crashmebabyonemoretime

n: What is your favorite Weird Al Yankovic song?

j: 'I'm fat'. the video is genious. especially when weird al fogs up the camera with his heavy breathing. oh boy. what an artist.

n: Do you think the time difference between the East and West Coasts is a good thing, or should Congress outlaw it?

j: I'm afraid of getting congress involved in pretty much anything these days. I think we need to get better education- text books with our failures and all. then people should learn how to read at a young age and be encouraged to think critically. when voters start becoming more critical they will be less inclined to jump onto one of the extreme 'sides' of a given issue. at that point, instead of issues being black and white and conveyed with schlocky graphics and shifty statistics politicians will have no choice but to use logic and reason. we could then engage in productive dialogue and come to a decision as to whether or not we should dismantle the new york yankees. or nuke the US city with the most VDs per capita. or any other important issue currently facing us. and that would be democracy. I think.

n: If you could make any one Hollywood figure disappear from the limelight, who would it be and why?

J: ALF. it's not that eating cats is wrong per se. but eating mine is. I ask simply for discretion.

n: What's your favorite scent?

J: my wife beth. everything about her smells really good.

n: Do you like coffee?

J: yes. I drink it every morning. I used to be a barista. of course, every portlander used to be a barista or be in a band- and often both (like me). I've never gottin' out of control with it though- even when I got it for free no holds barred. 2-3 servings a day tops. any more then that seems a little hard on the kidneys and gives you that dragon breath. I actually have a routine for this- 1 cup coffee first thing. 1-2 cups green tea rest of day.

you find yourself running barefoot across one of the busiest streets in the city. blurry headlights pass. nimble footsteps float you over soaked pavement. across 82nd avenue. now onto the sidewalk and along the cyclone fence that surrounds the park. now you're looking for the gate. your friend sees it. of course she does. she lives across the street. there's laughing. giggling actually. now- rumbling footsteps in the park. grass relaxes and lays down at your feet, revealing the texture of spongy earth beneath. muddy even- if not for the thick blades of green blustering from it's surface. not that you can see green. there's little light in the park. and it's past midnight.

you can make out the gloomy outline of a metal structure in the distance. it's the backstop for a baseball field. the same material as the cyclone fence. it rises from a large diamond shaped island of mud. it defies rust and evokes smells of tobacco and hot dogs. if evokes visions of empty sunflower shells carelessly tumbling to the ground under the bleachers. it evokes memories of the sounds of being young. squishing. you feel the mud between your toes. how many steps does it take to get from the outfield to home plate? you forgot to count.

standing on home plate, you turn back toward the street. surveying the sky you note it's purple mist. as it streaks downward it dissipates in the glow of the street lamps. the entire park is cast in yellow shadow that flickers with passing cars. just then you realise you've been hearing loud voices. people are yelling for you to run back. you feel the squish of the mud in your toes again. back onto the grass. it licks at your heals, devouring every trace of mud like thousands of little tongues. you'll soon notice the splotches of mud all over your jeans. and you won't care. but until then it's out onto the sidewalk, leaving behind the park you grew up in. the park you went swimming in as a kid. the one right across the street from the place with the ice cream cones. remember the life guard fishing that turd out of the shallow end with his little net? remember the lessons learned in female development complements of that sun bather desperately in need of a bikini wax? you'll never forget. and now, as you cross the street- you join a chorus of giggling friends. giggling that continues even as the swooshing sounds of cars fades over your shoulder and into the distance.

and after much dancing. and after much more laughter. you draw upon the evening a grand conclusion:

"best party ever"

---------

prologue:

beth: "I was worried you were going to get hit by a car."

moz: "good thing you didn't step on a hypodermic needle."

sloop: "think of all the used condoms you stepped on."