So my good friend Kevin turned me on to Banksy, a London-based… street artist? Media Jammer? Freelance provocateur? Meme-terrorist? Whatever, check out his stuff… site navigation consists mainly of clicking on the images that come up. My favorite image is this one (or maybe this one), but the “camp” entry (click on the word camp) makes you fear you’re going be horribly offended–only to be brought almost to tears by a completely unexpected narrative that serves as Banksy’s manifesto.

The bottom line: the best, most provocative art/commercial imagery is happening on the street. Banksy calls is “brandalism” and that’s exactly where we are headed.

Bringing to mind both Dumbo and The Flying Nun, is Mr. Jeffries, a basset hound and grandpup of Mr. Biggles of Hush Puppies fame. This fine specimen of dog-eared-ness has 11- or 12-inch ears (depending on your news source) insured for 30,000 pounds.

I hope that you’re all writing about the troubling events in your life somewhere. In a small study, reported by the BBC, even a physical wound heals faster when the wounded write about troubling emotional experiences as compared to those who did not write. Those who did not write also had higher levels of stress.

At various times in the past, I’ve tried to journal (v.i.) or keep a diary, but this has always ended within just a few days—at the most. I’ve even started a journal-y blog elsewhere… but that has sat dormant for the last four or five weeks of its six or so weeks of existence. I’m not sure if I’ll ever use it as much of a therapeutic practice (at some point in such an exercise, I usually decide that I either need to do something fun or pass the mic for a while).

The East Bay Express has a great column that starts with the spot-on observation “It is no longer possible to have an original opinion on Radiohead.” So he had a class of fifth graders listen to a bunch of Radiohead songs and draw their impressions. These kids did not like Radiohead, but their drawings are pretty amazing. Check it: Radiohead Rorschach, An innocent fifth grader’s picture is worth a thousand-word critical analysis, By Rob Harvilla.

This is for real. Next time somebody bemoans the fall of Western Culture after watching Fox, show them this 16th Century Italian maiolica plate. Next time you call somebody a dickhead, reassure them that it’s an insult with a real heritage. (Thanks to my old friend Ilene Rubowitz, M.D. for this one!)

I know you wouldn’t think it to know me, but I am a wuss when it comes to being sick. And it’s weird, right? Because usually, I’m tough as nails. Nothing phases me. I’m a stoic. Through and through. Straight-faced. Deadpan. Dry witted.

Ok, that’s not true. I take many a cake for grousing. (And while I’m not going to explore the origin of that expression, but what kind of birds do complain? Do grouses grouse? Or does their call just sound whiny? They didn’t have any, that I noticed, at the zoo, so I can’t say for sure.)

But, yeah, I’ve got me a little cold. And I’m milking it for all its worth. This is a trait I learned from my father, believe it or not. He may have been a Ranger, but when he got a bug, everyone was walking on eggshells not to bug him. So that’s yet another way I take after him. And it’s good for me in developing my whole curmudgeonly persona, I think, to complain about the miseries of my viral infections.

So I don’t want to go to work tomorrow. I want to stay home, under the covers, and whine. I might even think about calling my mother and whining at her for not being here to bring me chicken soup. Because if you’re going to be sick, you might as well take some pleasure in it, and make the woman who brought you into the world feel sorry for not making it a perfectly wonderful and disease-free place, right? I don’t know. I need to go to work. But I feel like crap. Chills. Congestion. Light-headed. Generally in a bad mood. Tired. Sore. Somebody just put me out of my misery.

Except, I know that in the grand scheme of things, I’m fine. I’ll recover. Probably in a day or two because I’ve been zincing myself to high heaven. But still. I get sick so rarely that when I do, I want to do it with verve. Panache. Some kind of bang at least. So I complain a lot. Because that is just so out of character for me. Sigh. Maybe I’m just jealous of Cliff and his detached retina. Or maybe I’m just a wuss. I keep asking myself how I’d survive on a boat for a week or more in Alaska if I’m whining about a head cold, but on the other hand, maybe I whine because I’ve not suffered enough in other ways. So does that mean I’m trying to toughen myself up, become a stronger and better person by going fishing next summer? Or am I just kidding myself? I guess that remains to be seen.

I’ve been reading this book about fishing on a scallop boat, one my father recommended after I first mentioned my hare-brained scheme, and I think his plan backfired. I’m more jazzed about the whole idea than ever, even despite the dislodged teeth and stiches and severed limbs described in the book. So I’m thinking that, assuming you’ll all still love me as much as ever with a prosthetic arm and caps on my teeth, that at least I’ll be better off a year from now when I get my next cold and say “This is nothing compared to being 50 miles offshore with a half ton of salmon that I need to pack in ice even as I’m bleeding profusely.”

You all can only hope.

Apparently, I’m brash and gregarious. At least, how I sleep says I am. Then again, when I was born says that I’m stubborn. And we all know that’s about the furthest thing from the truth.

As David and I prepare to move into the new place this weekend, it seems like a good time to point out that the house is technically not in Madrona, but in Leschi. Apparently Leschi is a bit tonier but Madrona’s where the fun is (cool restaurants, fun shopping, etc.). We’re right on the line– maybe we should call it Madschi? Maybe not.

The bigger correction, which is related, is that the eponymous Chief Leschi wasn’t a murderer. So says the Nisqually tribe, respected historians, and even a former Pierce county prosecutor. Looks like it was a pretty standard White Man Speaks with Forked Tongue affair 150 years back, as settlers and the government attempted to force native tribes onto reservations. Leschi became the tribes’ “war chief” and was convicted of murdering a militia soldier, despite evidence that he was not present at the ambush in question. Leschi became the first person sentenced to death by white justice in the Washington Territory. (Even if he was guilty, I think the settlers had it coming.)

Anyway, with the help of historians the Nisqually tribe is making an effort to formally clear the name of the Chief whose memory is still alive and well here in the Northwest. As a soon-to-be Leschi resident, I wish them all the best.

Mushroom mushroom Snake SNAKE! weebls stuff

Weirdly addictive, worth the long load time.

OK, at the risk of sounding jingoistic, I want to share a story that really does make me proud. Sure, the entrepreneurial spirit is alive and well elsewhere, but come on: where else could a baggage handler come up with an industry-leading in-flight entertainment system in his spare time? I love it.

This guy is a college dropout, working like three jobs, and managed to create a great solution for something that has vexed airlines and travelers alike. This guy who has spent 16 years slinging bags in Seattle for Alaska Airlines has invented and perfected a light and inexpensive system that stores and plays movies, music, and more. To top it all off, he convinced major content owners like 20th Century Fox that the box was secure enough to protect their IP–no mean feat.

No bitching about high taxes or barriers to small business from this guy– he just busted his ass and did it. What an inspiration.

Oh, and at the same conference in Seattle this week where he launched the “digEplayer” (OK, he needs some branding help) he also announced a system that lets passengers buy drinks from the cart with their credit cards. As someone who has more than once boarded a flight in desperate need of a drink with no cash in wallet, this may be the best news of all.