We all knew this day would come: The everyday Blogger is dead; and we are the haunted, but rectifying, ghosts of what used to be and what has never been. Our deaths begin and end with the elevation of Twitter where everyone suddenly became a publisher — but never a writer — and great thoughts and complex ideas were forever compounded down into 140 character streams of neverending drivel.
A thin man — maybe it was a woman (honestly was hard to tell in my tired state) was looking through one of the several bins of used records in front of Easy Street Records in West Seattle. I was walking to a friend’s apartment to take a short nap and my wife and I thought we saw our friend walk into the store.
I was walking home one afternoon recently and had a couple of big heavy bags loaded with groceries. I would stop every now and again to adjust the load because I probably overdid it — there’s a good reason the conventional wisdom is to never shop when you are hungry. While walking, I observed a man several feet ahead of me taking sips of coffee from a cup, who abruptly stopped walking. He took a final sip of his drink and put the cup upside down on a hedge in front of someone’s home before dashing off and going to his own apartment building.
On December 6, 1998, my wife Janna and I began to serve the Vegan lifestyle. I say “serve” because being Vegan can be a lonesome service to a greater cause as everyone around you devours animals and wears their skins.
