Dopplegangeresque

I'm sure we've all had that moment when a complete and utter stranger walks up to you and says "You look so familiar. Do I know you?" When I was young and arrogant, I would say "In your dreams." Then when I became older and even more arrogant, I would say "In your dreams," but with a Frank Sinatra smoothness to it. Now that I'm older yet and lost some of my arrogance, I say "I don't think so."

In college, this whole "don't I know you?" would happen a lot. This is because I have a brother and two sisters and we all bear a striking family resemblance. The saying amongst my friends was "You seen one Taylor, you seen 'em all."

However, since moving to Redmond, cases of mistaken identity have become a weekly event. One woman swore she knew me from the skate park. Anyone who's spent five minutes in my presence knows I couldn't balance on a skateboard to save my soul from Satan. The barista at my regular Starbucks consistently gets my order wrong no matter how many times a week I place my order specifically with her. It's become an experiment of sorts. Another guy was pretty sure I'd gone to school at Western Washington University. I have too much melanin to have gone to Western. A Safeway checker I'd never spoken to before greeted me like an old friend and asked how my dog was. I don't have a dog.

So here are the options. Either I have a very common face or I have a doppleganger on the loose. The latter is a very disturbing option because I thought I had caught them all, Pokemon-style.

Thus, I set out to verify the existence of this evil twin who apparently enjoys deviant sports like skateboarding and perhaps dog-walking. I'll keep you posted, loyal readers.

PS. New Coming Distractions with new voting incentive.

In support of not caring

Hello Gentle Readers,

The following is an except from Slate.com's article about Senator Larry Craig's lewd airport bathroom behavior. When I first heard of this event, I figured the Senator was plagiarizing George Michael's career tailspin and the Senator should find his own way to ruin his life (maybe lewd balloon animals). Anyhow, read and judge for yourself.

Around noon on June 11, Sgt. Dave Karsnia entered a men's room stall at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport and sat on a toilet. That wouldn't ordinarily be news, but in this instance Karsnia's presence was not related—or, at least, not primarily related—to the workings of his digestive tract. He was there to investigate complaints about lewd conduct. Within minutes, U.S. Sen. Larry Craig, Republican of Idaho—a state with little tolerance for lascivious conduct—peered into Karsnia's stall, entered the stall to Karsnia's left, and placed a roller bag in front. Craig then tapped his right foot and moved it close to Karsnia's. Karsnia interpreted this as an established signal for sexual solicitation (see police narrative below and on the following page), and replied in kind by raising and lowering his own foot. Craig then extended his fingers into Karsnia's stall. Karsnia placed his police identification by the floor where Craig could see it and pointed to the exit.

Okay, the senator tried to solicit sex in an airport bathroom. And he did it using a moderately polite form of inquiry. In the end, instead of getting what he wanted, he is publicly embarrassed and his career is over. Maybe it's the fact that I'm in the middle of watching Rome on DVD, but I'm growing weary of our country's hang ups over sex. Am I wrong to not care that the Senator is bi-sexual? I would certainly agree that his judgment was off in his choice of pick up locations (next time try your local GNC) and I get that enough other people are offended that they won't vote for him, but I still don't care. Larry had an itch, but when he tried to scratch it he got handcuffed instead. Larry's itch is his own business, which means it's none of mine.

Whaling

This last weekend was a flurry of activity I've not experienced since the "-4 to Perception" haze of Norwescon. I'll leave out the gory details, but I will say that it involved babies, helicopter pilots, soccer, and 88 cent shirts.

In the end, I was bribed to make the journey over to White Center, an oasis of civilization on the other side of the toxic industrial wasteland southwest of Seattle. There, I finally partook in that most diabolical rapture, the pestilent cheesecake which tempts gamers young and old. Yes, I drank deep from the twisted golden chalice and became the Hero of Guitars.

It was a blinding sight to behold, not because of my skill, but because of the absolute ineptitude with which I assaulted and violated the poor guitar-shaped Xbox controller. However, after an hour and a half of play, I was able to score a 92% success rate. On a five-star song. On Easy.

I do indeed whale hardcore.

