Tsk, tsk.

We're a bit behind on commentary, but don't forget to check out the raw feed. Also, stay tuned to the 4th bench for forthcoming pictures.

A New Notebook's Debut

The Corporation doesn’t work weekends. We apologize for leaving you without a dope beat to step to.

We begin this book with a rant. It is the sort of rant you imagine that Starbucks baristas have, when the shop is shuttered and they are pouring from flasks:

“We are Starbucks baristas and we ask you to:
--Not Bite the hand that feeds you
--Not ask for free Venti H20. (Why?)
--Don’t put your greasy nasty hands on the glass of our pastry case
--Speak up, don’t point to the pastry you want/we are not mind readers
--Do not give us attitude. We WILL give DECAF
--Say Thank you
--Don’t say Your welcome
--Don’t talk on your cell
--Don’t mumble
--Don’t count out the exact change
--Know what you want before you get to the counter
--Always remember to TIP.

Love Your local barista”

Of course, this being a city in which most people are guilty of at least one of that litany of complaints, someone was bound to feel bad about themselves and tell the baristas that really, you are making $12 an hour, so STFU. “Whatever! Disgruntled baristas. Its part of the customer service job scope.” See, we can imagine a parent saying to a child: this is what you have to look forward to in the new service economy of the 21^st century.

This child, being precocious, realizes that this is, in fact, what is in store for them and responds, “I love dookie so much!!! Fuck America!” Ah, children. Truth from the (dirty) mouths of babes.

Alternatively, this child could join a secret, mysterious organization. As one person asked, “What should I write about? Well I am sitting at this place looking at the people and playing a kind of spy game with my daughter.” The entry then ends. We were worried at first that perhaps this spy game had gotten out of control. But then we discovered this clue from an agent known as Kane, 4-yrs-old, which is clearly a message. “This is a map. ‘Go by the river & through the trees & then find the treasure’. I like sheep!” (Not too much, young man.)

It is possible that our conspiratorial spirit has infected the entire lake, and is even stretching into our empire, like Afghanistan. This writer is after a different kind of flower. “Hunting for dandylion wishes around the lake – such an odd juxtaposition from working in Afghanistan with my National Guard Unit. I am off to help a 4-yr-old to make a black bird nest out of dandy lions.” It is one of those oddities of language that hunting can mean something so harmless and can also mean killing the Taliban and that the same word can be importexported at will. Also, if you ever run into a dandylion, just muss his mane and run away.

Speaking of language, here’s something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue, “The aqua is purtiful. I see a woman who is jogging, who desperately needs a bra.” We sincerely hope that this runner is not the structurally unsound woman described above, “I use this book to read when I’m stretching – Great IDEA!! Thoughts today – we as people need to be honest w/each other. If you like someone give them a hug, if your sad ask for a hug and if your ticked off run a lap around Greenlake. Toodles!” Be that as it may, we as corporate entities have no need or desire to be honest with anyone, most especially ourselves.

And how can we forget that this weekend we passed a holiday, “Earth Day! LOTS of people out, talking sports, teaching their younguns how to ride a bike, running, walking, talking, loving and hating on this sunny and beautiful day—which to me is a gift.” To us, really, the true gift is this post. “I [heart] Greenlake. Where else do you see a goth drum circle competing for space with hippie knights in full armor dueling with each other?” Factually, however, we take issue with the supposition. Reed College dedicates entire residence halls to both of the groups described therein.

Toodles.

Huzzah.

To see the latest from Capitol Hill's mind-blowing Notebook, check out the transcription raw feed.

Another Day, Another Theft

Green Lake, when will you be worthy of your dozen Trotskyites? Another Notebook was lost in the line of duty. We wonder if and when vigilante justice is justified.

But we've been thinking about the importance of simple things. A short paean to them was going to be included in today's post, but all the blue words were stolen. It's just you and us, kid.

We came to this project simply (book on a bench), took it conceptual (importance of place, embodiment, empathy, moral distance), and have returned to the simple things: always have a pen attached to every book, lock each book in place with metal wire, get to each book at least every other day. Absent these simple things, all the conceptual importance is just Yoko Ono fluff. (Writing of Yoko Ono fluff, alpha once saw a short film she made in which a sequence of naked butts on treadmills occupy the screen. One extreme close up after another for 20 minutes. Some butts were repeated, particularly one with a strange mole on the right ass cheek. The film became like a Where's Waldo book, where the masses of jiggling flesh were the fantastical Bosch-like locations and the mole on the guy's mole was Waldo. Your eye became trained; you cheered its reappearance as an anchor in the morass of, well, ass. Perhaps alpha should have studied physics.)

Back to simple things. Pablo Neruda understood the importance of the little things, for example, his socks, or an onion, or a tomato, or a delicious pico de gallo served in a tube sock. He wrote odes to these things and they would start off like this:

Onion,
crystalline sack,
your beauty formed,
petal after petal,
of luminous scales
that increased you
and your belly grew with dew
in the mystery of the
dark earth.

Which is getting pretty deep on an onion, even for us. Still, we owe an ode or two to cheap Bic Pens, and metal wire. Keep it locked.

Say hello to our little friend

The Notebook at Bench 2 has its first posts up. Take a look at these doozies. Commentary to follow eventually; these classic cuts sorta standalone, though. Also, it is perhaps in a location that is less good for bringing your trusty laptop steed out and riding it into transcription.

Don't fear, The Corporation will find a way; and that way will probably be a large man who has been in a fight before.

Just a teaser.
"Did anyone see that movie "The Notebook?" This is pretty much nothing like that."

