somedayseattle | Recent Entries

People often say it's good to have friends in high places. That's the honest truth. In The mid 1990s Dolla Bill, Steve Tha Dogg and I used to go to the world renowned Charlie Goodnights Comedy Club on Wednesday nights. A local radio station offered half price admittance. We got in for $3. We went almost every Wednesday for close to two years. In that time I met and briefly dated a very tall and very beautiful waitress named Kristen (imagine CNN's Kaitlin Collins after a growth spurt). Through Kris I met Ian Eugene.

Ian worked in booking and promotions for the club. He was a small, wiry black nerd. Actually, I think he was the prototype for the black nerd movement. Ian and I became fast friends. The comics usual run at the club was Wednesday through Sunday. On Wednesday afternoons, Ian would arrange for press. The local rags and radio stations would come to talk to the headliners. The club always had a small audience for the press junkets to laugh at the comics prepared jokes. Otherwise one man interviewing a comic was very awkward. Ian would page me (pagers. Remember those?) on Wednesday mornings to tell me what time the interviews were. Through Ian, I was able to interact with a plethora of famous and not so famous comedians. I will tell some of those stories in the next post.

Then one random Wednesday, I did not get my usual text from Ian. I went to the show that night and when Kristen came to my table, I asked if everything was okay. She said Ian didn't show up for work. No one had heard from him all day. The club did not have a restroom so you had to leave and walk downstairs to the restaurant to use the facilities. On the way to the bathroom was the ticket desk. On my way back from the bathroom I stopped to talk to the hostess who I knew pretty well. The fabulously named Chinchilla. She told me the same Ian story. Poof. He was just....gone.

A couple years later I was at Whole Foods and ran into Kristen. When the subject came to Ian, she told me a remarkable story. His name was not Ian Eugene. He was working towards being a comic and actor. Ian Eugene was the character he played, hoping to land a role. At the club he was in character in case an agent or scout showed up. Apparently, away from the club he lived his 'real life'. Kristen was one of the handful who knew this. She said when not playing the Ian character he was a confident, outgoing person. A complete 180. He had gotten a couple of speaking roles in movies as Ian...some low budget shit, and straight to video movies. The prevailing theory was he had been moving towards his goal so he up and left for Hollywood. Kristen said she only saw his non-Ian real persona once. She could not recall his real name.

This information made me swell with joy. What a beautiful con game. Creating a completely different personality and maintaining that life for years. Absolute genius. If Kristen had not spilled the beans, I would've spent the rest of my life thinking Ian Eugene was a full-blooded nerd. I hope wherever he is, he achieve the goals he was after. I am honored to have been part of his illusion.

Some of you may find this hard to believe, in opposition of my usually annoyed persona, I usually greet the day brimming with optimism. Take today for example. I slept late. Had a nice hot bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. Layed on the bed with Erica and Harpo watching trash TV. Did not watch a solitary moment of news. Had a kickass tuna sandwich on a toasted bagel. Being a holiday, (F**K) Axos Bank, the people who make my glucose pen and the Social Security Admin, all people with whom I need phone calls, are all closed. It's usually about now something goes wrong to spoil it. I'm hoping to ride the day out with no bad vibes. So far, so good.

Today is Veterans Day. I want to extend a huge thank you to all who protect my freedom. My Uncle Clem proudly served his country in WWII. He set a bar I could never reach. Whilst I don't agree with the happenings of the last 10 years, I love my country. That being said, though, the Iranian army could be marching down 6 Forks Rd. in a military parade, and I will not confront them. I cannot point a weapon at another human being with the intent to kill them. I don't have that in me. But thank god there are brave men and women like Uncle Clem to make sure cowards like me never have to face that reality. I do not care if you are a 'tranny, a beardo or a weirdo'. I do not care about your testosterone or jawline. I am indebted to you. Thank you, one and all.

