Beware the evil red eye
There is a certain intersection within the town of Issaquah that I feel compelled to warn the general public about. It is not particularly dangerous, nor is it in a bad part of town. Gather 'round and listen to my tale of woe.

I decided this morning to make my way to Fry's Electronics to pick up a spindle of DVD-Rs that will absolutely not be used to pirate DVDs *stuffs his parrot in a sack*. Little did I know that between me and Fry's lay a cosmic vertex of the forces of inefficiency- the stoplight at Front and Sunset. I stopped behind an SUV and peered up at the candy red light. There was no other traffic, and no pedestrians. I drummed my fingers against the car door. Still red. I fiddled with the radio. Still red. Ok then, I thought I might as well think about something besides getting where I want to be, and settled into pondering the layout of my next photoshop painting.

There I sat for hours uncounted, long enough for my perception of time to slow. The paths of the sun and moon began to whirl about in the sky. Leaves changed color. I watched my fingernails grow. Turning to the side, I saw a young boy age into an old man and crumble to dust. The trees began to petrify, glaciers advanced and receded, and mountains were heaved to the sky and worn into sand. I was not at all surprised to see that the squirrels had by now left the trees and evolved into intelligent bipeds. Still red. I then fell into a deep state of hibernation.

When I awoke I nearly jumped clean through my windshield. Had the light just now turned green?! Dear god yes! But it did me no good. You see, while I was sleeping the sun had reached the end of its supply of fuseable elements and blown itself and the earth to bits, leaving me, the bling bling luxury SUV, and my arch-nemesis, the stoplight of Front and Sunset floating in deep space atop a huge boulder. Furthermore, the lady in the SUV was too busy BLABBING AWAY ON HER GODDAMN CELL PHONE to notice the signal change. The light turned red again.

In space, no one hears your screams.

In other news, I watched five minutes of 2 Fast 2 Furious at a friend's house. I then dry-heaved and left. The crappiness of this movie places it far outside the descriptive powers of english vocabulary. Neither "rancid" nor "putrid" carry enough negative stigma, so I must now blaze new linguistic frontiers. F&F2, I dub thee "putrancid". Spell check, to hell with you.

As for news that matters? The contracting agency I work for managed to find my web page. Now they want to interview me and show some of my work in their next company newsletter, even after I told them I will not go professional for any price they're prepared to pay. Honestly I am hesitant to accept, since I'm not really interested in personal exposure. I paint pictures so that others might see the stories as vividly as I imagined them, and because it's just fun to do. I seek feedback so that I'll know whether the picture accomplished its purpose. I'm nearly indifferent to praise, and outright irritated by jealousy. The worst is when someone gets depressed. Yes, that's exactly why I spent so much time on the picture - so that when you look at it you'd feel like shit. I'd rather someone hate it than get like that. Anyway, before my rant gets too off topic, I'm going to do this if only for the fact that pictures are created to be seen. Otherwise they're like a tree falling on a bear in the woods when no one's there. Which is an aweful shame, because then nobody knows what flat bear sounds like.