We Burn the Fat From Our Souls

A serious writer is not to be confounded with a solemn writer. A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.

-Earnest Hemmingway

I believe the owl responds "Hoo are you? Hoo Hoo? Hoo Hoo?"


Photo by Drew over at OMSTV, lunch bag sketch by me

The Avett Brothers

Recently I was getting coffee at Uptown Espresso in the West Seattle Junction when I heard the sweet sweet sounds of amazing country music. I inquired the Barista, Amy, about it and she said "Its the Avett Brothers, they're totes amazing."

Suffice to say I agreed and the next time I came it I was surprised with a burned copy of The Avett Brother's CD titled "Emotionalism." It is quite possibly the best album I have heard in the past 5 years. The music is well written, the album well produced, and it has a sense of nostalgia mixed with a profound freshness. I highly recommend it.

Here are a few ditties for you.





This is the album version of "Die, Die, Die"



I will definately be at the show this August at the Woodland Park Zoo. Plus, I get to check out the Cassowaries.

Here is another gem of an old video. My friend Lucy attempts a trick and I, in my drunken state, state the obvious.


Lucy's 2am Skate from dzandone on Vimeo.

Ian Preebz in the 41st (and a half?) Century

(example of Ultramarine Space Marines)

Warhammer 40,000. I miss playing Warhammer. . . The thing is, now that I have enough money to play it again it has been plaguing my brain. Sometimes, when I am extremely bored or in an especially dorky mood, doing my usual internet surfing, I check out the Games Workshop website.

I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you where all this table top war game madness began. I was a youth, no more that 10 years old. In the West Seattle Junction a gaming store had recently opened. It was amazing, a cathedral to all that is dorky. I can't recall the name, but to me it was a mystical place.

It was here that I bought my first booster pack of "Magic the Gathering" cards, here that I first purchased a starter deck of Star Trek TNG CCG (The Next Generation Collectible Card Game), and here, where I first fell in love with the 41st century.

Warhammer 40k, as we would call it, was a table top strategy game where two or more players would pit units of rival armies against each other. I was hooked instantly.

(example of a modeled table)

I would sit and watch for hours as players would assemble the terrain, made from Styrofoam and cannibalized model train sets. From these they would assemble hills, rivers, place trees and bunkers to create a battle field.

(prime example of a battle field)

Then, they would assemble their armies. I wanted to play so bad, but I did not have the money for an army. Sometimes one of the dorks would lend me a pitiful army just to decimate an innocent 10 year old. But I did not loose heart. I saved my small pittance of an allowance and bought the booster packs assembling an army literally one man at a time.

I watched as these fierce armies did battle, led by their dorky generals. There was the Imperial Guard, the average human fighting force for the Empire; the Space Marines, the genetically engineered super human army loyal to the Emperor; the Eldar, a mystical race of elves; the Orcs, a slobbering idiotic race whose only beliefs were war and death; the Tyranids, a race of bio-organic weapon wielding hive-mind race; and finally Chaos, the horrifying race of Space Marines who had rebelled against the Emperor and had been warped by evil gods who live in the "Eye of Terror" a gargantuan rip in the fabric of Space-Time.

(Battle for Macragge, the New Starter Set)

I saved and saved, and was finally putting together a mildly decent army. Then, one day, my parents bought me the starter set. The starter box was about 100 bucks, which was a lot of money to spend on a 10-year-old in 1993. It came with an Orc army and a Space Marine Army.
My favorite were the Space Marines, they seemed like an unstoppable force of good and righteousness. My young and impressionable mind still held the ideas of "Absolute Good and Absolute Evil" as truths in this world and I wanted to fight a crusade against the evil armies of the 41st century.

After buying me the starter set I would beg and plead my father to play (he was always the Orcs) and soon I was a skilled player no older than 11. I felt as though I was on top of the world.

Then, one day without warning, the shop closed. It seems that more people were concerned with playing the game there than buying anything. When the owner tried to charge for table time all the players moved the games to their houses.

