what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

This scrap of cardboard is the jumbo postcard of the day. Soon to be hand-delivered via electric ass bathtub to the Medicinal Herb Garden Guy via the Life Sciences Greenhouse. 

The gold cow is on the fence, looking one way, then the other. She cannot decide which side has the greener grass. All the while she’s hearing her grandma’s voice in her head, repeatedly repeating reminders to be careful what you wish for...

infinitely 

variable

within

limits

as 

if

what

ever

label 

maker

marketing

horseshit

opportune

i s t i c

sticky

fingered

call 

it

what 

you 

will

more

than

you

can

chew

bite

me

point

view

change 

scenery

greener

grass

my

ass

got my hands on a rather large number of planning committee blue ribbons with built-in adhesive strips to adhere to your name tag at the convention or meeting or large event that required a planning committee to plan. So as I walk around and mingle and schmooze you’ll clearly see my name MATT PINTER and that I’m obviously a proud member of the planning committee. 

In this package there are several hundred perhaps a thousand of these blue ribbons. Why would I buy it? You might ask. Well I bought it because it was there. Because it was 50 cents. Because I could take them out of context and put them back in some how some where some time. 

These ribbons have been sitting here for a few weeks, waiting for me to deploy them in a new and interesting way. But a little while back I gave about 25% of them to 22 Heather and said “what would you do with a bunch of planning committee blue ribbons?”

Several days later Heather presented me with a little cabin in the woods down by the river made with cardboard and a healthy heaping helping of...

What’s the g for?

it’s just a g

What’s it mean?

it’s a lower case g

And there’s more than one?

yep

Why is that one backwards?

so when I’m brushing my teeth it reads correctly in the mirror

What?

the font is important

You’re weird

it’s a mirror image lower case g and it's Burberry

weirdo...      ...and what's with all the arrows bro?

Tuesday I got this matted & framed photo at UW Surplus. Not for the photo, for the frame. However,  the photo has since haunted me and I’m not sure I want to mess with its mojo. I may just keep it intact as a true 1987 artifact. I can always find another thriftstore frame for the project I’m envisioning. 

The more I read about this quintet, the more respect I have for the frame.

Philip A. Trautman was a distinguished professor in the UW Law school for 50 years. He passed away in 2019. 

Mark E. Abhold fell off the internet, perhaps in an Applied Physics military secret nuclear engineering way. Let me know what you know about him. 

Ann L. Darling is in the UW Communications Hall of Fame. She went on to teach at the University of Utah for years.

Paul Pascal was a distinguished Classics professor at UW for 38 years. He passed away in 2015. 

Loveday Conquest is currently Professor Emeritus in School of Aquatic and Fishery Science. She taught at UW from 1978 - 2014. Even though she retired before my time, her name vaults her into the top...

A few days ago one of my coworkers discovered a dusty old large box of paperclips in a storage cabinet at the mother ship. It was placed there years ago by a former government worker. 

Yesterday I dug my hand into the box for no real reason. Just to hold a heaping helping of old paper clips. Just because I could. This of course, inspired me to make a chain of clips. Which in turn brought to mind a little ditty I wrote 17 years ago when I was a shit-talking legal messenger, making shit-talk observations of various government workers, specifically King County Superior Court clerks. 

Here and now, seventeen years later, I’m a shit-talking government worker observing other government workers. As I taped a chain of paperclips to a pen I smiled the smile of a completed round trip. Out & back. Full circle. Always on time. Never working late. Getting the job done.  See my pen-paperclip display below.

proceed to the point of the turn

half past a monkey’s ass

alarm in 23 hours 59 minutes

I know why she swallowed the fly

to maintain the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to

phantom sehnsucht syndrome

under the radar Irish goodbye

with a pocket full of erudite and a

ground-score ace of spades

This guy Alex, actually was your Bucky back in the days when he was a teenager, before he had status but he probably had a pager. He did the Bucky’s Blood run all over First Hill to various hospitals, here & there, out & back. Towing the biohazard insulated trailer, until he ditched it when no one was looking and just chucked the shit in his bag.

A while back when we were talking about the good old days and he told me about Bucky’s I knew I had to make him a Bucky Blue t-shirt. 

He was wearing it today when I spotted him in situ and got a photo. Alex rides an electric ass bathtub to work sometimes with his dog up front. Because it’s a quality of life issue and when you’re the building coordinator, every day is bring-your-dog-to-work day. 

All I wanted was a pepsi. When I say pepsi, I mean IPA. But really all I needed was a birthday balloon or two or three. As those in the know know the dollar store is the place to go for helium birthday balloons. 

While finding the balloons some hummingbird stickers found me. 

I wasn’t planning on a limited run series of hummingbird postcards, it just came to be. 

Layers, iterations, add-ons, stickers. Cut & paste. Scratch & sniff. Lick & stick. Turn & burn.  Address & mail. 

gold star for humming bird

orange you glad I didn't say coaster brake cog

This book of short stories jumped into my hands out of the little free library. Then I looked it over and learned Charles Johnson is a professor emeritus of English at UW where he taught creative writing from 1976 until 2009. 

I’m not a dust jacket fan so I ditched it. Then I added some crows feet because I’m a crow fan and that plain white cover sans jacket was sad. 

These stories would hold my attention regardless of the author. But the fact that Johnson is a UW badass makes it even more interesting to me as I schlepp it around campus in an electric ass bathtub and read a short story now and then, here and there, here and now.