Or two:
"Beautiful, sunny, warm, clear. I always sit on this bench and watch the fathers with their children. My father hardly ever played with me. He died last April. I am a medium. I talk with spirits. My father sits with me here on this bench. He spends more time with me here than when he was alive. I never thought I'd miss him, but I do. It's April 14, 2007. A friend, another medium, said something magical would happen today. Maybe this notebook is it."

Day 10ish

Unfortunately, shortly after the return of the notebook by The Stranger (bearing the inscription, “I’m sorry I stole your book.”), it was restolen by a less communicative thief. This is particularly sad because at last inspection, it was on its very last page.

Then, on Saturday, a compelling and effective war protest comprised of thousands of plastic grave markers with US soldiers killed in Iraq took The Notebook’s normal spot. Passersby wrote the names of the people killed and placed them on the grave markers. The Society wrote, "Sgt. Angel de Jesus Lucio Ramirez, 22, Pacoima, CA. RIP." It was all run by nice, middle-aged women, who now seem to form the admirable backbone of most serious protests.

All that to say, the following represents only a few hours from Sunday, the 15^th. Tomorrow, we promise a big update featuring Cal Anderson Park. Gotta keep the customers happy.

An anonymous contributor put forth, “If you are feeling blue, go into nature with your honey and sit on a park bench.” While the standard interpretation is honey-as-woman, it is perhaps more entertaining to imagine a man with one of those beary-shapely honey jars hiking off into (Self?) Discovery Park for a little me-time. Sorry, ew.

One thing you might learn is, “Love and beauty are everywhere.” On the other hand, you could instead find out that you should, “Contemplate the miraculous ordinary.” Either way, an aphorism can come in handy, even if they do sometimes sound Dad-dancing uncool. We might remember that the greatest coach in the history of sports, John Wooden, used to have an entire bushel of Indiana shiny aphorisms, which he used to motivate interracial teams in Los Angeles in the 60s. Most of them were simple directives, mantras, “Be quick but don’t hurry” or “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” A few of them transcend any possible sports connection to enter a realm which we might call Mama Wisdom, “The worst thing you can do for people you love are the things they could and should do for themselves.” You might not use it as a pickup line at an Interpol show, but as a life praxis, it is hard to argue.

“Living next to Green Lake since 1969 I have spent tons of time on, in & around the lake. No time trumps the promise of a blue-sky day early in the spring.” Which really bears the question, “You swim in Green Lake?” We have heard it gives you something called “Swimmer’s Itch” which impersonates certain well-known STIs.

And last but not least, we find our main man Miles, who is excitable, “Hello! My name is Miles. This is a very nice place here in Green Lake, but I still don’t know why so many people walk here.” Probably to find the notebook, is our guess, but it could be the bikini rollerbladers or the steel drum player or that there is no substitute for proximity.

Mystery Solved: The Thief Confesses

The story behind the Notebook's theft by The Stranger is here.

All thanks to The Stranger's Jonah Spangenthal-Lee for falling into the idea trap. It appears that they were stolen in the spirit of charity and goodwill, or at least drunkenness, which often approximates the former virtues. Next time you see Jonah out on the town, make sure to give him an awkwardly passionate drunken hug. During which you take his wallet. Return it to him the next day, though, but only after you are sure he has cancelled all his credit cards and ordered a new driver's license.

Victory is Ours

Thanks to 1/16" cabling, some ferrules, a hammer, a pair of wire cutters, and an honorary Corp member, Harold, who is currently employed at Home Depot, we are back at Bench #1. If Version 1.2 gets stolen, we are dealing with professional art thieves tuning up for a run at a Rembrandt. In any case, the cable should keep all our words safe from the tyranny of evil men.

Notebook 1.1 Dies; The Corporation Lives On

Another Notebook was hunted down and brutally murdered in the second in a rash of incidents that have rocked the quiet Seattle neighborhood of Green Lake. Said a neighbor, "It was always so quiet. I never imagined this could happen to her." That was the general sentiment among the walkers and joggers who had come to know and love their bright yellow friend. Trisha Yearling, 24, said, "I used to feel safe leaving stacks of benjamins down here, but now, now, I'm just not sure." Inevitable comparisons to the ethnic strife in Iraq merely polarized the crowds that gathered at The Notebook's bench to hold a spontaneous daylight candlelight vigil.

An unnamed Senior President of Vice within the company said the organization was saddened but not shocked. "It's a real tragedy for the children. Just think of the children. And to think Spalding, as she was known internally, was a mere 10 pages from retirement to the Green Lake Library. It's a damned shame. Rest in Peace, pretty lady."

The Corporation behind the Notebook released a short statement on its website, stating simply, "Spalding was beloved and she died in the battle against disembodiment, and that's how she would have really wanted to go. They might have won the battle, but it is a Cinco-de-Mayo victory, for we shall win the war. One of her brothers will step to the fighting line like a Greek hoplite in a phalanx, weather proofing for a hoplon, pen for a pike. We cannot be defeated."

There are no plans for a memorial service but donations can be made out to cash and sent to The Brown Eyed Handsome Man Corporation World Headquarters.

Day 8

After the linguistic deluge of the past several days, The Notebook quieted down a bit. We asked Weather Inc to chill out Seattle for us, and they delivered. Still, a few crazy people braved the frostbitten little toesies and hit the circuit. “We are braving the elements with our 6 little girls!!! Are we silly or what?? We have 2 Speedy Gonzales, 2 medium, and 2 slow pokes! Eventually we will get there.” We might have found our media hook because we now have the first official evidence of a talking and quite literate dog, “I love this place. It’s where I know the world. It lives in my dreams. And I sleep a lot. – Geoffrey the Poodle”.

Perhaps Geoffrey translates Croatian, which is what this might be, “Ej, za Bosamsvraju – pozdrav svima. Necete valjda zamjeriti sto sam zapravo iz. Purger-town Zagreb?! Drz’te se I nedy da vam ikad ova kultura uzima vasu dusu. Cao. Stef.”

