Welcome back, friends. We hope you’ve been keeping up with the brilliant commentary over at Capitol Hill and checking the raw, uncut stuff for Green Lake. But, we can’t resist, let’s dive back into the talking.
The rollerbladers are out in force again, saith Ry. “Overcast again. Big surprise. The lake is full of ruffles and people are rollerblading. Yes rollerblading. I haven’t done that since new kids on the block were rockin in the eary nineties!” (Uh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh. RIP.) An anonymous poet agrees, about the rollerbladers, not the NKOTB . What else could have inspired the following?
Wheels in motion –
So many bodies
Thinking once again
About inertia
Thinking once again
About gravity
Resisting the tendency to fall…to collide
We’ve personally noticed a rise in actual roller skaters, presumably because of the rising popularity of roller derby leagues like the august Rat City Rollergirls. At a Portland roller derby bout, your corporate we saw some particular young athletes imbibe considerable amounts of alcohol and remove (all) clothing while attempting to cross check their friends. If that had happened at Green Lake (“Are you there God? It’s we, Alpha”), that would probably qualify under the “debatable” category below, right next to inadequate athletic support:
Green Lake
| Hits | Misses | Debatable |
| The trumpet guy in the parking lot | Duck itch | The bubble man |
| The marimba man | Leering | Inadequate athletic support |
| “Spanish Lessons” | Wolf whistling | Creative anachronists
|
| Capoeira, brazillian martial art |
|
|
| The Rabbit Lawn |
|
|
We might add to hits the two guys who always play Frisbee near The Notebook and The Notebook itself. And of course the dancing rollerblading man, who is quite possibly one of The Temptations, at least to a certain kind of woman. (Side note: what’s wolf whistling?). We also want to give big-ups to the first table ever entered into The Notebook. Corporation agents also espied the “Spanish Lessons” man and his mustache reading The Notebook. Here’s to hoping he saw his own fame.
We also encountered this mysterious entry, purporting to address a member of The Corporation. “Alpha, Now may not be the time, but the opportunities that the future may hold are limitless… That… That is beautiful.” Alpha has been interrogated about his role in this entry and we can only describe his attitude as plausibly deniable.
Two short entries, “ Jacob” and “This would be A” preceded the most epic post ever seen in The Notebook. Members of The Corp have encountered Henry Trowbridge Baken in the streets of Seattle, often near Dick’s, and this is the most accurate transcription possible. If we could figure it out, we might call it the Faulkner of the future:
Blaine – Walk to Canada – couldn’t handle “War Room” KIRO – guilty Mt. Wa Tower beaming gamma raw/help from overlake hosp to mutliate. Or I like to say George W Bush cannibalizes on the American people. My blood. If you would kindly look at a donor’s application – you greedy self absorbed maggots of Seattle or county you will see a typical ass{illegible} a two year old would figure out. 1977 – A date a simple associated for dub shits to figure out. I was graduate from high school meaning my blood of which I promised your NAEIA associated pres. Can cure all diseased. I’ll leave that at that. Canada knew it the second time I went [illegible] maid you.
I walked some 400 miles for patriotism, patriotism the human beings seem to see out of Seattle. I have be mutilated for 27 years. Canada was letting me in. George W. /Bass sent to Guam across the border. Causing indisition.
“Poisioning our brain –
WA shed mads”
They sent me back, because I needed $75.00.
George W. Bass murdered the 30 soom student. On [ ]. The other day. I’m going to throw these facts out. There are too many to examine. [illegible] you can study ADD. It rips my heart out to concentrate or read. That is the gov. reason. Believe it or not to obliterate methamphetamines. Because of my coming.
I am all. I am the equation that began human life. Some would call me the God. I prepher Henry T. Baken. All my emotions – pain, ect, are in direct association w/earthquakes, weather, all/weather, volcanoes, ect.
There is a man at Micro Soft. Maximillion or Milked or one of the same. We have deleted his programs. After being sold from Boeing. They Microsoft has deverted huge earthquakes ect to poor country like India and so on.
All you have to do is look at my pain the last two weeks. My blisters, feet, Solomon Island Mexican earthquake, Japan ect. We as Americans have an (including myself) incredibly accountability to the world.
People look in the almanac for instance. My name is Henry Trowbridge Baken. I was born 1-29-59 same day as my granda. I died at the hands of [illegible] Ourlake hospital 1995 – May 15 same as Jerry Garcia. Be amazed at the weather systems. Look at assassination for Bush.
1984
1981
My ex Wife 9-11
Hello
I was fed a human finger at overlake hospital.
In case you got lost in there, we would draw your attention to the last line as well as this sequence, “I am all. I am the equation that began human life. Some would call me the God. I prepher Henry T. Baken.” Put that in your novel and smoke it. If you ever, say in your 15 year old fantasies, wished to be weirder, the preceding entry could disabuse you of the notion that it is easy to have a brain that functions outside the normal parameters of the modern world.
Another evening entry, from Skyroller, saw a different world looking out across the lake, “Never too late for a stroll. Something abou the way the lights sparkle across the water… Phinney Ridge, Green-wood… wonder what’s going on in the lives of all those homes. Open sky, deep water, cool breeze, muffled conversations, jumbled thoughts… I’m here to be still and sit at the creator’s feet, soaking in his handicraft and looking for meaning.
(I hope 1.2 makes it to retirement!)” The writer is, in fact, referring to The Notebook 1.2. We hope so too. Only about 1/2 a page left.
