the compartments of a diabolical mind:
stupid things i have done
strung out: my life as an
brush with greatness
spawn of '64
silence & cigar smoke
'i've never known a person who spoke fewer words.'
my letter to jiang
In which the Author lays the ground for the release of the EP-3 hostages.
i am naze
sf part 1 - no rice-a-roni
my old intro: an introduction
may 31, 2001
laze.net: it's got a certain ring to it, don't you think?
may 28, 2001
He likes to dress up as a pirate. He lives in a rich make-believe world. He's the other person in the house who enjoys smoothies as much as I do. His favorite song is by "Balonius" Monk. He is an enigma.
He is my son, David Christopher Naze, and he is 5 years old today.
(Joyeux anniversaire also to Halcyon!)
Last night, fighting off a mild case of the flu, I watched Korean War Stories -- the story of the war as told by veterans. In turns I felt horror, grief, pride and gratitude. Freedom is not free.
may 24, 2001
the sixth sign of the apocalypse
Think you that the sunsetting of 3 of the finest personal sites on the web within a 3 week span is a coincidence? I think not.
To the rest of you I say, once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!
may 23, 2001
She can't stop climbing. She prefers food found on the floor. She has Crazy Hair ™. She says "clue!", "clay!", "mamma", and about 20 others words that aren't quite English.
Aliases include The Portion, Mrs. Baby, Shout-a-Bug, The Squirrel, Peanut and Chi Chi.
She is Elizabeth Catherine Naze. I love her and she has just completed her first orbit of the Sun. (She celebrated this morning by conking out in the car on the way to school.)
may 21, 2001
The brilliant white rhododendron blooms that live for only 3 weeks each year.
The 110 year old Victorian up the street. Second floor gutted by fire. Cyclone fence on the sidewalk.
The Eastgate Theater. The biggest screens in the Northwest. Saw ET, Philadelphia and X there.
The gruff old man around the corner who would lean up against his fence on Sunday mornings and watch the neighbors walk past on their way to get a bagel or coffee.
Blitz-Weinhard Brewery. Beautiful old brick buildings with immense tanks on the roofs and behind the plate glass, right in the middle of downtown. Railroad tracks that ran all the way from the grain silos across the Cascades right up to the brewery loading docks. Driving downtown and breathing in the funky rich brewing smell.
Childhood. The neighbor boy (who not too terribly long ago chased his brother with a plastic sword) standing on the sidewalk in his white retro-cool-band-leader-type-tux with his arm around his prom date.
Neighborhood House. A 90 year old community center in the Duniway neighborhood, started and owned by the Jewish Women's League, where I took my 2 sons to pre-school.
My trusty steed, the gun-metal gray '88 Tercel I drove for 13 years.
The Matterhorn, a restaurant on 82nd Avenue my grandparents went to.
The place where I worked out for 11 years. With the older guys you'd only see next to the pool or in the steam room. And the 70's style wall graphics.
may 17, 2001
"Miss Scarlet in the Billiard Room with a wench!"
"No, Jack", I'm thinking. "That's a different game from Clue."
Sometimes I dance out into the ether and know that everything will be alright.
Stewart at sylloge.com captures moments in such a way that my jaw just drops. And John Halcyon Styn radiates positive vibes so brilliantly that stuff like this just rolls off of him as a matter of course.
may 16, 2001
Recent e-mail heading: "STOP Being an Internet Failure!"
Sometimes it's hard not to take spam personally...
may 14, 2001
Today, I say a fond farewell to a co-worker, Bob C, who was found this morning at his home, dead of a heart attack. Bob was light-hearted and flamboyant in the project meetings, unafraid to lean into a team mate's unintended double entendre with an excited exclamation and a belly laugh. I can remember more than once laughing so hard that tears came to my eyes. Companies need people like Bob to leaven the seriousness and remind us how we are often better people when we are sillier. Good bye, Bob, and thank you for the joy.
When you return home from business travel to your spouse, who has been carrying the parenting load single-handed, there is only one politically correct answer to "how was the trip?": "It sucked." The answer this time was somewhat less true than usual, but I still prefer home.
Not dead yet. I'll have something for you later today. (I've been out of town and then recently unBloggable.)
may 2, 2001
"I'm not supposed to sit in the corner quietly and pretend I'm not what I know I am."
Lance has been writing stories about his life for more than 5 years now. He has just published his last. Lance rocks.
For those of you keeping score at home, Silence and Cigar Smoke has been updated to flesh out a couple of spots and correct a few factual errors.
I don't have to remind those of you who have personal sites, but for everyone else, it can be kind of weird when family members (Hi, Mom!) become regular readers. For a personal site to have any juice whatsoever, you need a peer type of tone. Most people act a little differently with friends than they do, say, with their parents. So it's not hard to see how things might get a little uncomfortable at times.
Recently, Mom was having dinner with a family friend and I guess the site came up in conversation. The friend asked her why I have a web site -- she relayed the question to me. Agh! Me, being the temperamental artist, felt a little indignant that: 1) the friend would ask without visiting first, and 2) that Mom (who has read most of the site) didn't know the answer. I need to keep reminding myself that this Web stuff is still strange territory for some folks. ("Mom, the words in red are links!")
May you never be more active than when you are
forget what you said, but they will never forget how you
made them feel.
-Carl W. Buehner