There seems to be a debate raging among East Coast ex-pats in Seattle about whether or not the locals are actually friendly or just passive aggressive. Turns out that it might be a bit too grand a narrative one way or the other. DS contributes that some people in Seattle are downright mean, “I’m here from W. Seattle – been walking here for a week now & may I point out that very few people smile, say hi or… very unlike W.S. – yes, I know – just stay in W.S. if I don’t like it, but still it seems strange that people are not more outgoing in such a beautiful place.” We also recognize this problem at the Lake and have been campaigning for quite some time to have all of the trees (except the enormous flowering tree at about 69^th on the east side) turned into large bottles of Belgian ale. At the very least, each day the temperature reaches over 80 degrees, the city of Seattle should suspend its draconian regulations on drinking and/or urinating in public. We have heard they do this in New Orleans, where people are very friendly, according to the videos. The point is: just a little bit of good policy can have a dramatic positive impact on our Way of Life.

Last but not least, we have another meatspace/avatar meetup, written in the neatest handmade print yet seen in this century. “Wow, that’s a lot of entries for 5 days. I read through everything so far. It really does feel like a blog – anonymous but much more personable. Knowing that its local, handwritten, accessible makes it all that much more intriguing. I think I’m going to add it to my favorites in my firefox browser.” We could not have said it better ourselves. Indications are that the reading/writing time ratio is shifting heavily to the former. The entry concludes, “Anyway, this is a nice diversion from filling out mind numbing applications and the ever-elusive job hunt. These fruity snacks I am finishing are running out and my fingers are freezing so, hasta la vista.” Best of luck with the job search, friend. Perhaps you can become an inkjet printer. Hold on to your dreams.

Lastly, welcome to Pi and Asterisk. Your new life begins in mere days.

Day 7

The Website has been discovered by The Notebook. Ian M, who will make two appearances today, had a great suggestion. “You should change the font colors on your webblog so all notebook entries are, I don’t know, red, an all the stuff you add is black, like a donkey or dolphin I respond to colors.” Good idea, Ian. Also, you are hired. Email alpha@estamosaqui.org for further instructions on your first mission.

Another intersection of the virtual and hyperlocal occurred when Steve Lockitch made his second entry, which contained an actual advertisement for his website. We speculated that 4WRD! could have been our first ad, but this seems definitive. “I love walking in the morning. Evering smells so fresh. A good way to wake up & get your endorfines moving & get some exercise & meet friends. Steve Lockitch [sumthin] Alexander Enterprises www.webnow.com” Webnow is, apparently, a way to get a free small business website. As they say, “Your business on the web NOW – it clicks!” Right, no, wait.

From work to leisure, we found Ken and Bob the Dog out looking for furries, which thankfully meant animals in this case. We also suspect that Ken might be a military man.

“TUESDAY 10 April @ 0900. My vacation bank at work is full, rather than donate to the mega-corp, decided to burn a few days. The dog + I, on patrol at the Lake looking for furry creatures to watch. “Bob” the dog will not eat them, but has an affinity for them. Noticed your notebook, having my coffee in hand, sat for a while, soaked up the local wildlife + caffinated the body. Slightly overcast with a hint of chill, the sun trying to emerge with some success. People jogging + walking. One can only guess are they running “to” or “from”.” My guess, on the strong evidence of our next comment, is "from" the locust. “I can see a skeleton tree that reminds me of fall. When will it be warm and sunny! Lame Seattle… Lame. P.S. Don’t drink water from Greenlake or you’ll get rabies and locust will devour your soul.” It is a good thing that our soul is actually made out of pesticides. Joke’s on them.

Beneath that entry there was a page of pictures, possibly the last recorded scribblings of a man dying of rabies. There was an ice cream cone, a flower, a sun, a heart, and a fuzzy monster that says “Rawr!” Next to the sun, someone wrote, “Sun is wrong L Go to Arizona” Another person wrote “LOVE” in block letters, which two distinct handwriters then finished with, “yourself” then “maybe”.

There were several very well-written entries today, but none of them by someone as openly young as, Ruby, Age 10, who contributed a rumination on adventure and the evil laugh:

“Venture along
Venture with
Trust venture along
Like a lion or fox
Mwa ha haaa”

Talk about trust. BLESR wrote what is probably the heaviest story that has graced these pages. No commentary needed or helpful: “I’m taking a break to sit on the bench w/my brother. We have been walking around the lake to get some exercise and look @ girls for me, doods for him. I live in Eastern Washington and I am a heroin addict. I kicked two months ago with only 1 fuck up this time, so im optimistic. I will be moving to Seattle in the next few weeks to get out of Eastern Wa and the likelyhood that I will be a junky forever. Also, I want to make new friends and write graffiti.” He then signed his name is script and it was, indeed, very good graffiti. We wish him luck.

We had our longest poem also, which was about the necessity and importance of death. There was an internal Corporation conversation about whether or not corporate cogs are realists or idealists. One member argued the realist position that “they are drowning in cynicism and sarcasm: American psycho.” The other responded that “Deep down they believe their jobs/lives are meaningful, which is crazy. To think ‘adding value’ is sufficient for a considered existence ignores the ultimate truth. They live a total fantasy that they won't die.” No one won that round of conversation. The Notebook, courtesy of THA and William Blake, answers in poem form, arguing for death:

I’m dying to tell you I’m dying

What day isn’t as beautiful
As everyone that came before or after
When should a smile be not in your [unreadable]
When the birds fly above you
And the conqueror worm below you
Everything in the world dies
And I wouldn’t want it any other way
What else could make the sun so warm
On living skin that knows its end
Is always at hand, always just beneath the surface
The wind that kisses your face
Will one day carry you into oblivion
And it will be the most beautiful passage
Into the object of creation
The ever present artifact that we are put on
To learn its purpose, our design
And that you are here ‘til you are gone.
“God appears and God is light
To those who dwell in realms of night
But does a human form display
To those who live in realm of day.”