And from looking across the lake, we have a writer who looked into it, and then through that water to the fish, “I always wonder how people who fish here can be OK with eating their catch. Aren’t the fish sucking up sludge all day or are we all just to paranoid about keeping things sparkley clean. The ominous cloud left. Now we can stroll.” We’ll tell you this, friend, we wouldn’t exactly wrap it in rice and seaweed. On the other hand, Green Lake experienced a remarkable clean-up effort in recent memory and despite the duck poop, is not exactly the Cuyahoga River, which when it caught fire in 1969, prompted the chief of the Cleveland fire department to say, “It was strictly a run of the mill fire.” Right.
Still, our fair writers are worried about your health, “I should warn people about duck itch. Especially with the warm season approaching. The lake is full of doody! WARNING I repeat: turds. They make you itch.” It’s actually not the turds, per se, but something called the trematode parasite, but perhaps we could just make things easier and refer to duck poop as trematurde, sort of like guano because, really, why do bats get their own special feces label? Not even humans have this special designation.
Something must have been in the air, and it is not love. People have been feeling lonely. “I’m a hopeless romantic and my name is Ted but the only one who will sit here with me is ol buddy Fred.” It’s possible that Ted needs to meet up with David. “I am dead David. [drawing of long hair] My guitar is my only friend. I am so alone.” Or they both can hang out with Jule and replace what it is that she has lost, “On my own pretending he’s beside me. All all alone. I walk w/his beside me with out him the world around changes. And all I see is him & me forever & forever. I love him I love him, I love him, but only on my own. Jule Jimson ’07. ” Unless that ’07 is a high school class year, in which case, we can just say to Jule, with that smug oldness, “This too shall pass.”
After all the bummers, perhaps we need a little rhyming poetry, eh? What do you say:
I leave my mark
At Green Lake Park
On this cool April Day
A big hello and wishes well
To all who pass this way
Ah, that feels better. Ok, fine, one more:
Raindrops
Pitter patter comes the rain
Streaking down my window pane
With dimpled puddles all around
We must be close to Puget Sound
But think – we don’t need garden hoses
Let’s go out and smell the roses
The sun came out and brought relief
And we’ll find diamonds on each leaf.
And while we’re in the loving spirit of the Lake, we have Biker Al telling us, “What a wonderful place to meet new friends. This place brings out the best in everybody.” Henceforth, when people ask the Corporation about Seattle, we will tell them that our bikers are actually called the Hell’s Bells and that they traffic only in peace, love and friendship. It’s that kind of place.
Our main man agrees, “Sat down to loosen my shoelaces – had to contribute. What a nice community building activity/experiment. I love Greenlake & this walk around, in grey weather. We are so fortunate to get to enjoy such a lovely place on Earth.” We love that Green Lake inspires people to write “on Earth” far more than mere chance would dictate. How many places get people thinking about actually living on a planet? (Side note: how weird is that?!?)
Mostly we can attribute our narrow view to Uncle Mabey and his constant bitching, “My son & I drove down from Stanwood to visit w/uncle mabey 3 minutes go by and he lays into me about cracked windshield. Short visit. Ed * Ireland.” Short visit, indeed. A good deal shorter than the visit that the shorties from Green Lake Crew paid to The Notebook.
“GL Crew
Novice girls 07 OR
Yeah baby!. We’re on a stupid run to the community center – right… haha we’re walking most of it. Yay! Rowin the Miller @ Brentwood tomorrow-ish. TA [heart] forever
Go Greenlake Novices! We’re gonna kick ass @ Brentwood! Yeah! –ES
Frances manancis
J. Rinkeydink.
I hate running! Bitch! CL”
We are happy to report that the Novice Girls slacking did not cost them too dearly. They placed second (http://regatta.brentwood.bc.ca/results.html). Nice work, team. Represent.
After all, life is short, as Faye reminds us in this bumper sticker inspired postmodern Baz masterpiece:
“They say look before you leap
Just don’t look to long that
You forget to leap
The man that said easy come easy
Go! Never had to work for a
Living!
Just because Jesus is your co=pilot
Doesn’t mean the devil
Won’t hijack your plane.
If you have to sale your self
Don’t sale your self short
When you become an adult
Follow the example of children
Make funny faces, skip instead
Of walk once in a while. Climb
A tree for no rason at all.
Smile at strangers. Eat a
Booger when your surround by people
Who take them way to serious
Do any of these things and you’ll never
Get old.
Fayeking206@msn.com”
Eww. Boogers are gross. We will take laugh lines over having to eat boogers regularly. Some fountain of youth that is. Isn’t it enough to occasionally take a vacation? We’re sure that Owl agrees, “Taking 4 Days off. Almost finished. Come join me at Lighthouse Roasters. –Owl”
These last two entries are difficult to decipher but both seem to end with that ultimate condition, “I crossed the ocean to get [illegible] again. I hope it will end soon.” Then, a writer in a strawberry induced trance, shamanically contributes, “Today I look @ the pond, I eat 3 bushels of strawberries, saw [illegible] fighting squirrels and one beagle. Africa visited today, a familiar that friend was DEATH.” It’s as if he’s saying, “You heard me Capricorn, stay away from the Ethiopian restaurant, your ex-boyfriend takes his new girlfriend there too and the food has gone downhill bigtime anyway.” Or whatever. We were never much good with astrology.
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