances.

Seeking Teletubbies Tot and Ambivalent Parent

The call for obsessive remodelers went well so I have another one. Looking for a family with a young child (6 months-2 years) who has some awareness/affection for the Teletubbies and a parent who isn't quite sure how they feel about that. Especially good if the kid recognizes entertainment icons in grocery store items. Seattle area. johnmoe (at sign) gmail.com.

Do We Owe Our Children Distinctive Names?

So I was trying to find my old colleague Dave Snyder on Facebook and I couldn't do it. Earlier, I had tried to find Michael Davidson, a guy featured in my book. Couldn't do that either. I'm sure they were out there somewhere, but did I really want to wade through dozens, maybe hundreds, of profiles to get to them? No way.

Out of curiosity, I searched on "Charlie Moe" and "Kate Moe" and found several of each but no more than a page or two. If my kids were older and had profiles, one could probably suss them out. But then, that's based on today's Facebook user base, a base that's growing rapidly. When my kids are old enough to engage in online social connectivity, search functions will be more dynamic on whatever Facebook heir is being used but will it keep pace with the incrementally more Charlie and Kate Moes online?

Then there's finding people on Google. Sometimes creepy, sure, not everyone wants to be found. But in general, it's good to be available. That's why phone books are published. You want security and selective anonymity but you want people- friends, employers, contacts- to be able to reach you. And beyond that, humans want to be unique and viewed as such. I want to be me more than I want to be part of a subset of name sharers.

So I wonder if new parents are in some way charged with providing a distinctive name for their baby. Is it irresponsible for the Thompsons to name their son Jacob given the world he's going to be living in? If there are no computers and they live in a small town, everyone in that town will know young Jacob Thompson. But we don't live in that world, we live in a world where I know that people in Kenya and the Ivory Coast are reading this blog.

To help their child make his way in the contemporary and future world, should the Thompsons name their kid Blizzard Supertramp Chewbacca Thompson? Or maybe something a little better than that? But not just Jacob?

Parenting Tip #319

If you're in a situation where you need to identify a Pokemon, and you cannot do so because my god there are millions of them and you can't possibly remember any more than maybe three, just use the name of a popular prescription drug.

(it's bedtime)
KATE: I need to find out which POKEMON THIS IS! I'm going to go ask Charlie.
JILL: No, Kate, Charlie's almost asleep, don't go wake him up.
KATE: But I NEED TO KNOW!
JILL: You need to get some sleep, Kate.
ME: (walking in) What's the problem?
KATE: I NEED TO KNOW WHAT POKEMON THIS IS AND MOM WON'T LET ME ASK CHA--
ME: I can help you. Which one are you wondering about?
KATE: this one.
ME: Oh, that's Lipitor.
KATE: Lipitor! Okay! Thanks Dad!

Future emergency Pokemon names include Zoloft, Levitra, and Xanax.

Guitar Non-Gods

So this guy takes video clips of all-time guitar gods and overdubs them with his own terrible squawky noodling. But he does it METICULOUSLY. Santana is below, the rest can be found here.

I'm not sure if I love this so much because of my affection for musical idolatry or just because it's funny.

Charlie (Age 6) Makes a Brief Return Roger Clemens Style

(over breakfast)

HIM: I think we won't have flying cars until my kids are grown up.
ME: It's going to take a while, huh? I guess they're tricky.
HIM: Yeah. But in the future that's soon...you know the future that's coming up soon?
ME: Um...yeah?
HIM: The future we're about to have? We will have robots that are the size of this room.
ME: What do we need those for?
HIM: You know like helping people.
ME: Okay. Like reaching things that are high up?
HIM: Yeah. And we'll have pizza parlors in our own homes.
ME: Well, that doesn't sound too hard.
HIM: What do you mean?
ME: Well, just get a pizza oven. Some ingredients. Maybe a couple of tables.
HIM: I don't think we can have it yet. But soon.
ME: In the future of room sized helping robots?
HIM: Yeah.
ME: And eventually flying cars.
HIM: But not for a while.

Tradition Continues But Elsewhere

Charlie's conversations may have concluded but look for a promising career by up and coming conversationalist Finn, as described by his mom.

That mom, Tina, has also doomed my spare time to Facebook thanks to her comment posted on this post of mine and this profile of the founder in Fast Company.

Facebook is like MySpace except designed and operated by people who appear to have actually ever seen a computer. In social networking sites, Facebook is like a big mysterious condo building where you may be either working or living. MySpace is like the bad part of town and it's getting dark and your phone doesn't work. Or it's like the city shots in the movie Pootie Tang. Makes you feel like a baddy daddy lamatai tabby chai.

