Category Archives: Q

Q: unoriginal

Okay, I’m sure this has been said, but I was just checking out the bulletins my little cousins post on MySpace, and pretty much everyone has broken a chainletter, right? And don’t a lot of those have curses about relationship problems? So maybe, just maybe, every single relationship problem in the world can be traced back to a broken chainletter. Think about it. I just failed to repost one so I’ve got shit luck until I’m thirty, at least, now…

Q: Curfew

One of my earliest memories is of jumping on my parents’ bed to the song “Particle Man” (which I knew, for years, as “Triangle Man”). The record it’s on came out in 1990, so I guess I must have been four or five. Tonight, I got to see They Might Be Giants live for the first time. It was surreal to see an actual person playing an actual instrument sing the songs I’ve been listening to my whole life, and I had a stupid involuntary smile on my face all night. All I can really say about the show is, if you ever get the chance, go see They Might Be Giants. They’re smart and funny and rock the fuck out straight through. Bonus: surprise Harvey Danger opener, and the two of them seemed as excited that they were playing with They Might Be Giants as we were. Incidentally, the Moore Theatre has an eleven o’clock curfew so the people at the Moore Hotel can get to sleep. I would think that people staying there would realize they were living in close proximity to loudness on a regular basis and accept it as a fact of location…

I also had the pleasure of a free ticket to the Arcade Fire with LCD Soundsystem and the Gossip on Monday night, but didn’t pick up the ticket and get to the Hec Ed until after the Gossip, halfway through LCD Soundsystem. I didn’t realize there were ten fucking people in Arcade Fire and they were so postmodern it hurt a couple of times, but it was a pretty rocking show for an arena deal. They are one of those bands that’s better live than on record, and I bet they would be even better in a small venue.

Live music makes me ridiculously happy. Lucky for me, there is a ton of it in Seattle all the time, and an extra ton of it this fall, and my approaching twenty-first will give me access to all of those venues I’ve been cursing since I was fourteen. Hurrah! I think I am going to start a comprehensive concert calendar for Seattle. Each venue has their own calendar posted, and the Stranger is good for the upcoming week, but there are no extended, all-inclusive concert calendars to be found on the internet. What gives?

Q: Cornstarch is Slick

This has very little to do with cornstarch. It’s got a lot more to do with why I think this blog may be doomed.

I used to write a lot. And by a lot, I mean compulsively. I wrote in the back of my school notebooks, in notepad files, on pieces of paper torn out of whatever I had; I moved up in the world to dedicated writing notebooks, but tended to forget them or tear out pages until there was nothing left; at some point, I discovered the ever so trendy moleskine. I write tiny, so I get the tiny ones. I filled three of them over the course of about two years, bought a fourth this April in Galway, Ireland, and pretty much quit writing. I picked up the current notebook the other day and found I hadn’t written anything except “sunday 8-4 health card lipring”, which I jotted last week at my interview, in nearly four months. That’s a lie. I wrote a couple of disconnected pages about being in Bellingham and being in America, but those shouldn’t count because they are ridiculous.

So. What happened? I used to want to be a writer. I wanted to get published, try to write a novel or maybe stick to short stories, thought about journalism, even fucked around with poetry briefly. That notion got smashed about the same time my other when-I-grow-ups did, but I still wrote. It was part to help me sort out what was in my head and keep my hands and brain occupied when I didn’t know what else to do, and it was part to try to explain why I’m sometimes so odd to other people. I think part of it was that other people’s words have had such profound impact on my life; I wanted to either impact someone else or express myself, how I felt or what I thought, as clearly and forcefully as they did. There have been times I’ve read things and just had to stop and say, “oh my God, how did he get in my head like that?” Times that someone else has articulated something that I could never hope to explain but always wanted to. I think part of writing, for me, was trying to replicate that. I wanted to be as eloquent about my own experiences and make myself as clear as they were. Who was I trying to explain myself to? I dunno. Myself, I suppose. Maybe my friends. Maybe some stranger. Maybe I just wanted to give someone else that sensation of understanding, understanding someone else and at the same time, yourself through the lens of that person. I don’t think that sentence made sense…

