Old Blog Post - For Chris Z.

An Oldie But a Goodie (from my old e-zine) - Fuck the Sonics!

I wrote this back in 1997 or 1998 when I used to live in a small 400 square foot basement coop apartment on lower Queen Anne. I always got lots of positive response from this (people find my outrage oh so hilarious), so I thought I'd repost it, since my old e-zine is currently collecting dust out there in cyberpsace... It's lonely - give it a visit & see some of the old band pix I used to take, some of them are currently being used as myspace profile shots. :)

FUCK THE SONICS! By: Helen H. (aka Miss Hell'N)

Let me just say this, loud and clear, once and for all. I hate organized professional sports. And do you know what I hate even more than organized professional sports? It's the fans! Yes, I hate you, you bloated, thick-necked baseball cap wearing idiot who comes into my neighborhood and clogs up all the streets with your goddam urban 4-wheel drive vehicles that you NEVER take off-road, and you come to the Key Arena, and you buy your over-priced NBA ticket, and you think you are helping the local economy. Think again, yard ape!

First off, I live one block away from the Key Arena. Yes, I know, I chose to live here. But I have a right to my piece of mind too! And I have the right to rant and rave and speak my mind as well. And hey, this is my e-zine, and you can bite me if you don't like it. I resent that I have to keep a Sonics schedule in my home and at my work, just so I know when I can and cannot drive my car. I resent your lazy couch-sitting t.v. viewing, Bud swilling ass sitting in a big-tired truck, honking at me when I am trying to drive somewhere, heaven forbid, on a "home game day." And I resent you and your buddies walking outside of my window, screaming at the top of your lungs in some bizarre future wife beater mating cry of "Woooooooooo!" at 2:30 in the morning. Just what the hell does that mean anyway? And just what kind of woman would respond to that?

Don't answer that, I already know the answer. Those tanning booth streaky-haired blondes who wear pale pink lipstick and walk around in packs, and wear blue jeans with high-healed black boots, and wear little black turtle-necks with some sort of blazer over the top. And they go to Mexico every year to work on their tans and drink heavily and get laid by other gross thick-necked men such as yourself, only it's not you, it's some surrogate beer beast. And they're really impressed with your over-priced car and your Billy Ray Cyrus haircut, and the money you spend on them. And when they're older, if you get married, they will walk around with you in matching NBA sports attire and yammer on incessantly about the bitch at work whose trying to get them, or the trip they want to take to Branson Missouri. And you will be tuning them out, thinking about how you can best suck in your enormous beer belly that has since drifted so far over your belt that you have no idea where your waist line really is.

I hate you and your friends. You always travel in hordes. And yell things at me like "I like to eat pussy!" And wonder why I shoot you a look that says "If I had an AK-47, I'd be spraying you and all these other sports-loving losers in the general vicinity full of lead!" You are a waste of precious DNA. Every breath that you take is robbing other living things of oxygen. And yet you thrive, and multiply, and prosper. This I cannot comprehend.

Why don't you wise up and realize that the industry you are supporting makes millions off of the backs of the poor and the middle class. Sports teams aren't about regional loyalty or pride. They are about huge profits and exploitation. Players don't give a rat's ass where they play, as long as they're getting paid and getting laid. Team owners don't care where the team ends up, they're just looking for the best way to line their pockets. And the city does NOT benefit financially from the presence of a major league sports team. The Seattle Opera brings in more revenue to the city than any of the organized sporting teams do.

And don't even get me started about the city subsidizing stadiums for privately owned teams. All I'm going to say is that the people voted NO on the Mariners stadium, and yet it is being constructed. And we are going to tear down the perfectly functional Kingdome and put another stadium in it's place. How many stadiums does this town need? Don't we have schools that are in such disrepair that they are not earthquake safe? Aren't our roads chock full of potholes? Haven't we needed a new library for about 15 years now? Isn't there a huge shortage of affordable and low income housing in this city? Who the hell cares? Let's build another fucking stadium! Subsidized vanity projects for the rich! Hey, I want to open a record store in this damn town, will the city build one for me and give me some tax breaks? I seriously doubt it. Organized sports are a PRIVATE business, and should be treated with no more special favors than any other industry. I know that's a radical idea to you rabid sports fans, but hey, call me crazy.