Hope your weekend was as much of a blast as mine, and my condolences to those of you who are back in the university trenches. God speed on a safe and perjury-free semester.

Groove out.

Updates

New review for Stardust and a new addition in the Lists section.

Also, I've added a voting button for Topwebcomics on the Coming Distractions page. Not interested? Well, there's a groovy voting incentive comprised of some "Name of the Wind" fan art along with that voting button.

As further incentive, there will be a new incentive for every new comic each Friday. Thanks for checkin' it out!

Groove on.

Travolting

Hello Gentle Readers,

I got a few compliments on this week's Thursday review round-up so I thought I'd share it with the faithful readers of KS. Plus, a mysterious someone commented on my blog the last time I did this so I'm testing to see if I'm under government surveillance.

HAIRSPRAY

As we all know, our summer movie season wouldn't be complete without a has-been scientologist in drag singing and dancing through an adapted Broadway musical. Thankfully, Hairspray twirled itself into an encore performance at the Audian (6:30). I have to say, this looks like a movie that would be fun to ruthlessly mock. Unfortunately, the reviewers seem to think it's one of the best movies of the summer (a whopping 93% positive rating). Good thing I'm wearing my 'advocate for the devil' hat. Mocks away!

"Against all expectations, Hairspray turns out to be an explosion of industrial-strength good cheer, delivered by very smart show-biz pros with wit, passion, and a soupçon of dementia. Resistance is futile." Ty Burr Boston Globe

Nerd alert! We have an uber-Trekie quoting the Borg on aisle 5 next to the industrial-strength good cheer.

"Fellas, there are going to be a lot of little hotties at this movie. Here is an ideal place to catch them off-duty, their hair up in scrunchies. No, it won't turn you gay." Kyle Smith New York Post

Stalker advice from Inmate 432 (aka Kyle). In addition to picking up girls, this movie is guaranteed not to turn you gay. Whew. Thanks jackass.

"A safe, self-congratulatory fantasy which revisits the civil rights era not for a valuable history lesson but for an escapist, syrupy sweet, sing-a-long trip down memory lane to an unrecognizable, Hollywood utopia that never existed." Kam Williams NewsBlaze

Wait. You wanted a civil rights history lesson from a comic musical? You must be the kind of person who wants a lap dance from a rodeo clown. Pipe down and let the adults talk.

"A funny thing happened: I was having so much fun watching this movie that when it was over, I felt a strange feeling of disappointment. I could have sat there all day." Mike McGranaghan Aisle Seat

Warning: this film may put you in a coma. But in a good way. Okay, critics love it, I want to mock it. What's the final word?

"Only a die-hard grump could resist the giddy charms of Hairspray." Randy Cordova Arizona Republic

Bah-Humbug mother fucker. Uh oh. I think I overdosed on my own sarcasm. See you tonight.

Post

Post

The Land of Plenty

So here's a little bit of a late blog to further engulf Pat's last post. Catch up, dude!

This last weekend, Becky and I went to Cannon Beach to celebrate a belated anniversary, and the weather was pretty much perfect. Arriving on Friday, it was sunny and clear enough to enjoy a sunset from the beach. Becky had her camera, I had my sketchbook.

In addition to eating far too much food (roughly enough to nourish a medium-sized refugee camp) we also bought some art and other souvenirs. My favorite was an earthenware coffee mug for work.

Note: the proportions shown here are accurate.

The downside? The stupid state of Oregon declared the tidal pools on the beachside of Haystack Rock a "Marine Garden" which means that landlubbing tourists are forthwith prohibited from laying their feet anywhere except "sand or bare rock." Why? To protect the sea life in those tide pools, of course! Barnacles and anemones are endangered, donchaknow? It's not like it was an exposed wave-breaking coral reef.

It's bad enough that we have to put things in cages so we can look at them whenever we want, but now we're fencing off the world to prevent folks from interacting the natural habitat as well. Did I mention they were also asking for donations to help fund this project?

I donated my lack of respect and general loathing.