Yesterdays sense of euphoria was as fleeting as the glance of an eye. Dr. Nosering called in an emergency refill of my glucose pen. While picking up some other drugs today, I inquired about the status. The pharmacist told me the insurance will not approve even an emergency fill before November 18. Apparently my emergency situations don't jive with their calendar of emergency situations. I believe the new protocol is I have to call the drug manufacturer first and find out when it's convenient for them that I have a crisis. I guess that's what happens when you put yourself first and don't think of the inconvenience you'll cause your corporate pharmaceutical overlords. I am going to call them right now and apologize for my lack of glucose not fitting into their day. I am a bad patient. Forgive me.

A couple of weeks ago my Freestyle Libre alarm went off. It said there was an issue and the sensor had to be replaced. Ummmm, okay. About a week later, the same shit. I had to replace two sensors before their due date. Through the patient portal I put in a request to have it refilled.

About the same time, I was injecting myself with insulin and the bloody needle jammed. Piece of shit! Aggravated. I tossed it into the garbage and grabbed a new one. Everything was cool until this morning when a second one jammed. It was my last damn pen. I'm out of insulin. I called my pharmacy as I had put in a refill request for this as well. The pharmacist told me, in a nutshell, I'm shit out of luck. The insurance will not pay for a refill until November 30. Apparently I was supposed to contact the manufacturer to complain and they would send me a voucher for a new one. Another case of I sure wish I knew this ahead of time". I have a ZOOM with my endocrinologist in seven minutes. I will ask her if they have any samples. If not, I have to go through another phone tag. I absolutely despise telephones and the thought of being stuck on hold for 30 minutes (like with (F**K) Axos Bank) fills me with dread. If she can't help me out then I will have to wait for them to investigate and then send a voucher which I will then bring to the pharmacy. With my luck this shit will take until November 30 anyway.

I had a fun time yelling at the 'president' on 60 Minutes last night. The most fun I've had in a while so I really didn't wanna start my morning like this.

(UPDATE-Dr Nosering called in an emergency fill of insulin for me!! Huzzah!!)

Joni Mitchell is not that great. Bono is sickeningly over-rated, both as an artist, and a humanitarian. I don't think Iggy Pop created the entire punk movement, as many claim. I think Johnny Cash contributed more to music than the previous 3 combined.

So there.

Send me your hate mail.

Here's a chapter of Famous People Who've Met Me that I was ill-prepared to write today.

One of the cool things about our record store is we also have a label. Over the years we've released close to 40 albums. In 2018 we released an album called Radiant Monkey by Richard Lloyd. For those of you who may not know, Richard played in a band in the 1970s called Television (along with with Richard Hell!). The band was led by vocalist/guitarist Tom Verlaine. TV. Get it? Their debut album was released in 1977. Marquee Moon is still considered one of the most influential albums in rock history. Because of Richard's connection with our label, we actually got him to play in store in 2019.

It was a normal Saturday afternoon at the store and I was behind the counter. There were a couple of kids wandering when an older man shuffled in. He was heavyset, three day beard, and his hair was tussled. He was flipping through the albums when a sharp dressed younger man came in through the back. He approached me and said "Hi. I'm Joe Smith (it's a bogus name. Bad memory strikes again) I'm Richard Lloyd's manager. I'm looking for Chip." I told him that was me and we discussed the band load in. He mentioned something about the stage set up, but I only half heard him. I apologized. "Sorry. I was watching that old guy over there. He looks kind of disheveled and I want to make sure he's not stealing anything." Joe turned his head, looked at the old guy and turned back to me, laughing. "Shit, dude. That's Richard". I was so embarrassed.

Richard and his band played a set ending with Marquee Moon. It was mind-boggling to hear Richard play those notes. I was in awe. Even at that age his playing was as crisp and perfect as the album some 40 years earlier. After the show he came to the bar and asked for a beer. I gave it to him under the provision he give me a guitar pick.
"You want a guitar pick? Do you play guitar?"
"No man. I just want the pick. You know, a souvenir."
"You want one of my pics and you don't play? That's weird, man" . As I slid his beer across the counter he dug in his back pocket and produced a green guitar pick. I tucked it away into my shorts and thanked him for his show.

Richard Lloyd died yesterday. He was 75 years old. I still have his green guitar pick.

