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

two continua walk into a bar

bartender says

OK you two

what’s what

who’s who

with a left thumb & head nod over to the two colloquia conversing at the end of the bar

followed quickly by a right thumb & head tilt over to the two consortia cavorting by the window

colloquium

consortium

continuum

Is this a joke? plural? 

if and only if

if only

as if

double mint

front butt

stress dream

spreadsheet

l a t t i c e 

matrix

carousel

hamster wheel

treadmill

stationary 

spin class

shit show

training day

either way

bifurcate arrow

use restricted

to trained

operators

old dog

old tricks

old shit, same

don’t

overthink it

too late

Today I’d like to draw your attention to the number 22. And with that attention you’ll start to notice 22s all around you. They’ve been there all along but you haven’t really seen them, until now. Yesterday was April 22. But that was so six hours ago. That two-two is behind you.

Fire Station 22 is on Roanoke. Which is right on my line when I ride my bike to work because the trains are jacked. And a couple weeks ago I spotted Engine 22, which resides at Station 22.  It was parked at Urban Horticulture on a non-emergency sightseeing mission. 

Two-Two to you two too. 

I live way down by Fire Station 33. And the less-train more-bike to work for the past 10 days has been a real Phantom Nostalgia Tour of Seattle for me.  Remembering yesteryear, the good old daze. When Capitol Hill was home. 

Slowly rolling past the places I used to live. Two of them are long gone, two of them are still there but I’m sure the rent is three or four times what I paid.

My commute seemingly takes forever on a bike....

4070 is the PLU number for celery.  It’s also the PO Box number for the department of Intercollegiate Athletics at a large state university on the Montlake Cut that’s now in the Big Ten conference. You might know of it. Last week this rubber band ended up on my arm and it reminded me of Cat and her encyclopedic knowledge of PLU #s. So I sent her this photo and she guessed “broccoli?” 

In our very brief texts she explained her “knack for numbers” has fallen into the background since she’s had kids. I believe if she was thrown back into that number salad her recall would quickly return. 

Bike messengers’ brains grow in a special place to accommodate numbers, street addresses, suite numbers, messenger numbers, times, dates and all kinds of random numerical shit. Just as barista brains grow to accommodate non fat decaf extra hot iced white hemp milk mochas with half vanilla half pumpkin spice moo moo choo choo foo foo horseshit coffee drinks. 

That messenger part of my brain glommed right on to the number casserole in my current place of employment. There are a lot of numbers floating around. 

9410 forwards...

High  Plains  Drifter

down   tube   shifter

Winona  shop  lifter 

When you say High Plains Drifter, I say Beastie Boys. After a while I might say Clint Eastwood. But never ever would I say Kirk Hammett. 

When you say Down Tube Shifter, I say YES.  

When you say Winona Ryder, I say shoplifter.  After a while I might say Reality Bites or Edward ScissorHands. 

One day among the days that all seem to blend together in the daze that blends it all together, I was on the loading dock that’s spitting distance from the Pacific Northwest Seismic Network HQ  loading and unloading Amazon boxes from the electric ass bathtub I was Mr McFeely-hamster-wheelie-final-fifty-fucking-feeting.

Some people call that loading dock 3920 Okanogan Lane NE. Some people call me Maurice. I call that loading dock MOLES with a side of ATG. 

One of the PNSN guys was loading up his truck with what I like to think of as Sasquatch Surveillance equipment. If anyone is going to spot Bigfoot out there in situ, those guys are. As I was getting back on the bathtub the PNSN guy said “LoLo” and I guess he was speaking in my direction. But I was all the way down Okanogan Lane before I realized what he was talking about. I chuckled to myself thinking maybe someday I can talk Zero-Sevens with that guy. I’m surprised he could read the digits on my hand from 15 feet away.  

When I got the tattoo, Joe Who  the tattoo guru said “don’t you just want to go...

got my hands on some fresh black paint and some kick ass spray adhesive and now Bret’s crows from ABQ are once again popping up on projects and postcards and flying into  zipcodes here & there 

clockwork

right on time

starting out

each morning

pushing the

giant rock

uphill 

all day

every day

movement        yes

accomplishment?

maybe               but

never quite 

achieving the top

upon quitting time

looking    back 

to watch the rock

roll down the hill

and  come  to  rest

right where it started

ready for the next day

repeat

falling 

well within 

known parameters

easy to lump in 

with all the rest

stereotypical

neurotypical

oh so typical

repeat

1,000 possible permutations

to a 3 digit number

17,576 permutations 

to a 3 letter word

run the numbers

repetition

is not only allowed

it’s expected 

it’s built in

it’s groundhog day

electric ass bathtub

mail man McFeely

hamster wheelie

S i s y p h e a n

treadmilling

margins of

futility

repeat

rock 

that 

rock

repeat

The other other day I showed that urinal photo to a UW plumber on the train ride home in a have-you-ever-seen-such-a-sight-in-your-life kind of way. It’s the Schmitz Hall 2nd floor men’s room by the way. He laughed and quoted me building code center-to-center urinal installation measurements. That Schmitz setup is a joke, like a bad piss joke punchline. As we were talking urinals, the 5 Point periscope came up and another train passenger jumped right in telling us he replaced the roof on the 5 Point many years ago and earned free meals for a long while as interest payments on his delayed roofing job payments.  The 5 Point is legit real deal Seattle history and this guy let me know it all the way to Beacon Hill. 

no eyed deer

I only visited The 5 Point a few times. But it brings up a certain memory that lingers somewhere in my phantom nostalgia syndrome, all these years later. The lingering memory does not surprise me. But I’m amazed I was able to find these photos to back it up.

I was just beginning my morning routine of legal messenger deliveries at 2101 4th. When these two...