But enough death, let’s have a quick shower and a poop joke instead. We return to BEHMC recruit, Ian M, and his provocatively titled, “Easter Confession.”

“Yesterday I took my dog for an Easter morning walk from my house in Fremont to the U District Big 5. On the way, my dog pooped so I cleaned it up and desposed of it in my neighbors garbage can left out for the garbage man. Big 5 was closed for Easter. DAMN, I really wanted a carribeaner. On the way back my dog pooped again! This poo was of equal size or greater than the original. My pradinkadink was that I only brought one plastic bag with me on my Easter conquest. So I look left, look right, Shit! There are people who may have seen, or may not have seen my dogs stinky loafs dropping. Think quick. I lean over the pile, pretending to grab something from my pocket, and pretend to be picking up the poo until the pedestrians pass. Phew. Then I walked home."

This story alone would have been enough to win Ian some respect around the boardroom, but this last sentence made us scream out, in unison, like a Greek chorus, "That's right. Now you've got it! That's the spirit!"

"To any new readers in search of some vigilante justice, the poop at hand is located on the north side of 43^rd between 11^th and Brooklyn." One wonders what type of justice Ian is looking to have meted out. We can only imagine what damage can be done with "poop at hand".

In any case, this type of attention to the quirky details of social regulation—strong enough to force the pantomiming of dog poop extraction, for example—is reminiscent of Nicholson Baker’s The Mezzanine. A fantastic book featuring among other things, the greatest imaginary peeing on someone sequence in all of literature. We swear: you'll laugh so hard you'll pee in your neighbor's pants.

There was actually another Confession. Someone admitted to power walking. “Day one of power walking… Never thought it did much for you but already sore. My best friend + I just walking and talking! Both of us w/the no direction. Keep you posted! Enjoy the lake!” We also enjoyed the idea of a way of going called "the no direction."

One very imaginative writer conceived of one use of The Notebook that we hadn’t thought of. He/she wrote, “This book sucks dick!” These young guys, they are harder than they used to be; it must be MySpace’s fault.

Theresa, on the other hand, seems like a very nice person, composing a spontaneous love poem for her husband:

“The day after
Easter and it
blusters and blows
here in cold park
on cold bench,
my heart warm
with love of my husband.
Next to me.
A warm heart on a
cold cold day.”

The next to last entry of the day was compelling for its glimpse into the life of your average competitive koi breeder. “What up. Well pretty men I am entering a koi competition with a sweet ass fish named nypny. Soooo cool. Nice and… I like cake. Man thank gawd for this journal it was special.” The sarcasm is thick, bro, and you know that old saying, “He who enters koi competitions shouldn’t throw barbs.” Oh, hell-o! We’ll be here all forever. And we like cake too. After all, “This is a pretty place. Embrace it.”

Day 0: Raw Feed

A small operational note. We decided to make the Raw Feed, sans commentary or weaving, of The Notebook available here.

This is the beginning of the Phase II Expansion of The Corporation. Agents are training in a field near you.

Day 0 Post: Telepathy and Copycatting

Several subsidiaries of The Corporation have their annual shareholder meetings this week. The Corporate Me might be a little slow with the comment collection and cooking. So, a Day 0 post. In other words, just some big ideas on a page. It might also provide a tantalizing glimpse into the secret lives of Corporation members, and the Ferraris they have sex in.

Two Corporation members had an interesting conversation about the (non)random nature of The Notebook entries. One posited (before denying) that the “notebook may be a random thought generator.” To which the other replied that it seemed very far from random. In fact, certain words seemed contagious, moving from one entry to the next. These words usually summed up or contained an idea that seemed to be floating in the air around the bench. On the 6^th when it was beautiful, that word/idea was beautiful. When the weather turned on the 7^th, beautiful was still overlaid the sensory world and the conversation became, “Today is not a beautiful day.” So it was the weekend of beautiful, one way or the other.

A similar viral idea was to tell your humble creators and/or the world that the book was a good/great/wonderful/beautiful idea. In version 1 of The Notebook, no one said anything of the sort. Every third entry in version 1.1 contains a variant, including the newest, which you haven’t even seen yet, “This book sucks dick.” (A: “Hello contrarian, thanks for not stealing the book. Your no makes the yes mean something. Also, consider new sexual partners for a more satisfying user experience. P.S. How’s high school? Don’t worry, it will all be over soon. Best, – The Corp”)

Anyway, we are left with two conclusions about the way humans communicate. One, we are shameless copycats willing to pilfer and borrow from any available treasury. Two, given a specific place and a date and space to think, many people share the same thoughts. Co-location, in this scenario, leads not to theft but natural empathy and a quick reach into the collective unconscious. Two seemingly starkly different views of the world and the humans that reside here:

1. Bench as scene of crime; humans as thieves.
2. Bench as bridge; humans as (un)willing empaths

These could lead to radically different judgments about the nature of womankind.

And yet. To steal another’s words to describe one’s own feelings is operational empathy: using words as a form of telepathy (or even psychokinesis). One is not standing alone in the world; there are others with the same feelings, the same thoughts, even the same expressions to summarize the complicated muddle of a moment in the life of a brain in a body on a bench.

A six word story following from the above: “Psychic by trade. Then it worked.”

Day 6

We’ve noticed a new metatrend: people take the weather very personally. If only developing world poverty could ruin picnics. All Bolivian children would be well-fed.