Anyhow, this is why I say, fuck the Sonics! I don't want them to win the playoffs and advance to another round of games. I am sick and tired of idiots roaming the streets of my neighborhood and throwing their money at people who are already millionaires. Wise up! Stay home! And get the hell out of my neighborhood!

The Typing Monkey: "Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go."

The Typing Monkey: "Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go."

Shocked and Stunned, RIP my dear friend Scott

This morning I awoke to the shocking news that my good friend Scott had suffered a massive stroke late last night and underwent surgery. A few hours later I heard from reliable sources that he had not survived and was gone.

I'm going to try and explain just what Scott meant to me in my life, and of course these words will be inadequate to fully convey this. I have not yet lost someone that has been this dear to me and I am still processing this, so please bear with me.

At various times in my life he was a social director, a co-writer of songs, a boyfriend, a sounding board, a rock I could lean on, but most of all a friend I could always count on for love and support.

I first met Scott in the early 1980s when I was just starting to hang out in the small Seattle punk rock scene. My friend Diane introduced me to him, and he quickly became a good friend, introducing me to people and inviting me to parties. Some of my fondest memories of this time include:

• Chicken fighting on his shoulders with Diane and Kurt Kendall from Girl Trouble at the Tropicana in Olympia
• Driving around endlessly in my 1978 white Toyota Corolla, looking for parties that Scott didn't exactly know where the address was, but was sure that the house was in this area, somewhere...
• Scott for a time always had a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps with him wherever he'd go...
• The way that he would open beer bottles with the buckle on his green leather jacket, to impress girls...
  
• Going to parties and watching Scott load up the pockets of his coat with a few extra beers, so he always had some, even after the beer ran out
• How for a time, he referred to himself as "Ride" because he was "along for the ride..."
  
• Kissing for the first time at a party where Nisqually Delta Podunk Nightmare was playing, and getting amused, knowing glances from our friends who were there (who had suspected that we were attracted to one another)
  
• Writing songs together with titles like "Satan's Constipated Again" and "Sid's Sins" which was actually a pretty good song that Doll Squad ended up playing
• Scott standing in front at every Doll Squad show yelling something like "show us your tits" or something equally classy that would make me laugh
• Watching "Headbangers Ball" late at night when we would get home after a show and alternately laughing at, and enjoying the videos on that show
• Missing a Redd Kross show at the Central Tavern because I had just gotten back from a trip, and he had missed me and so we, well, spent a lot of time together, fell asleep, and then showed up when the show was completely over
• Watching The Rutles video so many times that we could recite it by heart (Scott would understand and laugh at the title I chose for this blog)
  

Scott and I were a couple for about three years from 1986 to 1989. We were friends for about three years prior to being together, and remained friends after we broke up until the present. Throughout the years we've had times where we didn't see each other for a while, but then we'd always get back in touch and hang out when we could. We never lost the mutual respect and affection we had for each other, and could easily fall back into our familiar easiness with one another no matter how much time had lapsed.

I remember him being there for me at a time in 2001 when I was upset because a certain group of people who I thought were my friends turned on me - he was there to assure me that I was a good person and hadn't done anything to deserve that sort of treatment. He was a great friend to me when I went through a bad breakup of a five year relationship. He was also there the night that I became romantically involved with my wonderful boyfriend Rich, who he also ended up befriending. I cannot express enough how much his support has meant to me throughout the years.

Scott had this amazing ability to be a friend to everyone. Over the years, I came to appreciate his gift for putting people at ease and his ability to make everyone laugh. I would give anything to see his big smile again, and hear him laugh loudly. There are so many things that will remind me of him, and I am grateful that I had the opportunity to share so much of my life with such a warm and loving person.

Rest in peace my dear friend.