Just so we’re clear on this, I am from No Man’s Land. I was raised by a pack of women in the foothills north of Spokane. I’ve got nothing against women. I really like women. And I can use the term No Man’s Land with confidence in a variety of contexts. I know what it is, I know what ‘taint.
Perineum
Mother, sister, grandmother in the absence of father, brother, grandfather
Transfer. Shift. Jump. Look to context, search for meaning.
that's me--quoting myself from 12/28/07
rewind replay reinsert repeat
if you zoom in and take a closer look at the photo above, you'll see my right middle finger is raised. You'll also notice that perhaps the cousin behind me talked me into it.
no shirt, no shoes, no pants, no problem
___
Found an expensive travel magazine at the post office this morning. The most interesting thing in those glossy pricey vapidly colorful pages was tips on how to avoid offending the locals in other countries with various hand gestures. Turkey, Greece, Croatia, Montenegro and the what not. Some very subtle things we do with our hands, feet and faces each day mean very different things to different people around the world.
It’s a small world after all…a tiny ass little world.
One small finger raised here.
One giant road rage incident incited there.
Sitting at the bar after work telling some friends about a douche bag driving a red Toyota pickup downtown today.
At that exact moment in time, Mr. Douche Bag was sitting in his apartment in Lake Forest Park telling his girlfriend about the punk ass bike messenger he wanted to run over downtown today.
It’s a small world after all…a small small world
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