Watch on YouTube

If having to again deal with (F**K)Axos bank wasn't a big enough kick in the dick, now comes this devastating news-

I could barely believe my cyber-ears when I cyber-heard this. But when I saw the CDCD (Committee of Douchebags Cybertruck Drivers) press release, I knew it was true. The CDCD will officially disband December 31, 2026 and each member can pursue their individual dreams of douchebaggery. It is a sad day in American Popular Culture. There will be a Cybertruck Celebration 0f Life tomorrow. All Ed Hardy shirts shall be worn at half-staff, all hair care products emptied on the grass and all gold pinkie rings toilet flushed in honor of our now fallen hero. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, truck to scrap metal. Fare the well, our misunderstood and absurd friend.

For the last few days, when not glued to the TV giggling about the election results, I have been working on another in an endless line of inventories for the Jerk of Courts. Three times I have mailed them completed paperwork. Three times they mailed it back because of the minutest of errors. This time around they decided we had to do SECOND inventory, this time from September 2023 to September 2024. This is in addition to the first one requested...September 2024 until MeMum's death.

I have been quite busy making spreadsheets. Receipts! Disbursements! Explanations on where checks went! Color coding!! Unfortunately, over the course of three years there were three payments I could not account for. Clearly they were account payment as they were round numbers. $20. $40. $60. Da Olda Sista and I have been racking our little brains for weeks but to no avail. I emailed the Jerk of Courts to explain this.

He explained that even though I provided over three years of bank statements, it wasn’t enough. Each of the bank statements listed the date of the check, the check number and the amount, but did not list the recipient. I had accounted for 99% of those checks. It was just those three I was lacking.

The Jerk emailed me to say it did not matter. We need all three years of recipients to be provided by the bank. Of course you know what bank that was……(F**K)AXOS Bank. The kids up in California who stoned walled me for two years before I could close Mom's checking account. The kids out in California who said I cannot have access to any of Mom's records because I don’t have a guardianship in California. I get to deal with these pricks again. :-)

We never wanted the guardianship. We had to do it so MeMum could go to a facility for her health. Since then I have paid over $12,000 in lawyer bills out of my own pocket. The Jerk told me if I could not get this information to just go hire a lawyer. Sure. I will just go grab a lawyer. I mean, what the hell, I’ve got money to spare. Who doesn't need a $200/hour lawyer, right? it’s mind numbing to think people believe commoners can just go out and hire a lawyer. All to fill out forms to end a guardianship we didn’t want. I’ve already had to explain to them that I had to pay a $400 bond so I did not misuse the $130 in my Mom's account. It's all suck ridiculous horseshit.

Y'alls, take a hint from Uncle Chip--Get your shit in order. Have your financial records straight. Add your children's names to your savings and retirement accounts. Leave them lists of where your hidden money is. Account names, passwords. Its a wonderful gift they never knew they needed.

A Muslim senator. The first female as well as first black governor of Georgia (who happens to be one of my favorite politicians). A gay governor. Texas turns blue. North Carolina turns blue. Darlene Graham's ignorant hillbilly ass loses, and South Carolina turns blue. Vivek Ramablahblah gets his head handed to him.

Today is the first time since 2016 I am proud of my country. Good work, y'all's. Now fingers crossed the Democrats don't fuck everything up as they tend to do.

If you've paid attention to this journal (and really, why would you?), you may recall I did a few years working in the government. 14 to be exact. It was a little town outside of Raleigh. I was let go in 2004 when a neighboring city overtook our services and the town declined to offer me a position. If you think government work is stupid and most of the people involved are nitwits, you are correct. For those years, I had to completely bury the stand-up comedian/prankster side of my personality and instead fall in line with the rest of the cattle. When people discuss living a lie about who they truly they are, I understand. I am not comparing myself to those who deal with sexuality issues. I'm just saying, I understand. Once in a while, I broke free of this stereotype and had some fun.

One of my favorite partners in crime was named Jorge. He was a stout little New York Puerto Rican. He had an incredible self-deprecating sense of humor (I walked in on him eating a spam sandwich one day. He said "Hey boss, check it out...spic and spam". You gotta love the guy).