A surprise: someone found The Notebook late at night. She begins, “Greenlake at night is so peaceful and serene. I guess my mom moving was sort of a blessing in disguise. It’s only been a year since but I’ve grown in so many ways since then.” She is driving straight towards her emotions, her situation, her subjectivity. Interesting, as if she thought we didn’t care, she wrote, “Anyways…” before finishing with a nicety, “Whoever reads this I wish for you that life is a little less complicated than it is for me right now. This journal is a really good idea! [heart] Kate”

The Corporation was a bit disappointed that Kate didn’t take us where she almost promised to with her intro. The Society reminded us that it is not every day that one finds The Notebook with a heart of gold. One could be unprepared, like an Oscar-winner for Best Adapted Screenplay but like for real.

One man was prepared, our old friend DKL from the great (nation)state of Canada. He wrote, “Just finished my second run and today is more beautiful than yesterday. Bye for now…” His compatriot, T.S., one of the perkier writers we’ve seen wrote, “Hi, thanks for the notebook! Cool idea! Greenlake is sooooo beautiful. I love Seattle. [heart]” (S)he is the first to use the extra letters, usually vowels, for emphasis. To the best of our knowledge, the quest goes on to find a snappy name for this practice (oh, what a grail). In any case, we’re surprised it took six days.

It being Easter, you’d expect religious sentiment to be running high out there, at least an orange. Surprisingly, the crowd was decidedly secular. One person wished us “Happy Easter” and drew a great Easter Egg, which will be reproduced shortly. Another intoned the common desire to be blessed, “Many prayers. Many blessings.” But in Seattle, our research indicates that the words ‘blessings’ and ‘prayers’ are about as Christian as burning sage and the Maypole.

Perhaps the religiousity was sublimated down into poetry. A child prodigy, judging by the handwriting, gifted the following (sort of nonsense) poem:

“Green lake waters are glistening bright,
In the morning the stars are a sight.”

A less nonsense poem, featuring flowers and an exhortation to love thyself:

“Spring has come
Dafodils Tulips Magnolias
And all…
Bloom like the love
In your heart already
Mere and ever present
And never to leave
Even when the leaves
Begin to fall readying

For winter
Know you are
Loved
OK”

Given the content of this and several other Notebook poems, here is a short birdwalk into Japanese poetry. It is interesting to consider that traditional Japanese haiku are generally about nature and must contain a “season” word/phrase in which the time of year is declared. Corporation friend Wikipedia informs that this word is called the Kigo. There’s even a book called a saijiki, which is essentially a dictionary of ways to say, “It’s spring.”

Now, we had always seen such conventions as strange, bordering on anal. We take all that back. The form (counting syllables aside) is, apparently, quite in tune with human nature and an easy way to codify cliché into tradition. Returning to this here and now, in our little secret saijiki, daffodils blooming are a kigo for spring.

Gigi wrote, “Today is beautiful and I am out for a bike ride with my friend Olivia.” Bikes might quite possibly be a kigo for spring as well, although unicyclists are pretty hardcore and might very well be a kigo for winter.

Right next to her on the page we found this enigmatic inscription, “Hi! 4WRD” The Internauts tell us that this could stand for, simply, “Forward.” The creators of the “Achieve Your Hoop Dreams” 5-on-5 basketball tournament in Carson, California, 4wrd Progress Entertainment, are a good example. A more intriguing possibility exists. The person could be an employee of 4 The World Resource Distributors of Springfield, Missouri (4wrd.org). They are, apparently, one of those invisible companies that drive the global economy (not unlike The Corporation) by moving things around the world. In this case, 4wrd is “meeting the needs for quality resources to equip a growing, global church community.” That is to say, they mostly sell books to missionaries for use in, say, Kenya. While this entry in The Notebook would have to be considered unconventional advertising, perhaps word is spreading faster than we anticipated.

A brief respite can be provided by Carl, “Runners, walkers, skaters, joggers, kids, lovers… and dogs.” He forgot birds, moms, and fishermen, but other than that, it seems a pretty accurate accounting.

We finish up today’s entry with our first same sex couple dual post, courtesy of Sue and Candi (we might be starting to reach for 1sts). Sue began, “Yes, the notebook is a delightful, old-fashioned, timeless idea. I resisted this bench because of the shade, but my girlfriend said, ‘Let’s sit for a minute.’ Now she’ll have to pull me away because I’ll tell her, ‘Just one more minute of writing time, please.’ Better yet. She has something of her own to write so I’ll sign off saying that I love her & today is a great day. [peace sign]”

Candi finished, “Well, hon, your minute’s up—Let’s go! Love you!”

2,114 Words or So from Day 5

5 Pictures of The Notebook. Two are drawings. The others find themselves in this august company because we need a Good Samaritan to translate them for us.

A man and his dog. Maybe less Bunyan-like than previously thought.

Just a few characters from Ivy.

Doreen's characters... Translation needed.

Carrie's characters and some dirt. Translation needed.

Sir Longfellow of the Planet Cletoris [sic]
(Is that a choker?)

Day 5

We’re back on track. To be honest, we might even be on a better track. The first two days of V1.1 have yielded some remarkably insightful comments. Take this one for example, “This is a wonderful idea. Too bad so many people have forgotten how to write. Maybe someone will prove me wrong.” But lest you think only the judgmental have grown a fondness for The Notebook, read ‘em and weep:

“It’s a beautiful day and this notebook is a beautiful idea! Enjoy all of the beautiful things in life. Don’t forget to take notice. Don’t rush! Take things slow! Love is all around yoU! God is all around you!
Peace
Elizabeth”

Even the Godly are doing it, which takes quite a bit generally. After these two comments, we were, quite frankly, asking for a brief respite from all the flattery. But our requests for sanity were merely met with international acclaim, “Great idea – what a beautiful lake and great place to run – Seattle should be a model to all other US cities to follow. DKL (Vanc BC)” Next thing you know, housing prices will be up markedly in the vicinity of The Notebook. Someone tell Bernanke that we’ve got a fix for the housing bust. And it is cheap. Seriously, Ben, the gentrifiers are flocking to the notebook, “It’s 1100 AM and our family are returning from the Easter Egg Hunt. Although overcast, its warm and lovely. The kids are eating Easter candy, and we’re going to walk back to the house. I think if there were less distractions I would write more. Great idea this book. Please publish it. Good luck, Fred.”

