baroqueMorales

I woke up one morning and realized I had a really good idea for a book I could write. I also realized that my ability to organize it were beyond my current technical abilities and experience. I've just been sort of daydreaming about it for the past week or so, mulling it over trying to get a grip on the scope and the why and the what of it. I mentioned the idea to a couple of good friends, one of which was Clark Humphrey. I said "I've got this idea, and it's a good one, but I don't really have the technical expertise to do it yet and maybe I should just wait for someone else to do it." He said "Oh no, don't do that, don't wait for someone else to do it first." I think the gist of it was that some people will never think of an idea, or if they do they wouldn't have the energy to pursue the project. In the meantime, as I think about how to pursue that, I've volunteered my research/editorial assistance to Clark, who has yet another, more

Grey's website is finally up and running. you are into hair-raising metal, you must see it to believe it. I saw my first metal show at the Comet May 13 and was totally blown away. I got a little lost and disoriented listening to Suzanne's vocals. Yeah, it was singing , but if I closed my eyes, I thought I was watching a horror movie, during the hectic parts, where the background music freaks you out and gets your heart racing. I couldn't have been more proud. More detail at this site www.destroyseattle.com I just found:

June 11th, of Evergreen alum and Kaos jazz buff Fred Kellog invited me to our annual live jazz event. All I knew was that I was invited to the "Free Jazz Festival." I thought it would be fun to get dressed up, bring a girlfriend and go yak it up with a bunch of lively jazz buffs. We went to a tiny art venue called Gallery 1412 , off of 18th and Union, in the same obscure row of a 2-chair barbarshop and a "christian youth ministry." Located at: Gallery 1412 1412 18th Ave Seattle, WA 206.322.1533. My preconcieved idea on this one was way off. My girlfriend Beth and I drove over there, puzzled to find a tiny shop-space with a paper sign sort of haphazardly pasted over another sign. It looked like it was made out of that reverse side of a brown, paper grocery store bag. There was a gated door that was locked, the windows where covered. There was one other guy standing there waiting to get it. It was a cold, windy night, and we were underdressed. Finally, someone opened