Our little town hosted a yearly golf tournament to raise cancer for the Jimmy V Foundation. Jim Valvano was a (some say) legendary basketball coach at NCSU who died far too young from the horrible disease. It is filled with celebrities and sports stars.

Working in the public works department we had access to literally hundreds of yellow safety vest. On the first day of the tournament one year, Jorge and I grabbed a couple and went down to the golf course. He went his way to wreak havoc and I went mine. The first person of note I ran into was Barney Martin, Jerry's dad on Seinfeld and Liza Minelli's in Arthur.

His cart was stopped at a porta potty, and he was waiting in the passenger side. I walked up and asked him his drivers name. He told me and when that dude came out of the Porta John, I called him by name and told him they needed him back at the "trailer". He shrugged his shoulders and walked away. I hopped into the cart and introduced myself to Barney. We drove up to the next hole where there was a foursome ready to tee off. He told me it's been like this every hole. They're so damn slow. He sighed and offered me a cigar. We both lit up and waited. He eventually teed off himself. It was a terrible shot. I drove several holes with Barney before another driver replaced me.

I pulled the same switched driver routine and did one hole with REM bassist Mike Mills. A little later in the day, I ended up in a golf cart with Robert Hayes. Holy shit. The star of Airplane, one of the greatest comedies of my lifetime.

I purposefully did not make a single Airplane reference. When the replacement driver arrived, I told Robert "Maybe I'll see you when this is over". He smiled and quipped "Over Macho Grande". If you know, you know.

But the absolute highlight was close to the end of the day. I ran into Jorge , we walked over to the volunteer food trailer and grab some grub. We marched to the outskirts of the eating area to a table withn a lone, large man sitting there. I looked up in surprise when I saw it was Charles Barkley. Jorge was kind of shy and nervous, but I'm always cool with celebrities. They're just people who have better jobs than I do. Nothing to be intimidated by. We chatted for a few minutes with Charles and eventually his free agency came up. I told him he should sign with the Knicks. He took a sip of his soda and said to be "Are you stupid? I ain't signing with the Knicks. They suck". I laughed and told him "At least you'd have your pal Patrick Ewing to carry you". At that time some low rent ESPN host walked up and sat down. Charles looked at him and said "Don't talk to these fools.. they stupid." As he ambled away I said "Doesn't matter where you sign, you'll never win a ring."

Jorge and I had a great time mingling with people that day. A decade or so later I sent Charles Barkley a card in hopes of getting an autograph. I probably vexed myself by mentioning this conversation, especially the 'no ring' comment. A few months later I got my SASE returned with an autographed card. He had made no mention of our decade old conversation

Congratulations. You have made it to the bottom of my first time wasting chapter of Famous People Who Have Met Me. If made it here without falling asleep, thank you for your patronage.

I was at El Recordo Sto' a couple of weeks ago to celebrate Eddie The Painting Guy's 69th birthday. I was having a quick chat with Francisco, one of our part timers. He told me he was considering a move to Wilmington, down on the coast of North Carolina. He had applied at a record store there which incredibly has the same name as ours (Our store has been in business over 50 years. I told Da Judge years ago to trademark the name as we have a very storied history. He opted not to, and now another store is riding our coattails). Francisco said he was on the fence about a move. I told him moving to the beach was a bad idea because people will call him Sand Francisco. It didn't help. He moved & was replaced by another part-timer named Fernando. He's a good kid and often dresses in Starsky and Hutch style sweaters. I met him last week. My Nueriva had a brain fart as I called him Francisco three times.

Why am I telling you all of this? To tell you I don't have shit to talk about. It's been the same old, same old. The same bad sleep, the same aggravations, the same nonsense.

I have been very, very lucky in my life to have come across celebrities more than the average person. I'm going to start dropping some of those stories in a waste of time called Famous People Who Have Met Me. But today we're going to start with a discussion of my Oscar worthy movie appearances.

