You know it’s summer when the stores roll out the BBQ machines.
These are not grills.
These are not decorative.
These are not for your wussy-sized pork chops.
These are Hummer-grade, propane-fueled, thick-slab-cooking man-eating machines.
I know Jay fancies the double griller. I like that R2D2 lookalike.
And the whole neighborhood breathed a sigh of relief.
The ugliest house on the block finally gets a fresh coat of paint. After fixing up the inside and waiting for the right sunny climes in Seattle (which can take a while), our Housie has new paint and color! Isn’t she gorgeous?
As you can tell from a picture of old Housie, she looked like a woman with a hangover, no make-up and all her zits exposed.
You would not believe how happy Jay and I were last night. We promptly proceeded to find good Belgian beer.
[Thank you all for your support and lettersâ€â€If you are still writing them, please bcc or cc me and Jay. Now, back to our regular blogging. We resume talking about random things in Dot's mind that does not involve a certain club.]
It is never as easy as it looks: House painting is strictly for the experts.
Or in this case, Jay.
Priming the house requires a tall ladder, a paint spray, an affinity for heights and the patience of Mother Teresa. Why patience? We ran out of paint twice and the spray pump threw a tantrum and refused to work for two hours.
Dot taped and Jay sprayed. We make a good team.
When you can’t cry anymore, you’ve got to laugh.
Anyone watch The Daily Show’s segment where they get kids to read super ridiculous quotes said on “serious” news programs? Keep that in mind as you read this.
This man who is calling our neighborhood names and making life a living hell for many of us law-abiding citizens, said this on public record in court in Seattle. (NB: Edmonds is a suburb outside Seattle.)
When the Judge asked where Mr Nagi lived, he responded, “I live in Edmonds because I want it to be quiet and safe. I would not live in the central area with my family because it is not a safe place to raise kids when you see all the drug dealing, all the noise. Because that’s a business zone central area. When you bring your family and come and live in the central area and expect it to be no noise and safe and violent, you are not asking, you know, for the right location to live. I cannot demand to be quiet and safe and live in the central area because there is a lot of drug dealing going on and a lot of problems.”
Moral of the story? Live far away from where you $h*t.
Dear Friends and Family,
Many of you know about and have followed my and Jay’s saga in dealing with the noise problem in our neighborhood. Many of you have also expressed sympathy and tried to think of ways to help us.
You now can.
We are asking you to write letters of support to the Mayor’s Office. It has come to our attention that the clubowner has gotten his friends to write letters supporting his case – that we are harassing him and involved in a racist conspiracy to ruin his business.
It appears that the Mayor’s Office is buying this argument.
This is no joke.
It pains me and Jay to listen to those kinds of slurs. We are a mixed-race, mixed-cultural couple. Many of you know us personally, and have seen how this noise affected our work and our physical and mental well-being. Many of you have also seen and heard the videos we made. The Mayor’s top man on this admitted to me today that he has not even seen the video.
Ultimately, these letters and slurs are just a ploy to detract from the real issue at hand – noise and the city’s inability or reluctance to enforce a LAW.
I beg you to take the time to pen a short letter/email of support to Mayor Greg Nickels’ office.
We need the Mayor to know that we are not out to destroy the business climate in Seattleâ€â€Jay is himself a business owner so that argument is mootâ€â€or hell bent on a racist conspiracy. We shouldn’t even be wasting our breath talking about this.
NOTHING should muddy this problem. It is a simple issue of NOISE, and remains an issue of noise.
If you live in Seattle, in any U.S. city, overseas or in Singapore, I ask you to write an email to Jordan Royer or jordan.royer@seattle.gov and/or the Mayor’s Office expressing support for our case. Royer is the Mayor’s point man on this issue.
What can you say?
- The club is Cafe Langano (or Mundos) at 1212 E. Jefferson St. in Seattle. The owner making these claims of racism and harassment is Mr. Nagi.
- Ask the Mayor’s Office what they are doing to enforce the noise ordinance.
- What does the City do to protect citizens from errant clubs?
- Has anyone in the Mayor’s Office been to our neighborhood at 2 am on a late Sunday/early Monday?
- The City needs to know that we are not crazy people.
- That we have a community of people behind us.
- That we are not racists.
- That we simply want a good night’s sleep.
This is our right.
You know me. You know Jay. We are hardly people who make frivolous complaints or go on a racist vendetta. We really appreciate all the support we can get. Please help us. This is very important to us.