I was distraught. I had spent the vast majority of my allowance money for that year on a game that I no longer had anyone to play with (my father had grown tired of loosing). For a while I played the game against my self. I would set up the armies and bunkers and battle for hours. But, like any game of strategy played alone, it was unfulfilling.

I boxed up my armies and moved on, back to Magic and Star Trek, and now to Dungeon and Dragons. In high school I met a few people who played, but it lacked the magic it once had. I ended up selling my armies and forgetting about the game.

Maybe it's nostalgia, but now that I am older I think of my battles waged in the 41st century. I remember the crushing defeats and the joy of destroying the enemy. I remember beating dorks more than twice my age and the fierce pride I had in myself. But, in the end, this is long lost. I doubt I will ever pick the game up again. I will, however, look at the website and smile my nostalgic smile knowing the joys I had playing Warhammer 40,000.

Waking Life

I remember the first time I saw Waking Life, a film by Richard Linklater. It is a meandering film about dreams and reality and where the subconsciousness meets conscious thought. I loved it. I thought it was interesting and highly cerebral. For a while after I saw the film I experimented with "lucid dreaming" and even now still expierience lucid dreams.

When I saw that it was going to be on IFC I was really excited. I hoped to be filled again with wonder and awe, to let the ideas on consciousness, dreams, and death pour through me and fill me with new vigor and vitality.

As I watched the film I felt detached. I was annoyed at the cartoon overlay, and found it distracting. The lack of structure bored me and I had to force myself to continue to watch. I kept looking for that gem of wisdom I had found so many years ago. I tried to glean anything I could from the film, but like grains of construction sand, it simply slipped though my grasp.

Maybe I'm too ridgid in how I think now, or maybe my taste in film has changed, or maybe I've heard too much metaphysical psychobable to care about these emphemeral ideas anymore. I can't help but wonder if it is me or the film? Or is it rather, like a dream the essence of it slips away more and more with every waking moment?

Either way, I was sad to be so disinterested in a film that I had once cherished.

Sleepless Night

While browsing some old videos I found this gem:


The Tasty Side from dzandone on Vimeo.

That is all.

Holy Shit!

Another Youtube Gem. . .

Top Ten Favorite Things. . .

To Do When I Can't Sleep.

10) Read a book

9) Eat a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich with a glass of milk

8) Smoke a cigarette

7) Read my blog/ check for typos and never fix them

6) Watch music videos on Youtube

5) Eat some sort of tasty treat (such as a brownie) also with said glass of milk

4) Blog

3) Call Andy Kaburka and see if he's still at work / make fun of him for working so much

2) Get laid

1) Jerk it.

I did 7 of the 10 tonight. Can you guess which ones?


I hate my life.



JOKES!

Why I love Perusing You Tube

Here is a hilarious video. God Bless You Tube.

Strange Dreams and Going to Work

At Revolution right now, about to go work. I had a bizarre dream last night. I was going to a party, but first we had to pick up a bunch of people. One of Drew's friends, Whitney, was the main chauffeur, but we ended up taking the bus. The party was just a blur of what are now unintelligible images, but held weight in my dream.

During our journey we had left someone behind, one of Drew's co-workers who in the process of arriving to the party had lost his hair and grown a beard. He looked much like Charles Darwin. He was unhappy with us, to say the least, though he never mentioned the metamorphosis.

We continued on our journey and ended up in what seemed to be a nondescript sports arena. That is, until it turned into a giant chocolate covered waffle cone. At this absurdity I had to leave, and when I got home I was attacked by a cat. The rest of the dream is either too strange or personal for me to relay, but was nonetheless fantastic.

I hope that one day I will be able to decipher the terrible meaning of the giant waffle cone.

Now I am off to work. Joy of Joys.

. . .

For Y'all Who Haven't Seen It

Here is the movie "Neck Bomb" in which I was the Production Designer on. I should have the film "Pictures" up shortly. I hope you enjoy. If you want to see the full quality version then hit me up. Okay, love you, bye-bye.

Beirut

Elephant Gun, by Beirut.



If you don't know Beirut, you should check them out. The lead singer/songwriter Zach Condon was in the Band "A Hawk and a Hacksaw" which came from Neutral Milk Hotel's Jeremy Barnes. Good Shit.