So that was my little bit of random activism/renegaderie against the Man, but the remainder of the weekend was terrific. Now, I will hopefullyl be able to finish up the Coming Distractions which is sitting in my sketchbook. See you then!

Alternate Personalities

Occupations of other Nate or Nathan Taylors (according to Google):

Painter (Australia)
Basketweaver (Nantucket)
Child Actor (US)
Thespian (UK)
Track Athlete (Cornell)
Young Republican Chairman (Las Vegas)
Singer/Songwriter (Colorado)
Shipbuilder (UK)
Graphic Designer (Washington)
Security Professional (Denver)
Journalist (Australia)
Wellness Management Grad Student (BSU)
Attorney (Washington DC)
Best Boy Grip (US)
Stuntman (US)
Assistant Location Manager (US)
Fine Artist (Washington)
Musician (California)
Graphic Designer (New York)
Sports Writer (MVN)
Stock Car Racer (US)

That's right, there are four other Nate Taylors out there who are all artists. Nine, if you count the actors, musicians, and basketweaver. What are the odds? I use this as conclusive scientific proof that if you want your boy to be an artist, naming him "Nathan Taylor" will accomplish that. Or it gives him a 43% chance, at least. The biggest black spot on the Nate Taylors of the world? The former chairman of the Las Vegas Young Republicans (same age as me, incidentally) was in the papers in 2005 for "mishanding" $25,000 and landing himself in some legal hot water. Way to drag us down, Nate.

And now your Zen quote of the day: "Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been." -- Mark Twain.

Don't Bogart my Casablanca

I came to a stark, sudden, and earth-shattering revelation this morning while in the midst of my lather-rinse-repeat cycle. I was thinking about going to see "Live Free or Die Hard" and recalled that my mother had just seen it last weekend. In that same conversation with my mom, she voiced an absolute distaste and disinterest in seeing the new "Transformers" movie. I'm not surprised by this because of the anti-Transformers mentality that was fostered in my childhood. Something about robots with souls being un-Christian. Anyway, upon her unconditional refusal, a metaphor immediately leapt into my mind.

Movies are drugs.

When a new movie comes out, it gets passed around the circle and everyone tries it. They rave and rave and try to get other people to try it too. Studios use peer pressure ("Come on. Ebert liked it. Don't you want to just try it and see what it's like?"), and you get constant hounding wherever you go; TV, newspapers, radio, all saying "Go see 'The Bourne Ultimatum!'" "It's good, man! You'll be coming back for more!" And you will.

You'll get out of a movie, feeling nice and comfy in your life, but soon the feeling fades and you can't wait for another dose of that feel-good escapism. Pretty soon, you're asking friends to spot you for a movie. Maybe you even catch yourself trying to organize a youth group activity at your church to go see a movie together. At your church, man!

And the analogy continues.

You can get movies cut or un-cut, directors and studio producers are always looking for their next hit, and you can get domestic or imported movies (domestics are easier to handle, but imported ones can give you a better buzz). But beware, the movie culture can be just as dangerous as its illicit cousin.

Let's say you get approached by a dealer who tells you he's got something that's just as funny as "Dumb and Dumber." You're interested. "Dumb and Dumber" was some good stuff, yeah? "It's called 'Dumb and Dumberer.'" So you try it, and wham! You realize you've just been slipped some contraband, home-made, amateur, ethanol-heavy comedy that's gonna leave you wishing you'd never even heard of movies.

Everybody's had a bad ride. We've all gone to see that movie that made us want to give up on the whole culture; "Eragon," "Thirteen Days," "Freddie Got Fingered," "Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen." Yet we keep coming back. Why? We're hooked. But at least some of us have the willpower to break free. When the "Transformers" doobie gets passed to us, some of us will be able to say "No thanks, dude. That ain't how I roll."

Just not me.

Out peace.

Edit: I finally changed the blog page to the main page. You may now rejoice.

vacating

Hello Gentle Readers,

This week I'm off to join my family for a little kingsheep family reunion in central Oregon. What does this mean for you, the gentle reader? Pretty much nothing, but it should contextualize my future postings about it. My schedule includes a few breweries so if nothing else, I should return with stories of beer, sweet glorious beer.