Monday morning, 08:20

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Why I'm moving the coffee pot out of my office:

“... so I don't know if I pulled it or pinched it. And I was thinking, ‘I hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.’ But anyway. That was. Not an issue ... Are we out of two-percent?”

Free Brochure

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A few fans of FlapScrap will sometimes wander to my little sister's little spin-off blog when they're scouring the internet for references to me. There was a dearth of those on her little site this past week or so (a paucity) after I showed her a photo of my friend's kid who is prettier than her little girls.

But yesterday all the lines lit up when, for sweeps week I guess, she dedicated an entire post to a bagel I'd recently discarded. That post inadvertently created a blog buzz when she also mentioned she'd pulled a couple of first-round promo poster proofs out of my trash for the upcoming Flapjack Thundercrack Smack-dab Can't Fail Off-the-Rails Yard Sale™, tentatively scheduled for October 26-28. When you rabid FlapScrapper hordes got an online glimpse of just a corner of that poster you launched a frothy clamor for more. Much, much more!

So, feast your winkers:


It's a first draft, but we usually stop there anyway to preserve spontaneity. Of course this poster is only one component of a major Yard Sale marketing blitz that will include all the conventional channels – print, electronic, direct mail, outdoor, pop-ups, ringtones, skywriting, shoutouts, and doorknob hangers – plus a few product placement surprises in the new season of "Lost." This particular poster is designed to be included in gift bags at the upcoming impeachment hearings.

This Yard Sale has been a dream of ours for a long time now. Some of the merchandise we'll be offering has been boxed up since we decided we couldn't live without it ten years ago in Eugene, before we moved to Richmond, before we moved to San Francisco, before our most recent move to Portland. With all the moving van miles this stuff has traveled it's got a bigger carbon footprint than a NASCAR night race. We're very excited to finally crack open the boxes, find all the bubble-wrapped stuff, carefully unseal and reveal it, and stick a round yellow dot on it: "$1."

I'm also thinking about selling fresh flapjacks and hotdogs on the sidewalk during the event ("Swine in a Sweater^®! PIPE-ing hot!"), but discussions of all the details are ongoing.
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Angst Addiction

I'm seriously considering a change in lifestyle -- more reading, more bike riding, less electronic media -- because I find that the more audio-visual stimulation I get, the more I want. It can become a little immoderate.

When I was a kid, my Dad watched the weather report every evening on the TV news. I know what you're thinking: he had to because he was a blimp pilot. But he wasn't a blimp pilot. And I'm the same way except instead of traffic & weather my drug of choice is political news -- and no, I'm not a Prime Minister.

On nine-eleven, when all the mayhem was unfolding, I was in our apartment in San Francisco with Jude watching news and flipping all around the web. Hour after hour after hour, watching that replay video and listening for even the slightest new piece of information. It was like drinking a lot of coffee on an empty stomach.

And I remember that evening we went out and had dinner in a restaurant. We felt a little weird about it, as if our going out for a meal was a violation of the sanctity of the day's events. But, walking around the City, we passed our local firehouse at dusk and noticed flags had been added to the trucks, and we saw candles in a lot of peoples' windows, and we found to our surprise that the restaurant was busy.

As I moved the salt and pepper shakers around, unrolled my silverware, and talked with Jude I realized that I'd spent most of the day preoccupied not with what had happened to all those people, but with what else might happen. I'd wanted an overview of the entire story arc -- how big is this thing? That's natural enough, I guess, considering that if the overall story were large enough it might actually affect my own life, or even death. But we'd actually done nothing all day and were exhausted by evening just from trying to find the beginning and the end of the story, like two ends of a huge, wet, tangled rope. Since the mission of news sites and shows is to find more news and keep you watching, you never find the end.

But walking hand-in-hand to that restaurant, looking at the candles and sitting with all those strangers, I felt for the first time that day that I didn't care at all what might be happening on CNN. I ordered the special, butternut squash ravioli with saffron, and a glass of wine. If San Francisco were to be attacked that evening and the restaurant incinerated, I'd find out soon enough.