Here is my favorite Beirut song, Postcards From Italy.



Enjoy.

Chat-Chit

Couldn't retrieve chat history

This is why I love IMing on Facebook.

Ian: We didn't start the fire

Marcus: eh?
there is a lack of fire starting these days :(

Ian: I'm a Fire Starter. Twisted Fire Starter. . .

Marcus: the keen instigator?

Ian: Erupt with me.

Marcus: lol
so sensual
i need to go hax the internets

Ian: word.

Marcus: talk to you soon. . .
secret lover

Ian: Yes, you will. Lover.

Good Morning!

Good Morning!

Last night I had a shit-ton of fun (more than a butt-load) kicking it with Randal, Mark, Dustin, Allie, and a new Seattle resident named Katrina.

I got off work and popped into the E and C to have my usual after work beer, when I ran into Mark another West Seattle local and Elephant and Castle bartender. We headed out to the patio and exchanged jokes and our usual homo-erotic jokes about our beards. (Note: We didn't start the fire)

After a little bit Allie (a friend of Mark's and West Seattle local) and Dustin (good humored gent) showed up. We ate pretzels and continued with the jibes. The pretzels were good, the jokes were bad, and the beer was cold. It felt good.

Shortly after that Randal, an E and C regular and good friend of mine, showed up with recent Florida transplant Katrina. Katrina is thin, average height, and looks a little like Mischa Barton.

Katrina: You remind me of that one guy, from 'Along Came Polly'. . . you know. . .

Me: Not Ben Stiller. . .

Katrina: No, the guy that wants be be Judas. . .

Me: Phillip Seymour Hoffman? The guy that sharts himself?

Katrina: Yeah!
I was both amused and mildly insulted. But, at least it wasn't P.S.H. from "Happiness." The best part is that one of my secret dreams (not so secret now) is to play Judas in a production of "Jesus Christ Super Star."

I find it quite amusing when people first get to Seattle. I'm sure that everyone has a certain opinion of the Northwest; people are nice, the weather sucks, and life moves at a slower pace. For most of the rest of the Northwest this is true. But then you get to Seattle.

Sure, on the surface Seattle seems to have all the typical Northwestern milieu, but when you dig deeper you find a veritable nest of activity. We are loud and insulting, warm and teasing, we shout profanities and drink too much. For a long time I thought it was only me. . . but then, after combing bars upon bars, I found the underlying current. Maybe I just found my niche.

Those who gravitate to art and music, those who are sick and tired of being sick and tired, those who want to spit in life's eye and say "Fuck You! If you don't like it!" these people, these unwashed miscreants, are the true Seattle, they are the Seattle I love and the Seattle that I life in.

That being said Katrina, the Floridian transplant, got an ear, eye, and mouthful of the "True Seattle." She seemed nervous, at first, as though she was the butt of a joke she didn't quite grasp. But, our genuineness seemed to break through and soon enough she was having a blast.

After the Elephant and Castle Dustin, Allie, and I hopped in a cab back to West Seattle and headed over to the Junction. We kicked it for a bit, I played a little Johnny Cash and some Neutral Milk Hotel, and we chit-chatted about Heman. Then, it was off to the Poggie, for a few beers and some sweet Irish music.

I peace out a bit early to kick it with Drew. We drank some wine and watched "Waiting" which. . . has it's moments. I love the fact that it has John Francis Daley in it, from "Freaks and Geeks" fame.

Oh Sweet Sweet Olympia

I've been in a bit of a rut. Life has been one task after another, mixed with booze and socializing. I make a front. I have a good time, but I have been feeling lost. On Monday I got the call. It was Poot, who I had not seen in a few months.

"What's up man, are you busy tomorrow?" He asked. I replied "I have nothing important to do," which was true. "Come to Olympia and we'll hang out." It seemed like a good idea. The next day I was on the 592 express to the 512 park and ride in Tacoma.

The ride was beautiful, looking out through the wooded areas. I couldn't help but smile.

