September 18th, 2008

Me 1

I feel profoundly uninteresting right now.

Argh! Nothing to write about! Apparently, for the moment, I have nothing interesting to say.

No reporting of news until there's news to report? My life AIN'T suited to a 24-hour channel. My own personal Truman Show would've been cancelled long ago, though maybe revived when I was dating Alicia.

Okay, Chris, work through thoughts and things, see if something interesting comes up:

Treated myself last night to the silliness of The Jerk. (Not to mention the cuteness of Bernadette Peters, and I wasn't the only one so treated.) My quote of the night was "Did that kid recognize the brilliance of that T-shirt?" Fans of the film know what I'm talking about.

...hmm, okay, still nothing interesting. Hey, people I read! Say something interesting! (Yes, you can even respond to this post with just "Something interesting.")
Good Omens

Way to win friends and influence people, Walsh.

I'll tell you why later, but I'll be writing a short bio of myself. And I just had to tell myself not to quote from Tom Waits's "What's He Building?":

What's he building in there?
What the hell is he building in there?
He has subscriptions to those magazines... He never waves when he goes by
He's hiding something from the rest of us... He's all to himself... I think I know why...
He took down the tire swing from the pepper tree
He has no children of his own, you see
He has no dog and he has no friends and his lawn is dying... and what about all those packages he sends?
What's he building in there?
With that hook light on the stairs
What's he building in there?
I'll tell you one thing: He's not building a playhouse for the children
What's he building in there?

Now what's that sound from under the door?
He's pounding nails into a hardwood floor... and I swear to god I heard someone moaning low...
And I keep seeing the blue light of a T.V. show...
He has a router And a table saw... and you
Won't believe what Mr. Sticha saw
There's poison underneath the sink, of course... but there's also enough formaldehyde to choke a horse...
What's he building in there? What the hell is he building in there?
I heard he has an ex-wife in some place called Mayors Income, Tennessee
And he used to have a consulting business in Indonesia...
But what is he building in there?
What the hell is building in there?

He has no friends, but he gets a lot of mail
I'll bet he spent a little time in jail...
I heard he was up on the roof last night
Signaling with a flashlight
And what's that tune he's always whistling...
What's he building in there?
What's he building in there?

We have a right to know...
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    Soundgarden, "Fell On Black Days"
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Whale fluke

Me, Bio-ized

Following up my previous post, I'll soon be writing pieces for a smartassed Portland-based website, and I needed a short bio for it. Here's my current draft (sure to be revised, but I wanted to share):
Christopher Walsh made Portland his home after a Navy Brat childhood, a U of O stint, and three years as a writer-reporter in Northeast Oregon’s semi-desert. He’s worked a bunch of jobs and written not enough words about music, movies, and whether Rob Zombie is really Denis Leary in a fright wig. He may sometimes swear in these pieces, but feels profanity is really ****ing overrated. Stalkers may follow his life at, where he sounds off with personal stuff, geeky references and media musings.
Later Edit:There, that's the version (without the struck-out portion) that I'll send.