I jump in the van with coffees and the rolled up fanzine in my hand. It’s called ‘Wedding Scam.’ The cover art is two tattooed punk forearms holding hands. “Oh you grabbed Sheehan’s book.” my wife observes. I’m like: “What?” And she’s like: “Yeah, he put out a book.” I’m like: “He lives in Los Angeles. Why would this be on the Bremerton ferry?” Short story long… This is an interview with my old friend Patrick Sheehan.
Black and white checkerboard linoleum squeaked under his sneakers. Odd apartments to the left, even to the right. Charlie went left and knocked on apartment 311. The door opened to the length of a security chain. Spectacled eyes looked around the steeldoor. Unrecognizing for a moment, the face suddenly split into a smile. “Hey! Come on in, man!” Charlie didn’t like getting chummy with the johns. They all kinda blurred into a miasma of faces after a while. He just wanted to pick up the package, grab an Uber, and get this bullshit done.
In his song Now I’m Learning to Love the War, Father John Misty requests listeners “Try not to think so much about, The truly staggering amount, Of oil that it takes to make a record, All the shipping, the vinyl, The cellophane lining, the high gloss, The tape and the gear.” The song gets a little darker from there…
These are not new plants; in fact, they have been a part of the Mexican and South American culture since the 1800’s. They just happen to come in and out of popularity. With the way our summers are getting warmer for longer, we are able to grow them here well…
Water signs: I see you there, drifting about… Air signs: Have you noticed more bees lately?… Earth Signs: You are seeking the truth… Fire signs: Slow down and tune in…
Dear reader: I’m writing to you from a campsite in the woods on the Columbia River. The computer battery is running low…
Meanwhile in Kitsap: Hesitate to do the weather, but at least the sun is back? Downtown Bremerton ramps up for world soccer tournament fan zone… Port Orchard ramps up for a wild run of road work… And no fan zone on the island, but Bainbridge boys are state champs… Plus gray whales are dying at an alarming rate… Putt Putt Clash comes to Poulsbo and old school, in person bank robbers in Bremerton.
I see Fozzie first. Foz (Fozzie, or Fozzie Bear) is an ultra-friendly, forest-loving, high-energy goldendoodle who sports a blonde, curly, tufted mohawk. He’s running at breakneck speed through the grass towards me, chasing a flying orange disc. I’ll learn later that Fozzie is more famous than Kris. And word is still out on who loves the game of disc golf more…
This station only has two pumps running out of the four on the lot and after waiting my turn in line, the guy using the pump across from me lamented: ‘cheapest prices in town, but they’ve got to do something about these pumps’ as he huffed in to prepay. ‘Cheapest prices in town, but you’ve got to earn it!’ I laughed.
Charlie pulled the tail of his red and white flannel shirt out from under him as he flopped down into the chair Max provided for patrons. With an angry tug, Charlie snatched the USB-A cable from its reel by the terminal and plugged it into the shaved left side of his head. The chair looked like it wouldn’t be out of place in a dentist’s office, decked in buttons, levers, and trays. Max reclined Charlie to the position he knew his patron preferred and made his way over to the control terminal…