1-Once Around. A schlocky Richard Dreyfus movie who's only high point is Laura San Giacomo before she ruined her face with plastic surgery. The governor's mansion in Raleigh was featured in a couple of long shots. I was driving downtown for something or another and came across a roadblock. I rolled down the window and the guard told me this is for onset personnel only. I told him I was the gaffer. He didn't know what that was so he waved me through. There were no hi-jinks or tomfoolery. I basically just drove by the mansion at the very moment they were filming. My car made the final edit.

2-Patch Adams. A boring Robin Williams movie. I'm not really sure what it's about as it put me half-to-sleep. It was filmed in Durham. The production company rented both my and Ma-TOOL-a's Volkswagen Beetles for street shots. It was a proud moment for me to see Cecilbug on the wide screen, especially considering it got more screen time than Ma-TOOL-a's Luna.

3-Eddie. A movie from Whoopi Goldberg. SoMeone and I had just happened to be in Charlotte when they issued a crowd casting call. We responded and sat in the Charlotte Hornets auditorium for eight hours. It had been done up as Madison Square Garden. On various cues, we were to stand up and cheer. SoMeone says she can spot us in the crowd. I will have to take her word for it because this movie is so aimless I had to turn it off in the first 30 minutes.

4-Bull Durham. The most fun I've ever had in a movie set. Ma-TOOL-a and I were both cast as crowd extras. Our job was to jump up and yell and act as if the team had done something good. We were dressed in T-shirts and shorts. The problem was it filmed in November and it was 30 degrees. The crowd had to bundle up in the winter clothes, and then discard them at the directors command and jump up and yell. The best thing of that day was the stadium operated as if it were a regular game day. Ma-TOOL-a and I went to the beer stand a few times. There's a shot in the movie where you can kind of see us walking through the crowd with our beers. It's all we had to 'keep us warm' so we drank far too much. We were taking our jackets off and jumping and yelling at the most inopportune moments. They would be filming a crowd shot to our right nowhere near us, but we got up and yelled anyway. It was an absolute blast.

5-Soul Country Pimp Grass-Tennessee Jed. It's shot at El Recordo Sto'. The guy behind the counter is the legendary soundman Jac Cain.(wearing my Ramones shirt) There 2 blink-of-an-eye moments of me sitting at the cash register throwing my hands in the air. All the toys shown on the video were mine.

Don't bother looking this up on IMDb because they keep rejecting my application for admittal.

Happy first day of the crass consumer commercialism known as HalloGivingsMas (Eatin' Season)(TM).The beginning of "Can We At Least Get Past Halloween & Bird Day Before Y'alls Suck My Wallet Dry??!!?"

Prepare to be overwhelmed by holiday adverts! Black Friday specials! Overpriced turkeys! Disgusting canned cranberry sauce! Spend your money and stuff your face! Listen to retailers beg you to spend money you don't have to buy shit no one needs to give to people you don't care about! This year, BE.A.REBEL! Do not spend money on people who mean nothing to you. Instead, send it to me! You know me. You love me (for the most part). PayPal me!!

Then, after Eatin' Season crashes to a halt at midnight on December 25....time to buy presents to celebrate my birthday on Dec 29!!!

To take your mind off the upcoming needless, unwanted stress, here's a couple duckies.

If you go to Google, and type Google into the search bar, the first response that appears is Google. I don't know why, but I am fascinated by this. Using Google to get to Google?

You may not know this, but you can actually buy the first slot in any Google search. That’s why if you Google, say, a specific law firm a different law firm will show up before that one. Money. That’s all it takes. I am going to start buying lottery tickets. I want to win millions so I can pay Google to have Someday Seatle come up first anytime someone Googles Google. I know that sounds like an unobtainable goal but a boy can dream.

Little Miss Pop Tart lost her first baby tooth today. Congratulations to Erica for finding it, sticking out of my forearm.

Man, I have had it up to here (I currently have my hand placed under my nose for those of you not using the Official SomedaySeattle Only Fans WebCam) with these damn Chrimma commercials. HalloGivingMas doesn’t begin for 36 more hours yet I’m already being inundated with elves, Santa and Kohl’s sales. I hate this.