Half a year on

It just struck me as I was sitting here at the office that it was six months ago yesterday that I lost my brother to suicide. A bit of a milepost, that. I guess. I was thinking about him anyway, not realizing that it was half a year ago. So spring turned to summer and shorts and lemonade and today I wear a heavy coat and it's been six months.

Time blots a lot of things out. You want to remember a song, a phrase, a phone number, you want to keep it written in bold Sharpie in your brain. But you have to go to work. And then you read the paper. And then some other thing happens and it's gone. Things have to move on, the sun has to come up in the morning, you have to make breakfast for the kids. Routines get settled into. That's how it is with me, still, even as I carry this heavy load. The muscles get stronger to carry it but the damn thing is still pretty heavy.

When I announced Rick's death in this space, I did so not as a eulogy but as a plea. If you're suffering, get help. If you know someone who is suffering with depression or mental illness, help them. Reach out. Say something. Cast sunlight on an issue that's often tucked away in darkness. Say it out loud instead of thinking you should say something. That's what I want to reiterate today. If you read that original post, you may have put the seeking of help for yourself or someone else on your to-do list. If it slid off that list, please put it back on. It's important.

Get help.
Get help.
Get help.

A Conversation with Charlie (Age 6) About Madonna and an Announcement Concerning Charlie (Age 6)

We're in the car on the way to school, listening as always to Movin' 92.5. La Isla Bonita comes on and with it the lyric "Last night I dreamt of San Pedro"

ME: What do you think that means, that last night she dreamt of some bagels?
HIM: No, she's saying that last night she dreamt of some mangoes.
ME: Ah.
HIM: Are you sure this is Movin' 92.5?
ME: Yeah.
HIM: Hm. Sounds like garbage.









And with that, I announce the retirement of the Conversation with Charlie (Age x) series on this blog. He's nearly seven years old now and reading on his own so I feel kind of weird about quoting him here. He's become not so much a precocious little boy as just this guy I know. He's still eccentric, of course, and in a really good way, but at the rate he's going he'll have a blog of his own soon anyhow. You won't want to read it, though. It will be just full of Garfield.

For posterity's sake, here, I think, is the first of these posts I ever put up:

Conversation At The Toy Store Between Myself And My Son Charlie (Almost Three)

CHARLIE: Dad, I want to tell you something. I had this farm toy when I was a baby. Mom bought it for me. Mom bought it when I was six babies.
ME: What? You were six babies?
CHARLIE: Yes. No. I was eight babies. I was eight babies, Dad.
ME: Really? I don't remember that.
CHARLIE: Dad, do I have pipes inside me?
ME: Uh...what?
CHARLIE: Pipes! Pipes! Do I have them in me?
ME: Well, sort of. I guess.
CHARLIE: Do I have batteries in me?
ME: No. You don't have any batteries in you.
CHARLIE: We need to get some batteries for me.

Seeking Obsessive Remodelers

I'm working on a story for Weekend America & Marketplace about people who are in a constant state of remodel, especially when it comes to the kitchen. The story explores the growth of Home Depot and professional level appliances in regular homes. Ideally, I'd like to find some local people/families who, either by their own hand or through contractors, are always remodeling, updating, and improving their homes. Because I don't think that we as a society were always like this. Drop me a line - johnmoe (at sign) gmail.com - if you know anyone who fits the profile. Seattle area preferable.

I Wasn't Looking For Trouble, But Trouble Found Me

So okay, so the Focus is in the shop getting a new clutch. So I have to walk to work. Which means getting coffee at our old friend Indy Hipster Coffee Shop Near Where I Work. If you've been reading this blog, you know this rarely goes well. Still, I kept my mouth shut, kept my head down, ordered, grabbed an extra cup because they don't give out sleeves and the cup they gave me was scalding, and I was just about done. To their credit, they were playing Wilco's "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart", the song not the movie, on the stereo. This was one small point in their favor. No sooner was I aware of this, however, than the manager turned it off and replaced it with Jerry Garcia solo material.

I try to find love in my heart but they just keep bringing the hate. True, the Wilco song was all about addiction and alienating your family and friends, but you know what's worse than Jerry Garcia solo material? Nothing.

Things I Want to Give Up But Can't

1. Laptop use after 9pm.
2. Getting mad when people write about something that "peaked my interest" or, worse, "peeked my interest".
3. Listening to "Tired Eyes" by Neil Young relentlessly.

WHAT ABOUT YOU? ADD TO THE LIST, FRIENDS!

Congress

I have never before spoken directly to my congressman, Jim McDermott. Today I did. As part of my job. And the entirety of our conversation was about the Van Halen reunion tour.

Stories You Will Not Be Hearing On Weekend America

via BoingBoing

The Way Others See It #5

Says geminivt:

Dilbert is just great.

Also, "Fall's around the corner".