Even as you enjoy the idyll presented therein, you have to wonder if Fred means that he would write more in the notebook or more generally, like, in life. Which distractions and when?

But anyway, another ode to beauty. The B word was on everyone’s fingers on Friday.
“A beautiful sunset, with a beautiful woman
The water calm and smooth
The air is fresh and clean.
Beautiful—
E + V”

It reminds us of the earliest recorded pitch for Lake Livin'. In 1904, an early Lake tout (not unlike ourself) writing in the Greenlake News, declared that everyone should move to GL to enjoy, “God’s freest gifts: sunshine and clean air.” Perhaps you were not aware that some of God’s gifts are very expensive. It’s all there, in the Bible.

It should be noted that Friday, the 6^th, featured the greatest weather of 2007 while Saturday was warmish, overcast, and a little drizzly. It is not a stretch to say that the Friday crowd was pretty pumped about life while the Saturday people were a bit more restrained in their enthusiasm.

Greta was clearly writing on Saturday when she wrote, “Give me a Big Sun!! And I Love You Leehome. (I miss you so much.)” Apparently, there is love all around you. Check out this sweet little confession, “I’m waiting for my girlfriend to finish up her 3^rd lap around the lake. She’ll run her 1^st ½ marathon in Tacoma in one month. I’m so proud of her.” We’d like to think that the partner in this case is quite fat and possibly asthmatic or a smoker.

Perhaps the most interesting idea to get caught in the trap comes courtesy of Katie.

“Well – I’m Katie—and I’m with Junie—He’s a 14 yr old patient here to cruise chicks in tank tops and pony tails. I’m his nurse & this is the 1^st time I’ve set down to rest & do nothing since 4:30 AM. (It’s 6pm now…) 6 hrs to go on my evening with this young fella. It’s 4/6/07 and 82ºF (crazy global warming…) I’m going to not think now. Signing off for Junie & Katie…
P.S. I’ve got a good man – no cruising for me.
Katie”

That first line is a pretty amazing story, in and of itself. For the weight it carries in hidden pockets, you might compare it to Hemingway’s famous 6 word story, “For sale: baby shoes, never used.” You also like Katie in this paragraph. She comes across. The kind of woman who knows the exact temperature and is outside in it. Call me uncouth, but here’s hoping that Junie got laid or at least smooched.

And while we’re on the topic of sex, or close to it, at least, we got an oldie-but-goodie joke from none other than Ernest Matthews III. “A chicken and an egg are in bed. The chicken [is] smoking a cigarette. The egg pulls the covers over him and says, “I guess we know the answer to that question!”

Then, five or six lines down the page, Ernest wrote “(which came first the chicken or the egg)”. Get it. We appreciate that he left that space, so that if you already got it, you’d just move on but if you were confused, you could read a little further and not get left out with the uninitiated.

But clearly, the risqué comment of the day goes to the author(s)/artist(s) of this doozy:
“[Drawing of a penis with a cape]

Hello. My name is Sir Longfellow, superhero of the planet Cletoris. Anime is my pet peeve and I get really testy around it.

Look for me the next time you spot trouble. Be wary I travel through the black hole & I spit!”

A question: does the chance that you can find the clitoris increase or decrease with the inability to spell it? Just asking. The caped, capering penis will be photographed for your perusal soon by a drunkard raccoon trying hard to stay on the straight-and-narrow. No guarantees on when those pictures will be available.

While we’re on pictures, there was also a drawing of a dog behind a man with trees. The man sort of looked like Paul Bunyan, but the dog bore little resemblance to Babe, the Big Blue Ox.

There was a Harper’s Index which indicated that roughly ½ US office workers think their office is too cold and the other half think it is too hot. Maddie and James N represent the yin-n-yang: “Hi I’m Maddie. It is raining outside and I HATE exercise! This is no fun to be walking! GRR!”. Right next door, “What a great idea and perfect walking weather (rainy and cool, no complaints here!) James N – 4/7/2007”

Shortly thereafter, The Notebook happily received its first non-alphabetic writing. What look to my untrained eye like Chinese characters were posted by Carrie, Doreen, and someone who concluded, “Today is not a beautiful day. It rains and quite hard!! I want sun.” We’ll get our photographer on getting those characters photographed and posted, so that the Internets can translate them.

We also received a note from what I’m guessing is Mother Russia. It said, missing a couple of accents, “Sjedim u hladu, jedem ōokoladu!!! Ermin. Ispod Kruskelezim Pbtrbuske EMER” Any translating fairy/ogligarchs are welcome to take a stab at that one.

A last metanote on the various ways that one can write the date. Just on the 7^th, we got:

April 7, 2007
4.07.07
4//7.
4/7
4/7/2007
We’re never surprised at human variation but who teaches you this?

We want to end this huge post by asking that you turn your hearts and minds to this anonymous fellow traveler. Please think good thoughts for his/her urethra.

“I just got here and I’ve been riding my unicycle all day. My friend said that after goin around greenlake once, she couldn’t use the bathroom for a whole day : ) anyway
Have a good day.
Bye!”