Thank you for your time, and please, send an email to Jordan Royer. He needs to hear the truth. If you are a paper and pen person, send letters to P.O. Box 94749, Seattle, WA 98124-4749. Or flood their phone lines at (206) 684-4000.
Help us. Give them your name, your relationship to us, your location (Seattle, Singapore, New York, Colorado, Texasâ€â€all welcome!), and your support for our case. Don’t let this man get away with a criminal act every weekend. This has got to end.
Dorothy Ho & Jay Dokken
Host (Insert Official): So Insignificant Dot, why do you stay up late and call the police unnecessarily? What is your problem?
D: Yes, it is my fault. I apologize for waking up.
H: Yes, as you should. I don’t live in your neighborhood. Why should I care? By the way, did you donate money to the Mayor’s last campaign?
D: No, I forgot. But a check will be in the mail. Now will you help me?
H: I don’t know. How much is the check?
D: Why does that matter? Should I add another zero to it?
H: No, I’m not saying it matters. We don’t enforce the law just for anyone, you know.
D: Yes, of course. How silly of me. The law is merely something for law professors to quiz their students on. This continued and brazen violation has nothing to do with your ineptitude.
H: Thank you for understanding.
D: So what about this new video I took last night, or should I say this morning at 1:45 am?
H: What about it? Quite a catchy beat, I must say.
D: But the law!
H: Oh, rubbish. Stop being such a crybaby. I endure elevator muzak, why can’t you endure this?
D: I didn’t sleep. I was up till 4 am!
H: Bet you got lots of chores done around the house. Suck it up. And stop bothering us. It’s not my job. And although your taxes pays my salary, Bill Gates’ taxes pays more of my salary. And he’s got a problem with a stray cat on his yard I have to take care of. Tootle-loo!
Try this if the above link isn’t working. Go here to download Quicktime.
For those who missed the earlier nightmare, how about reliving it again? We relive this every weekend, Mr Mayor.
We apologize for the graphic material you are about to see.
The egg above did not suffer. Demise was quick and painless.
Jay’s 30th was a blast. Good kebabs, good beer, good company. And oh, a kickass Egg Drop Contest.
Competition was fierce. Eggs were sacrificed; eggs were saved. In the end, there can only be ONE. And Josh’s egg-curacy in nailing the target and his use of the least amount of materials to protect his egg won the day.
To see pictures of the party, click above. To see portraits of the Egg Droppers and their contraptions, click below.
(Left to right) The evolution of a shrimp kebab.
Full shrimp.
Full shrimp minus that pokey thing on its tail.
Full shrimp minus that pokey thing on its tail and legs.
Full shrimp minus that pokey thing on its tail and legs, butterflied.
Full shrimp minus that pokey thing on its tail and legs, butterflied, cleaned and gutted, ready for marinating and kebabing.
Repeat sequence about 120 times, or about 5 pounds of shrimp…And stay tuned, pictures of Jay’s 30th birthday party to come.
He gets a trebuchet from his good buddy David.
He gets to walk under the Sign Of The Cow into a Palace of Meat.
He gets to order Mignon.
He gets to enjoy a wonderful dinner with David (the uncle), Louise (the aunt) and Dot.
Will the partying never end?
These days, you never know.
Someone’s watching, and someone sure as hell is listening.
I’m walking home from the office yesterday when the Call of the Little Girls’ Room hits me. I proceed to the nearest department store (Macy’s/Bon Marche) to do my thing.
The restroom’s mirrors looked kinda cool so I whipped out my camera and took a picture. I was taking my second picture of the plaque on the wallâ€â€it says “America’s #3 Restroom 2001″â€â€when a woman trooped in huffily and barked at me, “No pictures in the bathroom.”
Now, how the *#@! did she know I was taking pictures?
I know she wasn’t just on her way to use the bathroom and spotted me, because once she saw me put away my camera, she left. She didn’t wash her hands, she didn’t check her make-up in the mirror, and she didn’t use the toilet. She came in only to tell me to stop taking pictures.
So.
My only conclusion is: There is hidden CCTV in the Women’s Bathroom in Macy’s in Seattle. The other possibility? The mirrors are two-way. Why else would the lights be so bright?
Lastly, there’s still my favorite Theory of the Garden Gnomes, but I’m not sure how they can go unnoticed in a Women’s Bathroom.
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