Monday, April 27, 2009


Yesterday I traveled downtown on a bus. The bus ride was free with my U-Pass. Next I went to Westlake center and bought a Mango Lassie, $2.00 even. Outside Westlake, there were several street musicians, some of whom I recognized from the U-District. A friend of mine claims to have made $80 playing music in exactly that spot.

Next to the fitting room in Macy's, there is a small TV. It was playing CNN. According to some dude on CNN, the big govt. democrats are going to turn the federal government into a hulking behemoth that will devour all prosperity in it's path.

Obama, you are welcome to it! I doubt I'll ever know the difference.

Inside Nordstrom, I was already appalled, and so were they. I was wearing my cargo shorts and wool shirt(my clubbing gear, natch), they were all wearing suits and expensive cologne. How expensive? Too expensive. The man who was helping my roommate, Kevin, pick out a sportsjacket was quite helpful, though, and didn't discriminate against us just because we were poor white boys and he was a black man in a suit. He was pretty chatty:
"Here try this on.", "What do you need the jacket for?" "So you're musicians then?" "What's a bard?" "I dreamed I was a saxophone player once, in Jazz Alley, filled with smoke, I was just up on stage blowin"
Kevin picked a jacket he liked. 51% cotton and 49% linen. It looked good, and it was the right size. I noticed that while he held it up to the light I could see through it. We asked him what the price was.
You ever hear the phrase "If you have to ask, you can't afford it?" It turns out nobody actually uses that phrase, they can say it all with a look.
"I'm sorry" Said Kevin, "I can't buy a jacket that costs more than my rent."
Random stranger interjects here: "A suit should always cost more than your rent."
Kevin: "But how will I keep it clean when I'm sleeping on the street?"

Thank you, helpful suit man. Thanks to you I now know what size I should look for when I hit up the thrift stores on The Ave. And thank you for being willing to assume that either one of us could actually afford that jacket.
This is what happened next:
"Well sir, if you don't have the money now, would you like to open up an account with the store?"
No, no, no, get me out of here!
"If you open up an account..."
We (Nordstrom) will own you. And your suit.

No thanks. I want to look nice for my job interviews, not desperate.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Blast from the Past

Uh Oh! Nerd quotient approaching maximum levels!
Maybe this will reverse the polarity.

Oh dear, now I'm stuck in a time loop.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Planet of the Dead

Really, for a Doctor Who special with a name like "Planet of the Dead" I was expecting something a little more creepy. Instead, what I got was an hour long eight by eleven glossy of David Tennant. Not really a bad thing by itself, but here's a few things I've come to expect from Doctor Who that did not happen in the latest episode:

Cliffhanger- When removed from a serial format, I suppose it isn't really fair to the audience to put The Doctor or anyone else in mortal danger for a whole three months. Nevertheless, since we know that within the first ten seconds of the next episode all forms of peril will be temporarily obliterated, why not? It sure beats sending his companion off in a flying- oop! Almost gave away the end there, didn't I?

Scary line repeated until it is no longer scary, and continuing until it is scary again- This obviously goes hand in hand with the aforementioned cliffhanger, but can stand on it's own as well. The only requirement is that the line is never interrupted until the trademark howl of the opening or closing credits. Here are some examples:
"Hey, who turned out the lights?"
"Are you my mummy?"
"This is your final destination"
and of course "Exterminate!"
Let it be known that in "Planet of the Dead", the most repeated line is "I love you".

The freakin' TARDIS- well, duh. Once again, a flying ******* is no replacement for anything. Certainly not a time traveling police box.

Don't get me wrong, I love The Doctor just as much as that crazy scientist guy, but there is something wrong when The Doctor starts acting like a pop star. Maybe when Stephen Moffat takes over as head writer we'll lose a little bit of the soapy atmosphere that has been haunting the set. In the meantime, here is a list of what they did right this time around:
Aliens that are obviously dudes in jumpsuits with rubber claws and bug masks.
Sonic screwdriver antics.
British through and through.
Smooches for The Doctor, wait no, no! He's 900 years old, ladies! Would you kiss Yoda? Seriously, the cradle robbing has got to stop.

Well, if you've made it this far in the post, I salute you. You must truly have great sympathy for the nuances of mantaining a glorious tradition in modern times. That's probably why you aren't asking this question right now: "Who cares?"

But if you are asking that question, then I'll tell you: Nobody. Nobody but me. That is why it is my goal, my burning passion, to write episodes of Doctor Who, episodes that make you care. So far I'm off to a rocky start, but as I come up with ideas I will post them here for the enjoyment of all. Thanks for tuning in.

-Seth Rasmussen

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Get busy

What is the difference between song lyrics and poems?

Let me tell you what I know:

In poetry, the idea of love must be treated carefully, so as not to overwork the concept or state the obvious. Generally, love poems are laughable. No, not generally, personally.

In song, love must be grasped by the neck and thrown around a little. No, not a little, it must be thoroughly thrashed. Successful love lyrics should result in a visit to the doctor to get a neck brace for love, which will be complaining of whiplash for weeks afterward.

And there you have it. Also, nobody will ever think that the word "aint" is inappropriate for song.

P.S. The distinction made above is also applicable to the cross media genres of "booty songs" and "booty poems" with the addendum that rather than thrashing, shaking is by far the more appropriate verb.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

The Plums Aren't There

It's National Poetry Month! Not only that, it's National Poetry Writing Month(NaPo WriMo!)! Not only that, it's April!

I've heard tell that April is the cruelest month. This I believe. What could be crueler than being subjected to the massive output of poetry that occurs when poets nationwide decide they are going to write one poem every day?

Don't worry. I have no desire to write a poem every single day. Likewise, I have no desire to post here every single day. Y'all are safe. On the other hand, I'd be remiss if I didn't kick off NaPo WriMo right.

So without further ado...

Thought I
Had been the
Perfect gentleman,
Until I talked to all your friends.
They told me you got caught, saying "Oh no, not again."


Not to
Have regrets,
Smoke less cigarettes,
Place past personal griefs aside,
Except tonight. I'm sorry, but I don't feel the vibe.


Your closet,
Ate hot dog, slopped it,
I stole your skirt and yellow scarf
So you couldn't see all the mustard I got on it.