Day 0 Post: The Notebook v.1.1

We appreciate the many conodolences we have received. Instead of sending flowers, please direct all checks to The Greenlake Preservation Society, made out to cash.

Our elf-interns are pretty distraught over the loss of their hard work, so we are having to hand handwrite the New Notebook. That's taking a while and we don't want you to lose interest. So, in case you were wondering, here's the structure of the trap, i.e., the words we used. The prompts are scattered throughout; new prompts welcome. Most of the writing is from the Brown Eyed Handsome Man Corporation's archives.

One notebook may die, but the corps lives on.

PAGE 1
The Greenlake Preservation Society
in association with
the Brown Eyed Handsome Man Corporation

presents

The Notebook 1.1
at Bench #1
(In the world: 47º40’11.19”N, 122º20’04.06”W)

If found detached from its home bench, please write something funny in it and then email browneyedhandsome@gmail.com. Oh, and don’t steal it. It’s ours.

PAGE 2

WHAT IS THIS?

The short answer: A place to write stuff down that you think while sitting in this exact spot. Then, a place to read what people have written while sitting in this exact spot. It’s anonymous and fun! Like the Internet, but slightly less high-tech. Like a bathhouse, but slightly less touchy-feely.

The long answer: We’re not really sure. The Society and the Corporation have just noticed tons of people sitting on this bench, looking like they maybe needed a pen and some paper. Other people have looked like they wanted to read something, possibly gain some wisdom. It could be that all of those people were just looking at girls, boys, and/or dogs, but we thought we’d provide paper and a pen anyway.

This is version 1.1. The Notebook 1.0 was stolen on April 5, 2007 after a mere 2 days of service to its bench. RIP. We apologize if your words were lost.

SOME PROMPTS (just to get you going if that is where you're at)

The View for One Old Man
He did have this. A perfect half-moon, behind a thin rhombus of high clouds, setting, still twenty degrees north of Phinney Ridge, and mirrored just off the coast of the lake, as if the water brought the moon closer for examination. The neighbors got to watch this ancient interaction in wonder. It would be gone in 10 minutes, disappeared behind the ridge, and the star spangled night would return, the streetlight flickering outside his window and the candles inside struggling to keep up with the darkness.

There are bigger views. There are more celestial views. But for its groundedness, its understatement, its peekaboos and hideaways, looking west at 65th and Meridian was his favorite view in Seattle.

This Spot, in Song
Sounds like:
Capture the Flag, by Broken Social Scene

The 3 Words
We have heard that everyone’s got three operative words at whatever point in life. They change and are probably half-truths, but what doesn’t and isn’t? It’s good exercise.
My 3 Words: Purpose, Self, Focus

The View for One Young Man
Ah, look at it. It makes one lapse into bourgeois, not to mention girly, sentimentality. But still. (Stops jogging.) To see it on a sunny day from the east side of the lake. Reflections from the other side fading at some almost perceptible point into mere water. Phinney Ridge rising behind it and in the distance, just barely visible, the Olympics, a perfect impressionistic shade of blue. To what feels like the southwest, light, pink saturating into magenta, darkening the trees into outlines, skeletons coming into focus in the night.

It is a time and a place that history won’t remember… And therefore. Therefore is… useless? Useless. But still.

Why You Like It
A List of Repositories of Social Cachet:
Cars, Husbands, Mohawks, Non-ideological ideas

The Development of the Lake
Green Lake, once a cesspit slash moral vacuum of human waste and drag racing track for amphibious vehicles, was deepened, that is to say, given more feet. Cleaned up around the edges, snipped, and clippered, planted and replanted, dredged and stocked, encircled and recircled, populated, lost it, and populated again, built, fallen into disrepair, and gentrified, all of which, as historical forces, have combined, competed, struggled and died for what you now see before you: a shimmering example of what a little elbow grease and a spit shine can do to a mosquito ridden shithole. The sham-and-tout, men living harmoniously together making a better world.

Who Is Thinking This
Being a healthy, busy, productive young member of society in Seattle, it is my duty to remain fit, to shine fitness down upon the fatties like the beacon city on the hill. Work out!

Bad News, Sports Fans

The notebook was purloined sometime between 2pm on April 4th and noon on April 5th. The thief absquatulated and remains on the loose. Up with this, we will not put. Unless we have to, which we might.

Worse, our feelings are hurt. Mildly. It's just hard to know why anyone would take the notebook without emailing, as per the instructions. What could have spurred such a mildly malicious act? Such a minor act of fuckery, what good does that do anybody, including the jackass himself? Like, what are you gonna do? Sell it?

The good news is that we were able to salvage some of the entries through these notes. The other good news is that the notebook only cost a cool $4, so it can be replaced. Stay tuned for version 2.0.

If you have any information on the whereabouts of the notebook, contact the nearest police station and demand they arrest the hoodla responsible.

Day 2

So far, it being less sunny but possibly more pleasant, the crowd seems older, wiser, and more helpful. “I like to see the Ambassador of Good Will (Lee Dodge) & all her human and dog admirers, of which I’m one.” This was signed “Steve Lockitch [something] Alexander Enterprises”. It was difficult to transcribe.

Lee Dodge found another fan with particularly beautiful handwriting. “We’ve been walking Green Lake for 10+ years. The seasons come and go. The trees grow – the bunnies hop! We were 40ish then – we’re 50ish now Hopefully we’ll be doing it when we are 90ish like Lee (The Ambassador) an inspiration to young women of 50. –K&M.” Whoever you are, Mizz Dodge, you are loved.

We know you’ve been waiting, but we got the rest of the Spanish quote from Day 1. “Estamos Aqui. Fer y yo, viedo a lo gente loca que sale a correr sin playera con este frio tan mendigo. Esperando a que salga Victor y dandole de comer a munequito en este hermoso lugar. Green Lake.”

