My New Old Paymaster

Trolling the thrift stores on Hawthorne can be a laborious way to spend an afternoon, but every once in a while you find something that you just can’t leave behind. That is how I came home one day with a Paymaster (original price: $278.50, my price: $40). So far I’ve only punched a few fake invoices with the highest number possible, but in the future I’d like to learn more about the “repeat” lever and what happens if you disregard the WARNING: BEWARE OF UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL label on the front.

Behold my Paymaster!
Dollars and cents, dollars and cents.

Last Friday, in Food

I tend to metabolize quickly, to the point that I consider it a defining feature of myself. As far back as I can remember, much of my waking time is spent thinking about food. Having a Danish mother reinforced the importance of food; being raised in a culture that reveres Julefrokost isn’t quite sane, or so I’ve been told. Which might explain my actions last Friday, in which I consumed enough food for a bus full of teenage boys.

cereal, tea, orange, egg sandwich, coke, pumpkin pie, gum, orange, chicken wings, spring rolls, fried wontons, pad kee mao, mocha/hazlenut milkshake, fries

I admit, it wasn’t the first time I’d overdone it in the food department. One time my uncle Henrik asked my sister and I what we wanted for dinner, and we simultaneously yelled “fried octopus rings” and “stuffed turkey”. So he made both, and threw in some bacon-wrapped pork chops for good measure, because he’s nice like that. After our menagerie of meats and their appropriate side dishes, we feasted on a solid marzipan cake until my aunt brought out a liter of ice cream, plopped it in front of me and declared “If you don’t eat it, it will melt!”. You can’t argue with that logic.

So, yes, I tend to eat a lot. If I had traversed the Oregon Trail I would have been the first left behind, huddled next to a barrel of flour and a sack of jerky. Put in perspective, last Friday’s trail of foraging doesn’t really compare to my previous gluttonous episodes, but seeing as I was out of eating shape, it sure made my gut question my mind. Would I do it again? No questions asked. Now, I think it’s time for some pie.

Canary Clay Finds His Wings

This weekend I stopped by the Stumptown Comics Fest to see my friends Graham, Stumptown Underground and of course the IPRC. As I was making my way through the participants I came across Atrox Comics and Beastlies, who make comics using 3D sculpted figures of the monstrously cute kind.

I bought one of the smallest figurines, dubbed him Canary Clay, and promptly took him on a walk around his new neighborhood.

Canary Clay surveys his new neighborhood.
Canary Clay surveys his new 'hood in appropriate protective tree-climbing headwear.
Canary Clay sits on the edge of my neighbor's bird bath.
The neighbor's bird bath got some use.
Canary Clay converses with his new friend, Rhonda the Flamingo.
Canary Clay makes a new friend, Rhonda the Flamingo. He invited her back to the bird bath but she would have none of it.
Canary Clay rests in some foliage and wonders how Mini Cooper got ahold of his proprietary color.
Canary Clay rests in some foliage and wonders how Mini Cooper got a hold of his proprietary color.