Then, at the park and ride I chatted it up with an Evergreen student named Julianne. We talked about graphic novels and sustainable farming. While on the bus our conversation was continually interrupted by a woman in her fifties, but I couldn't help but laugh.

I got off the bus and said "later" to Julianne, knowing I would probably never speak to her again in my life. Poot called and said he was on his way, and while I waited my brother Patrick called.

There was an electricity in the air, I could feel the energy and good will of Olympia, my smile held strong. Then, it got bigger, as I saw the mid-nineties Jeep Cherokee roll into the parking lot across the street.

Poot and I smoked a cigarette and decided to wing it. As we walked down the street we ran into Olympia local and West Seattlite Afton. Afton was standing there smoking a rolled cigarette and taking about print making and opening a restaurant. We made eye contact as I walked towards her and she let out a loud "HOLY SHIT!" and from there the night continued with a mixture of good vibes and "Holy Shit has it been that long?"s.

We ate at a wonderful place called "Le Voyeur" and drank (fittingly) Olympia Beer. We talked about dreams and the collective consciousness. We ate French Fries with special sauce. Afterwards, we headed over to Afton's friend Miranda's house.

Miranda's is a traveler's place. The back yard is covered in tents. There are punk rock kids passed out here and there, some sharing recently dumpstered food. There are a plethora of random dogs with bandannas around their necks. Poot, Afton, and I headed up to Miranda's room and talked more about Art and Music.

We drank wine from the bottle and I played guitar. I made sure everyone sang along.

Then, weary and bleary eyed, Poot and I hit the road; we were off to Delphinia, the 36 acre farm his girl lived on. Poot and I stayed up till five o'clock drinking tequila and running through the underbrush.

As I lay there in the guest's sleeping nook I reflected on my day. I had spent all my money, my lungs felt heavy from all the cigarettes I had smoked, and I was dog tired. I felt like the happiest man alive. I was glad to be back in Olympia, and glad to be going home in the morning, a little tired and a little refreshed.

Peso's Kitchen

This week of drunken debauchery started with a night out with Jessica (from the Lyon Rouge) and two Russian dudes.

After a bizarre (though fun) night over at the Elephant and Castle I decided to head over to my buddy Anderson's place. He had to run shortly after and Jessie gave me a call, so I was back off to downtown. We met up at the Lion and then headed over to a little joint called Peso's Kitchen.

My first impression was not a good one. Peso's comes across as just another overdone meat-market. The walls were all done in a "traditional" stucco, there were candles everywhere, not to mention the servers were all buxom and disinterested. I looked up at the red, and white over-sized pseudo abstract ceiling sculputure tile things and was worried I had died and gone to my own private hell.

We sat down in a booth in one of the back corners and while Jessie chatted it up with one of the Russian boys who went by Sacha/Alex/Alejandro (suspicious much?) I chatted with the other Russian about moral relativism and the Soviet Union.

After a shot of tequila (or three) I decided to give the place a shot at their food. The majority of the menu was "Mexican influenced" American fare, but after perusing the happy hour menu I saw a few things that sounded promising. Namely, the traditional Carnitas and the Rock Shrimp floutas.

Holy shit. The Carnitas were fresh, traditional, and amazing. The floutas were perfectly cooked and the accompanying sauces were brilliant. I was honestly a little pissed. I was mad that this place that I wanted to hate was turning out to be awesome. The drinks were made well, were moderately priced, and were stiff as a twelve year old boy reading the J.C. Penny's underwear catalog.

With my amazing Carnitas (traditional tacos) I drank a Dos Equis and a little Sauza tequila. Genius. After my meal I chatted it up with the waitress who seemed less snobish, less unapproachable; and as I left I grimaced at the fact that I knew I would be back for seconds.

Overall Ian Prebo Rating: 3 and a half shots of bourbon.

G'night, see you in the mornin'

Hey! Tony!

Anthony Bourdain is my fucking hero. I remember the very first episode of "No Reservations" I ever saw. It was the Pacific Northwest episode. I was a little miffed about the lack of detail and time he spent in Seattle, but what I saw was a brazen asshole who loved food and knew what the fuck he was talking about. And, not only that, he wanted to eat the bizarre and wonderful local things such as the Geoduck (pronounced gooey-duck for all you non-northwesterners.)