A translation, courtesy of SLM: “Here we are. Fer and I, watching the crazy people that come out to run without a shirt in this frigging cold. I’m waiting for Victor to come out and giving my little baby boy a bite to eat in this beautiful place. Green Lake.” Based on this evidence, a mother with her baby boy probably waiting for her man, I would have to say that I slightly misread this yesterday. Her writing recorded the creation of a memory. I don’t think anyone will need to remember that moment for her.

From all things to some things. The Notebook lives here.

Then came our first religious sentiment, in this case, the actual verse John 3:16. I’m including it here, just so you know what it says next time you see the citation on a sign waving in a gameday crowd.

“For God so loved the world, he gave his only son (Jesus) that whoever believes in him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.
Amen.
John 3:16.”

But the writer continued, explaining him/herself. Swearing to the sincerity of a Christianity that the writer implicitly recognizes is not a good brand here in Seattle. “You may not believe this now, but I pray that whoever reads this, a seed has been planted in time just as the daffodils behind me have bloomed, so will you. In time, you will know that you are loved. This is my prayer for you.
E.K.
April 4, 2007”

With that, EK became our first dated entry. She might have also been the first person to fix the notebook. As we wrote in the aforementioned entry, The Notebook had been falling apart. It was in pretty bad shape last night. This morning, however, we found that someone out there had righted its prongs. It could be EK, in the spirit of Christian charity. It could have also been a young guy, I can imagine him, more of a tinker than a writer, who wanted to contribute to the effort and soon found his fingers finding the way.

And another poet, perhaps rhyming with a scrawl that was found deep within the notebook’s pages; it just said, “I love you” and then a name which has been lost to the handwriting of its writer. So it stands a monument to incomprehensible love, the best kind for writing about. Oh, we’ve almost forgotten out poet, W.F.

“Dear H.F. (Ethan)
At this moment
Think of you
And, Smile.
 [heart] W.F.”

We are hoping that they are married and that their matching Fs are not just coincidence. In any case, we can pretend.

Lastly, we have a confession to make. Someone tucked a pamphlet into the bench, right by The Notebook and we took it back to The House. It was a Christian pamphlet, in the form of a letter to a “Fellow Traveler” on how Aesop reinforces Biblical principles but but that Jesus “did what no spiritual teacher or storyteller could ever do. He intervened in our moral dilemma.” The big moral dilemma, I guess, is the one he is referring to.

My moral dilemma, which Jesus has thus far not intervened in, concerns the ethics of taking the pamphlet from the vicinity of The Notebook. My reasoning was that those trained in the black arts of religious avoidance would see the pamphlet and assume that The Notebook was a Christian ploy, like foodbanks, and not see the work for what it truly is: a secular ploy, a word trap. Still, we probably should have left the pamphlet and let The Notebook get bigger than us.

Night 1

By the evening, as the lake darkened and cooled down, we’d had several more entries. One wondered about his homicidal hound. “My dog is trying to kill every other dog. Arg.”

We also had a lewd but kind of funny poet named Lunchbox who seemed to want to rhyme breezes with treeses and kneeses. Would this be called a slant rhyme? “Heres to the breezes that blows thru the trees, that lifts the skirts above the knees, that tickles the spot that teases and pleases, that makes you say oh Jesus LUNCHBOX.” A fellow traveler, known only as *hazeleyedbeauty* seemed to agree that romantic relations between people are best accomplished when looking. “Love happens when your eyes are open… and get off the phone to talk to her. *hazeleyedbeauty*” I’d be lying if I said I was not pleased that our [eye color] + [favorable pronouncement on appearance] equation is clearly catching on.

Not everyone was in such a heavy mood. One person just wanted to munch some food and hope with hope. “Im here to eat and watch and wish. When I get full and bored and disappointed I’ll go home.” Pobrecita/o. It’s going to be all right. Your day will come.

Last but certainly not least, we had our first non-English entry, which I’m hoping will encourage more. My laptop battery died just as I was putting it down, and the light was fading anyway, but I do know that it began: Estamos aqui. No names, just We Were Here. Which is absolutely the point.

Day 1

The idea trap was laid on April 2nd. A yellow, all-weather notebook and a pen attached to a bench by a lake. This is the first piece of writing we snared: “I have an ass ake from riding a hard ass bike with my friend on the back. I suck dick.” It was written in pencil a mere four hours after launch. A victory but also indicating that my $6 Fisher Pen, which is used by astronauts and can write under water or at 300 degrees, had been stolen. Laughing but a little sad (for what it said about people!), I walked the hill up to my house and brought back a cheap bic.

The morning yielded up to us the following confession of love:“I sit and wait for my sweety, having just run around with another brown eyed handsome man. We shared about our relationships and what each of is experiencing.” Then, a handwriting change, girlier? A rejoinder. “His sweetie has arrived. Girl loves the brown eyed boy more than she thought she could love anyone. : )”

By noon, more lovers, in a lyrical mood, awaited us on the next page. Formatting intact:

Empires crumble…
but Daffodils
still bloom.

Ah spring is here on
a blue sky, yellow
daffodil day.

Teresa and IRV

Irv is surrounded by a heart drawn in two strokes both originating at the center and radiating out, then down. At least that is my guess.

There is also a drawing on one of the pages which is a wobbly oval outline with a lot of blue pen scratches filling it. One imagines that it is a sketch of the lake, although for some reason I expected that it would be a sexual organ. I do not have enough faith in people.

An operational note: people do not seem to be flipping through and writing but rather just going to the 1st open page from the front. But then again, it was too windycold the last time I was out to check through each and every prompt.

There were ducks in the grass by the bench. Which means they shit all over our frisbee field.