We finally got out to early vote yesterday. We have 2 shitmuffins running for Senator (replacing bootlicking scumtub extraordinaire' Thom Tillis). Casting a vote is the definition of 'lesser if 2 trash bags'. I wrote myself in for Wake Soil & Water Conservation Commissioner. It’s a hotly contested race. If I get three more votes, I think I can take it.

I read this today, Beautiful.
"The day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom"-Anais Nin

Senorita Tart got through her spaying with flying colors. Here she is enjoying a post-snip snooze-
unnamed (1).jpg

Perfectly normal, right?

We had a 7:30 AM pick up to go to the SPCA. That means our pick up window is 7:15 to 7:45. Our taxi showed up at 7:59. We had to have Pop-Tart to the clinic by 8:30 or we would lose our appointment. We made it in at 8:29, too close for comfort. Then we got a writeup from Da Cripple Bus service because we were supposed to be picked up from the SPCA at 8:30 but we were not ready. It’s hard to leave at 8:30 when you don’t arrive until 8:29. The true beauty of this is the taxi that dropped us off was also our pick up. He had to call Da Cripple Bus to tell them he was late picking us at home therefore the pick up from the SPCA would be late. This has happened to us before. The ride from home being so late we arrived at our destination later than our pick up from the destination. Remarkably, we get points for missing the pick up. There is no penalty to the drivers being later than shit to get us. It’s a typical government organization.

We were concerned to how Pop-Tart would react to being put in the cat carrier. Erica pulled it out last night, so 'Tart could see it and get used to it. Our fears were unfounded as she slept in the carrier all night long. Here is a picture of Da 'Tart in the carrier before leaving today.

Our ride is scheduled for 2:30 today to pick her up. She’s getting shots, being spayed and having her nails trimmed. It’s like a day at the spa. Except for being cut open and having part of your insides taken out.

Our early voting woes continue. I had a Cripple Taxi ride lined up for noon to bring us to Optimus Park to cast our ballots. I needed to set up a ride for tomorrow (Pop-Tart is getting spayed) and when I chatted with the operator, she told me our ride today was not arranged.

To arrange a ride for Sunday or Monday, the process it’s a little different. The call center is closed on Saturday and Sunday. To book, you have to leave a message on the answering machine during normal business hours. The operator today told me the message I left had been spoken too quickly and she did not comprehend it. Imagine, some jerk off from New York talking too fast. I arranged a ride for Wednesday. By hook or by crook, I will get my vote in. I will do anything I have to do to get these assholes out of office.

Instead, we took a walk to the groceria to buy kitty litter. There must’ve been a meeting of the CDCD at the mall (Committee of Douchebag Cybertruck Drivers). We saw far too many on our walk. It’s got to be hard to own a Cybertruck. A used one will set you back about $100,000. Ed Hardy shirts are pretty pricey. I can’t imagine how much big dumb gold chains cost. Then throw in some gold bracelets and a pinkie ring. That shit adds up. I can’t fathom how much greasy hair gel and bad haircuts cost. Buying Axe Body Spray in 24-packs will cost you a few clams.

I admire the commitment. It takes a true douchebag to be a Cybertruck douchebag.

Another entry in Great Mustaches of the 1970's. Thalmus Rasulala, whom I have had the pleasure of meeting twice. His wife was a local newscaster!

A couple of McNuggets from the last couple days—

1-A happy birthday to Maxwell, Your Favorite Mustached Black Cat. She celebrated number four on Monday.

2-We went to early vote today. Erica looked at the back of our voting registrations and that’s where we went. Unfortunately that site was for the November 3 election not early voting. Whoops. Gonna try again this weekend.

3-There’s a brand around these parts called Little Debbie. They make snack foods. They have already begun setting up their Christmas displays. I sent them an email explaining exactly what I thought of this process. Trying to capitalize on the holidays before Halloween. I doubt they will write me back. But I do have one quick message for Little Debbie....

4-We had a surprise birthday party for Erica on Monday. As she walked in the crowd began to sing Happy Birthday. It brought her his tears. It was absolutely beautiful. She is so popular around here while people struggle to remember my name. That makes me happy because she has lived in a shell for so long. She has finally come out of it and is able to be herself. That’s such a beautiful thing.