(I have no fucking clue who this yokel is)

There was something that this crass son-of-a-bitch had, a certain je ne sais quoi if you will, that I found intriguing. I had to watch more, and I did. I watched hours of this guy travel the world making an ass out of himself drinking too much smoking too much and generally making an ass out of himself. I loved it.

I loved the fact that there was someone out there on those stupid ass food and travel channels that I could identify with. Someone who loved punk rock and hated dumb-ass people and, furthermore, loved food.

My love of Bourdain continued, and with that a Tivo subscription.

Then, one about a month ago, Drew said to me "Anthony Bourdain is coming to town, and I got us tickets." I practically shit my pants. After jumping up and down like a thirteen year old girl I calmed down and accepted the fact that I would actually be in the same room as one of my heroes.

Fast-forward to this evening.

The man came out and killed it. He talked about everything I wanted him to talk about. He was as funny and interesting as I thought and hoped he would be. I won 't go into it, suffice to say he was exactly who he presents. Or something like that. . .

There's a First Time for Everything

Recently I re-acquainted with a college friend of mine, Huma. We would hang out by the smoking deck (never on the smoking deck as Huma is a voracious non-smoker) and chit-chat about life and how she would have "talk sex" with the instructors.

Well, recently after hanging out it came to light that Huma had never gone bowling. Ever. In her life. After getting over the initial shock I decided I had to immediately rectify the situation. As my home town of West Seattle has one of Seattle's last awesome bowling alleys (aptly named West Seattle Bowl) I had no other choice than to invite Huma out for an awesome round of bowling.

I arrived at our designated meeting spot, the Tulley's on 4th and Union. A few minutes later Huma showed up and we were off. But, shortly before our bus arrived Huma realized that she had forgotten her socks. If there is one thing one does not want to forget when bowling it is socks.

After a quick parley we decided to catch the next bus and go to the most depressing store on the planet for some much needed sock. Ross Dress for Less is where everyone would go if the Nazis had won the war.

Huma quickly spotted a sweet pair of Liz Claybourne socks for a whopping $1.99. Then it was a waiting game. While in line we played a little game of "name everything ridiculous in the store" where we spotted such items as a polka dotted suitcase, Legally Blonde 2, and atrocious hair (the saddest nappiest white guy dreadlocks I have ever seen), along with bumble bees (in store security) and depressing people.

Then it was time to go bowling.


After renting our lane at and picking up our shoes I gave Huma a brief explanation of the game and it was time to play. I had not been bowling in a long time, and it showed. I still had the essential idea of bowling, but lacked my previous "mad skills" from when I was in a bowling league.

We started our first game, and Huma seemed to get the basic hang of the ancient art of bowling. Shortly after we started our game we were joined by a group of wee baby children who were also enjoying their first game of bowling. After seeing the bumpers Huma commented "We should have gotten those."

Part of me agreed as my first game I bowled an 85 (Huma bowled a 48, which is good for a first timer). I know, I know, for someone who is such a fan of bowling I should have done better. If it were Wii bowling my rank would have dropped. But, Huma seemed to be having a good time and the wee children, while causing us to censor ourselves, added a great deal of humor and cuteness to the ordeal.

I had some amazing bowling moments such as falling on my ass and getting a spare at the same time. While my knee was injured my pride was not. . . mostly.

The thing that was really amusing and mocking was the video monitor that would remind you of what you bowled. A kitty would run into a set of pins and knock half of them and a mocking "Open Frame" would appear. If you got a gutter ball a hot lady would give you a condescending look.

After slightly reclaiming my masculinity in the second game (scoring a cool 95) we decided to grab some food over at West 5, a slightly swank restaurant and bar, located in the Alaska Junction.
We chatted more about school, music, past relationship, and as Huma caught the 54 back to Wallingford I took a deep breath (and deeper drag of my Marb) and was glad to have reconnected with an old friend.

What next "first" will I share with someone? Today I will eat bone marrow and see Bourdain with Drew of OMSTV!