Diary to Doc: Lost in Translation

Every six months or so, I’ll go back through ALL of my journals since June 2012 (when my journalling really started getting good.) Besides stumbling upon lost memories and fun quotes, lots of writer silliness ensues. Enjoy.

This is what happens when you’re not looking at what you’re typing, and your fingers get off home row:

“od hia Lem ro ewaxuw m” = “of his alarm to rescue him”

“Snf you vrtysinl” = “And you certainly”

When I’m typing quickly, the phrase “on the” ALWAYS gets typed “ont he”

“at the” becomes “ath t”

“to be” becomes “tobe”

“From” becomes”fmor”

I just looked at a sentence written in my journal and then attempted to paste it into a document. Like, I glanced at it in my PHYSICAL journal and attempted to copy&paste it into my computer with my eyes.

There are so many pieces of writing in my journals that I want to eventually expand on; so many sections that need to be typed and editing and made into something. But right now, I’m on a specific mission, so I’m using sticky notes to mark the pages I’ll come back to, especially the examples of mania for my main blog on mental health (among other things.)

And so ends nine hours of furious typing, resulting in 18 thousand words. And the math-inclined can tell us that’s 2000 words per hour. It was basically a marathon of typing, and my hands are still recovering.

Maybe next time I’ll spread out the journal rereads over several days…


City Streets: Selfies with Steve

I was on my way into a Bartell Drugs when he caught my eye.

“Hey sweetheart, you dropped something!”

I patted the bags strewn/flung across my back. I was pretty sure there was no way I’d dropped anything.

After the brief pause, he delivered the punchline: “Your smile!”

I smile of course, and then gesture towards the store. “Can I get you anything?”

“Uhhmmmm,” he considers, “An egg salad sandwich?”

Steve and Me on the windy streets of Seattle

Steve and me on the windy streets of Seattle

When I come back out, he thanks me for the egg salad sandwich.

“How are you today?”

“Oh, not too bad,” he replies. “But all these people! They walk around so miserable!”

“It’s true, and it’s not even raining today!”

“People gotta have something to smile about.”

Before I leave, he sticks out his hand and introduces himself.

“I’m Steve.”

“I’m Chloe, it was nice to meet you.”

“Keep smilin’. Oh, and bless you!”


Storytime: Weslandia

Upon re-reading this book after graduating from the uber-liberal-and-socially-aware Evergreen State College, a small part of me started wondering if this book romanticizes the “native” way of living; if this book perpetuates the White Man Returns to Nature trope that plagues our movies, books, and shows. But, for the sake of childhood, I decided to ignore these feelings and just enjoy the book as I did when I was young.

Right, Pooh Bear? Let's just stay in childhood forever.

Right, Pooh Bear? Let’s just stay in childhood forever.

Weslandia follows a young boy, an outcast, who is teased at school and doesn’t fit in. One summer, he decides to start a project that ends up blossoming into his own world.

It’s a story that encourages independence and initiative, as Wesley takes charge of his life and makes it into something he can enjoy. It’s like a blanket fort: his curiosity and imagination create a space all his own, a place where he is safe and happy, untouched by the outside world. He creates his own reality.

Industrious little fella.

Industrious little fella.

And this is how Wesley finds friends, by first fully finding himself, and living without compromise.


I’d just arrived in Anaheim via train, coming from Costa Mesa where we drank sake and sat in the garden and talked about spirituality.

Turn up the volume and turn on the lights: in Anaheim I was visiting theater friends who all work at Disneyland. Here we crowded into a plastic booth at Del Taco with our burritos on greasy paper in front of us. Here, three crude and charismatic guys folded their long limbs around the table, laughing loudly as they brainstormed names for their softball team. Cly’s Taurus, Clyde’s Tortoise (sound them out…) or maybe Matt’s Ass, but written as Matt Sass, to avoid censorship.

Later that night, we congregated in the cramped hallway of their Stanton apartment, and they immersed themselves in the process of creating a medley of “Timber” by Pitbull ft Ke$ha and “Shiver My Timbers” from the movie Muppet Treasure Island. Curtis played the harmonica for “Timber.” Meanwhile, Matt was in his room learning the sax part of “Baker Street.” It’s hard to pick one favorite moment from the night, but Matt blasting out that solo in the hallway is a serious contender. (I can’t remember if he was wearing his Doctor Who pajamas at that point, but let’s just imagine that he was.)

Later I joined Megan in the kitchen as Hank and Curtis recorded Pitbull’s part of the song. We had to stifle laughs when Curtis said the lines,”…like Miley Cyrus, clothes off, twerkin’ in their bras and thonngggs. Face down, booty up…” Considering that Curtis and I grew up in the church together, it was hard to take his rap seriously, but they kept at it until two or three am. And that’s a wild Monday night with actor folk. One of these days they’ll finish the medley, and I’ll be able to link you to it.