what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

…this is my dog park

…this is my bike path

…this is my side walk

…this is my office plaza

...this is my court house

...this is my retaining wall

...this is my short cut

…this is my train station

…this is my over pass

…this is my ship canal

…this is my gas station

…this is my coffee shop

I can count on one hand the number of times I was actually asked to move, as in not to “sit here and drink beer”

More than once it was from the self-proclaimed dog park steward at what I like to call Dikmen Dog Park  because 1127 Pine, the home of Dikmen Travel,  used to throw off rookies at Elliott Bay.  And this shitty little dog park is spitting distance from there. I say Plymouth Pillars Park only for the Pillars across Boren. 

97% of those times I was asked to move, I was sitting next to Steve Young, that guy in the photo that Todd took at 1202 2nd Ave. 

Once upon a time,  a security guard came out the back door of 904 7th Avenue and asked us to move along. We just chuckled because he obviously had absolutely nothing else to do and he actually got off his ass and walked around the building to talk to us.  

Another time, Steve and I sat on a circular cement bollard and had a couple tall cans. Several US Marshals walked past and just smiled shaking their heads. We were sitting directly beneath a US District Court security camera. The Marshals were cool, they never actually asked us to move. They just wanted us to know that they knew and it was all in a day’s work, for us and for them. 

I always say it’s hiding in plain sight. But like Toothaker says, perhaps it’s not hiding at all, it’s a natural part of the landscape so it just blends in. Or it did way back when. 

Ask me about this bifurcated arrow at 43rd & Brooklyn and I might say, “that sign would look good in my bathroom”  Then I’d take a moment to try to see it through the eyes of the average aggro UberEats - DoorDash driver that just wants to get over to the Ave for some Sushi Burritos and tubs of Pad Thai but he has to go up to 45th or down to 42nd. If he was on a bike he could plow straight ahead through the choked-down picnic-tabled bike-lane mumbo-jumbo. 

Ask me about the bifurcated arrow inked seven layers deep on my forearm and I might say nothing because it’s personal and there’s no way to explain tattoos to people that ask stupid questions on elevators just before they ask if it’s raining. But after a few beers I might change the subject and tell you about the bifurcated kangaroo penis and how it’s a perfect match for the female kangaroo’s dual vaginas. Then we could chat about the right tool for the job. 

Matt Face gave me the parking sign in 2007 found on the sidewalk somewhere along the Pike-Pine corridor

Robert Arzoo gave me Anatomy Man in 1993 a Bellingham thriftstore score and the 99 cent price tag is still on his scapula

Tom Bice gave me the fake cactus in 1999 as WA Legal was moving from 89 S. Washington up to its current spot

My old lady gave me 5 rolls of TP yesterday

the shelves were built along the way

three legged dog

home sweet home

protected bike lane

oxymoron or paradox

three orange whips

in plain sight

Amazon prime membership

climate pledge horseshit

single use throwaway

plastic dental pick

out the window

down the drain

environmental impact statement

three story townhouses

there  goes  the

neigh  bor  hood

oriented strand board

offgassing until 2033

supply chain logistics

final fifty feet

consumer price index

last ditch effort

hoseclamp milkcrate douchebag

solid state technology

hand shake deal

reinvent the wheel

built to last

made in america?

they say this

too shall pass

until further notice

is it raining? 

moment of inertia

coefficient of friction

super saccharine authenticity

fake as fuck

location location location

rose  rose  rose

any other name

smell as sweet

sound and fury

signifying nothing bro

rad power bike

on your left

range of motion

complete the circle

bifurcated arrow head

ONEWAY or  another

dead end street

lather rinse repeat

I'm not your Bucky

I'm not your Jimmy John 

I'm Mr McFeely on an electric assist bathtub and today's my Friday

I don’t need a reason or an excuse or an invitation to drink beer no food coloring thankyou or kiss me I’m not Irish t-shirt on a hallmark holiday marked by a half rack of stale shamrock COSTCO cupcakes in the breakroom and half ass dollar store decorations from the so-called office party where no one cared enough to attend except Sherri from accounts payable    downtrodden but always trying to be upbeat in the glittery green deely-bobber antenna she wore last year and the year before to the virtual celebration. 

you won't see me at MacOflanahan’s for green beer happy hour 

I’ll be hiding in plain sight somewhere

you won’t see me 

Zeppelin II on cassette

endlessly looping 

in the B210 with

auto reverse

one way or another

like a palindrome:

Naomi, did I moan?

Enid and Edna dine

Al lets Della call Ed Stella

he lived as a devil, eh?

recapitulated

regurgitated

rewound

replayed

rerun that old pb&j 

in your jacket pocket 

from the last 

time it rained 

“did you find anything at the thrift store?”  my old lady asked

“another black t-shirt”  I said

then she not so much laughed as exhaled and imperceptibly shook her head non verbally saying “are you fucking kidding me?”

but this one’s sweet and I’m going to silkscreen it into a one-of-a-kind one-at-a-time creation kinda sorta like all the other black t-shirts I screen and wear 

and I also found some $75 Izod golf pants for $5 and cut them off at the knee and I’ll be wearing them until they fall apart. because golf pants are the new black. because golf pants are the new Carhartts. because golf pants are the new Dickies. no joke.  they’re stretchy quick-dry and they have six deep pockets that are cut just right for e-assist bathtub Mr. McFeely delivery. they’re built better than cycling “lifestyle” pants and they’re ubiquitous in thrift stores if you know what you’re looking for  

mark my words

it’s a quality of life issue

you may recall a previous jaunt down golf pants road roundabout 16 years ago, but that was just a 100% cotton folly more about the matching coozie and toptube pad courtesy of those guys down at DANK bags

this time it's for real

those cotton shorts didn't last long and the roadmaster coozie was re-gifted or traded away but my bike wore that toptube pad to work today in a phantom-nostalgia-full-cirlcle way

it doesn't match my Izod cutoffs and the other six layers of black clothing I'm wearing but it's there because because because 

because of the wonderful things it does

perceived reality is reality

don’t ask questions

choke it down     with

a couple placebos

call me in the morning

it  is  what  it  is

if you think it is

isn’t it?

is that all there is?

it’s all about you

it’s not about me

your perception is your reality

I’m pretty perceptive          in a

tone deaf

narrow minded

blissfully ignorant

Bo Peep way

until further notice