Watch This Space

Nine/Ten is the dark and holy day, fellow believers. Keith Everyman is putting a crease in his stonewashed Oscar DeLaRentas and striding down to face the judge. Head held high! Shackled! Wrongly accused!

What will transpire? Will Keith's machine-gun line of questioning cause Officer VonStrasburg to break down on the stand, mewing like a kitten? Although we can expect the mainstream press to continue to ignore this story, the entire blogosphere is watching this space for the exclusive poop on the matter.








UPDATE: DATELINE 09102007, 1230 hours

Keith showed up for court one hour late and missed his name being called. So he had to wait through all the other miscreants for the judge to re-address him. He scolded Keith for being late and, like me, Keith doesn't respond well to scolding so he made an excuse ("I got here at 9:30 [ed. note: it was 10:00] because I had to go back to my car to leave my briefcase [ed. note: HA!]"). The judge asked if that took 30 minutes. Yada yada, long story short: new court date in two weeks.

And you know what? You may have to follow this story on some other civil rights site because I was really kind of counting on it being over today. I'm already backing the Democrats and the Cubs; I can't take on any more heartbreak.

Flapjack Poetry Slam

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A lady from North Carolina
Was referred to a doctor from China.
She wrongly deduced
That he tried to seduce her:
He said she'd acute angina.














The mistaken lady from North Carolina.

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E X C L U S I V E !

Just a few short days before his epic trial date, we contacted Keith Everyman to request a sit-down:

Mr. Keith,

Would you be willing to answer a few questions regarding your upcoming day in court?

Adoringly objectively,

Peter Cojones, Newsman

He replied:

Little Peter, I'm a man of few words, and the thought of answering questions for public review is a daunting one. The rationale that helps me find my voice is that the People need to know. I personally believe that our education like such as South Africa and The Iraq everywhere like such as ... and so that we will be able to help build up our future, for our children.

So we put a few questions to him:

Tell me, Keith, how you feel tonight.

Tiny Peter, I ate pasta stuffed with cheese for dinner tonight. The pan of water took a solid 10 minutes to come to a boil. Knowing that a watched pot will ne'er boil, I tried not to look and distracted myself by eating Cheeto's^®, Frosted Flakes^®, and two of those Zingers^® - the red ones. I don't really feel that good.

Do you plan to put up a fight?

I'm hoping the judge and jury are reasonable, right-thinking folks who understand what it means to get their asses kicked.

Do you feel that you've had the breaks?

Well, I will say that I have a wide stance.

What would you say were your big mistakes?

Speeding.

Do you think that you may retire?

There was nothing wrong with the tires.

Did you think you would get much higher?

I don't understand why I let the things I did get so out of hand in the first place. I probably could have managed better if I'd had a plan.

How do you view your coming trial?

I view it on my calendar, between Meet the realtor and Call Jim & follow up.

Have your friends proved at all worth while?

My friends are a pack of scurrilous, indolent, slack-jawed mouth breathers. But I wouldn't trade a single one of them to save my entire family. Throw in a bass boat? Still, no.

Who's prettier, Anjelina Jolie or Sophia Loren?

Either one would have torn out of Strasburg without a ticket.

Care for a doughnut?

Thank you, yes, I might have one.

Returned to the Bossom

Tony's home!















My company's CEO, Mike Sherman, heard Tony had landed in Washington state but would likely be stuck there over the holiday weekend, so he sprang into action. He uses his plane to do "Angel Flights," a charity where plane owners run medical patients around the region. He told me that on Friday he'd be carrying a couple of patients up to Seattle, and that he'd love to snag Tony in Tacoma and fly him home. Numbers and emails were exchanged and, Friday evening, Tony landed safe and sound in Eugene. Thanks Mike!

Billie'd sent an email which went semi-viral, and so Tony was met on the tarmac by about 40 or 50 friends and family. Ladies cried, men cheered, and children waved brightly-colored flags. Tony made a little speech before we all headed out for pizza, and everybody got their first rock-solid night of sleep in a long while.