Retirement Party

Hooray! The first one of our little books has made it to 65! We have to at least partially credit our new defensive fortifications.

Documentary evidence will soon be taken and posted, i.e., pictures, and then we'll hand deliver our collective work to the Green Lake Public Library, where we hope it will be entered into evidence.

A new book will be available on the bench as soon as the Thunderstorms pass.

Hey, didn't see you there...

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.

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."