I honestly can't believe how widely that dang cup is being quoted.

I am become Wiki

Turns out I currently have a Wikipedia entry. I wonder if it will last. If it does, perhaps it paves the way to the ultimate success: fan fiction.

Thoughts Had While Reading Garfield With Charlie (Age 6)

1. This is my duty as a father, to encourage my son's interests even when there is nothing remotely funny or entertaining about Garfield.
2. Why does Garfield hate Mondays? He doesn't even have a job.
3. Jon can't hear Garfield's thoughts can he?
4. You know what's worse than Garfield? Nothing. Nothing is worse than Garfield.
5. How about his fixation at age 2 with "Barney Goes to the Pet Shop"? Cause that was pretty bad.
6. No, this is worse.
7. This is much worse.
8. Is the house that Jon and Garfield live in completely full of counters? Cause almost every strip they're in involves sitting at a counter of some sort. Are there counters on every single wall?
9. Why would any homeowner put up with even a single large mouse hole? What kind of squalor are you living in to allow a huge arched hole in your floorboard that extends up past the molding and into the wall?
10. Whither Lyman?

11. Charlie (Age 6) is reading on his own now. Why does he need me to...I shouldn't be...I mean what is the FREAKIN' POINT!...love my son love my son love my son.
12. Garfield's 29 years old now. Shouldn't there have been some sort of euthanasia procedure administered in the late 1990's?
13. Tonight, while the family sleeps, a run to the library and an appointment with the drop box.

14. I wonder how he'd like The Far Side?

Did You Know...

That in some places, the act of eating in a restaurant has gone completely bananabonkers? Like in Chicago, the place that gave us great hot dogs with pickled objects served in a paper sack full of fries. Also pizza.

In Chicago, there's a place called Moto and here's an account of eating there.

The menu includes:

Lobster with freshly squeezed orange soda
French onion soup with a hot frozen crouton and a nitrogen droplet.

And also this happens:

New Polling Thingie

Over there underneath Duck. It's not that I support Chris Dodd, I just support the idea of Chris Dodd still supporting Chris Dodd. Don't stop believin'. Hold on to that fee-yeeya-lee-yin'.

The Way Others See It #4

Jay doesn't have a life. He has a LIFE. His blog is called Jays LIFE. Like others, he's quoted my Starbucks cup and shared how I see it. Here's how he sees it:

On other good news; i got my camera back! it was in shop for a little while, yesterday i was able to pick it up
Man all this stress has me all worked up! my neck really hurts lately and i know what it is. Other news The gym ... i really like going and a lot of times it helps me just get tired and go home sleep. I feel like i am making progress but i wish there was a faster way it seems its really easy to gain weight and so hard to loose it. Well it is time to go now its 5:09 and i should stop ranting

Not a Bad Likeness



Article is here.

I Am Very Old

Here's how I know that:

1. Finally cut the damn hair. The last straw wasn't even when the hair evolved from late-era Ron Wood to Hobo Sea Captain. It was when my lovingish wife used the phrase "mid-life crisis". Thanks. Honey.

2. Our local Fox affiliate has replaced 11pm reruns of The Simpsons with reruns of Family Guy, a show I find intermittently funny and sometimes very funny but so cruel and filled with dwarf jokes that I just can't relax into it. I imagine this is what it felt like to people older than me when The Simpson started running in place of M*A*S*H or something.

3. Conversation at Indy Hipster Coffee Shop Near Where I Work:
ME: How much is that Asiago bagel?
MANAGER: The gourmet ones are $2.15
ME: That one is 95 cents up the street at (local bagel shop) where you get them from.
MANAGER: Really? I'll have to go check that out. But I bet our cream cheese is cheaper. We're the best, that's why there's always a crowd here. That's why everyone wants to be like us.
ME: (silently surveying the crowd, which consists of me and a dude in leather pants, thinking about how I didn't go to Starbucks this morning cause the line was seven people deep) And you're humble too.
MANAGER: No, we're not humble, just the best. We're like the New York Yankees!
ME: That might not be the best way to market your shop in Seattle.
MANAGER: Well, it's true!
ME: (imagining a day when the store burns to the ground and no one is hurt and somehow no one loses their livelihood and in fact they're happier than ever and I walk by and dance a small jig upon the smoldering ashes)

4. In tomorrow's Seattle Times: something I propose to do about my descent into elderliness.

The Way Others See It #3

She's a Scorpio and she doesn't live in St. Paul, she lives in SAINT PAUL. She is Holly.

I was talking to Chris on the way to work and when I told him I was in search of Starbuck's, his response was "so that's what you spend all your money on." Supportive huh.

My cup is #280, it's a Grande, and available in Starbuckses now. Though none that I've been to.