Anyway. I’ve been doing more thinking with less writing, and as a consequence, my words are a little less clear. Sometimes I catch myself thinking in something other than words. That is something I can’t pin down or try to explain, so I won’t go into it; just assume I’m insane. As for writing, I think I quit that because in print, I feel mundane. I recently saw the film Me and You and Everyone We Know and really dug this quotation:
“I don’t want to have to do this living. I just walk around. I want to be swept off my feet, you know? I want my children to have magical powers. I am prepared for amazing things to happen. I can handle it.”
So I got tired of just writing about just walking around. I like my life, I do. But I don’t want to write about it anymore. There are so many people who make things sound so… I don’t have the word for it. It’s the way proper poets and good songwriters make the world sound infused with something more. But I don’t want to try to write like that, because I am jaded and pretentious and I hate the people who try to write like that. The people who do write like that are okay. There’s a fine line. These days, every so often, something really amazing happens to me and I just can’t help but scribble it down, try to capture it (I guess for the sake of not-forgetting), but it’s an infrequent occurrence. I just kind of lost it at some point.

The moral of the story is, this blog is gonna suck because I don’t write shit anymore.

Bagel stuff! Today I learned (at least) two things:
1. Corn starch is surprisingly slick on concrete floors (but not as bad as grill oilslicks or strategically positioned creamcheese globs), and
2. wearing black t-shirts at work is kind of stupid, because  the powder from our gloves is white and gets all over me.

Q: Reasons this blog could conceivably succeed

1. It’s called Qu(alin and the M)ack. Clearly, we are insufferably clever and everyone on the internet wants to hear everything we have to say.

2. We could be, like, one of those blogs that posts cool links to other things. My semi-closet nerd really likes webcomics and reading about random things like cryptozoology. I will connect you to the weirdest articles ever if you let me, watch out.

3. It’s been a while since we have spent a lot of time together snowboarding, eating dinner, and getting drunk. I suggest we supplement these days (and the blog entries who love them) with adventures.
Things Adventures Should Include (sublist!)
a. giant cardboard animals that slide
b. fire
c. defying the authorities
d. large bodies of water
e. all of the above (be creative for extra points– lighting the cardboard on fire and sending out to sea is too obvious.)

4. Actually, probably read the two preceding posts. I think they are more accurate.

Q: Reasons this blog will indubitably fail

Or, a random list of things (about me).

1. I eat tomatoes raw like apples.

2. I have a questionable obsession with Twinings Earl Grey tea (with milk and sugar), and as a consequent, the smell of bergamot.

3. I get really into things and then completely lose interest, or else overwhelm myself and give up. Case in point: last night, I was up until four improving my movie recommendations on Netflix, browsing my recommendations for foreign films, and then placing them on hold at the library. I got to forty before I decided to just upgrade my damn Netflix account and get the movies I want to see one at a time instead of in clusterfucks of twenty.

4. I’ve had the same library card my whole life (complete with adorable child signature on the back) and memorized my card number sometime in middle school when I first became obsessed with placing hundreds of holds at once.

In sum, I could probably spend the rest of my life eating tomatoes raw straight from my garden, drinking Earl Grey, and riding a stationary bike in front of the constant stream of films sent to me by Netflix. Am I really the type of person to keep up an interesting blog?

Q: gratuity

Alright, so I’m trying to beat Kira for Worst Blog Post of All Time. All I can come up with at the moment is this:as

I just got a job at a bagel place. I’ve spent a lot of my life around restaurants (behind the scenes style), so I already knew this, but I want to remind… whoever: tip generously and don’t come in right before closing. Seriously.

In other news, every time I hit refresh, this page looks different. I leave aesthetics to The Mack on this one. Oooh, snow!