do you know who i miss? the pants.

pictured here without any.

if you add up all the good moments i had with the pants and subtract all the not so good moments, you’d have a negative number.

but she had a few things going for her that i really admire.

lets start with the karaoke.

ive known quite a few people who are really into karaoke, but that girl’d karaoke to pretty much anything anywhere

any time.

once we went karaoking at a club that once pulled the plug on a band named nirvana. she was so drunk she later puked on the way home. but like how jim nahbors never stutters when he sings, the pants didnt slur while she was drunkaraoking.

which brings us to her dancing.

damn natural. would dance to anything. anywhere.

even at her most annoying someone would turn on the radio and shed get to dancing. not really in a sexy way, more like a happy way. didnt matter if the room was filled mostly with dudes who ended up just watching, shed dance and smile and itd make you think about the song better.

but the reason i miss her is because she was a blogger at the very top of the top percentile.

i dont know why she stopped, what shes up to, what her deal is, or why the caged bird doesnt sing, but the blogosphere and in turn, the world, is missing out on something very special.

which when in one of her blog posts,

was never annoying.

not once.

photo of the pants (l) and big tanky (r) on 6/2006

Chris C. asks:

I am moving to Chile for this Woman [Etienne]. Tony do you know her? Why do I fall in love so easily? I would love to corresponde with her.

dear Chris,

yes I do know Etienne. not know know, but for a while she was one of my favorite bloggers. and no not just because shes adorable and hates clothes.

i loved etienne because she was creative and fun and funny, and took great pics of canaduh, and hung out with interesting people and had aspirations of ruling the world.

because you know that nothing in here is true, let me tell you the Story of E. once upon a time etienne realized that even though she was ridiculously attractive in a cafe-au-lait-Lolita way, in Canada she was just another hot babe because if we have established anything on the busblog it is: there are no fugly women in Canada.

added to that a family tragedy and etienne said eff this im outta here. she moved to Thailand. then she bopped over to Spain. then she went back to Asia. she came back to Canada for holidays but then explored South America. breaking hearts all around the globe, including the heart of yours truly when she took down her eponymous blogspot.

when i first became aware that etienne was a real person and not just a beautiful illusion set up to trick me into moving to Toronto i messaged her on MSN and asked her if she had a web cam. she did! i was convinced that when she got on cam the truth would be revealed, that there was this giant sized man who had a cute cousin who he took photographs of and pretended was this wild child.

“is that really you etienne?” i typed while watching her laugh on the chat window.

“of course it is. i should be asking you the same thing. am i really chatting with THE tony pierce?” she asked.

soon we both realized that the only way we could both be sure that we were each other was to get naked in the chat and simultaneously talk dirty on the telephone.

unfortunately she said, oh wait, how about first we pull out our drivers licenses and press them close to the camera.

best laid plans, my man. anyway, add smart to her list of attributes. or at least “not dumb”.

but id add smart because somehow she has figured out how to avoid the terrible climate of Americas Hat and has lived in what appears to be utter joy along some of the most tropical beaches around the world without the slightest need to blog any of it for our prying eyes.

before she left north america she did party with the likes of The Pants, Raymi, and i think Bunny McIntosh. all of them gave her rave reviews and said that men melted in her wake.

some say shes the root cause of global warming. sorry Climate Change.

how can you contact her?

i do it by blogging.

dear the pants

i didnt not fuck you this summer because i didnt like you but because i do like you.

i didnt do stuff for you because i needed it, but because we all need you.

if anyone believes what youre writing in your blog right now, its me. fellow libra. fellow freakr. fellow lostboy. which isnt to say that youre not unique. youre super unique.

everywhere i go people ask me what youre really like and i always say the same thing: brilliant.

all i can tell you is that sometimes in the winter it sometimes feels like it will never get warm again.

but it aways does.

if you hang in there.

which i hope you do.

i say put the boys with the booze and junk on hold for a season. go home. and ride out this storm and

then tell yr brothers and sisters what youve learned.

to me Tacoma looks like a college town

the pants in its funkiness and cheap housing and coffeeshops advertising socialist clubs and five record stores on one block and cats hiding underneath porches and dueling selfserve pet washing facilities and sweet college girls with replacements cds in their bookshelves,

but the kids tell me that Tacoma isn’t a college town its just super diverse, home of more African Americans than any other city in Washington and as I type to you from the jack in the box on 6th street I count one two three sistas and one two white girls, so maybe the census is correct.

last night I was taken to karaoke at Bill’s teapot or something like that. it’s a teapot looking place on the edge of town nestled in the industrial area usually home to strip clubs and meth labs, and maybe those establishments were there too but all I know was I was in the only place I would probably ever karaoke.

the stage was up high and legend has it that when Nirvana played there the owner threw kurdt off the stage because of the horrible music. which is ironic because im not sure if youre familiar with most people who sing karaoke, but Tacoma, at least last night, was not the home of the most talented upncomers.

except for my date, miss jana pants, who wore a short black skirt, festive red tights, and a homemade stenciled tshirt that said something about capitalists do it better or something.

you could write anywhere you wanted on the seats or the tables or the walls or the floor and as per usual I scribbled isla vista 93117 because that’s how you should represent.

pretty much everyone sang all the wrong songs except for ms pants, who started with London Calling, and later serenaded us with Rebel Rebel and I Want You To Want Me.

the host of the evening was a long haired dude who sat on a chair and advised the sparse crowd that if we didn’t see the song we wanted in the huge three ring binder that we should write it down anyways cuz he probably had it and knew exactly where it was.

then he busted with the 80s classic novelty hit Pac-Man Fever, which I sang along with because im a thousand years old and know everything.

jana and I drank pitchers of flat tire ale and sneaked sips of rum from her flask and she convinced me to take the stage which I did and entertained the crowd with a stirring version of eric cartman’s come sail away. I don’t think id ever karoked before and I hope never to do it again, but I was happy while I was there because they had it set up where you could barely hear yourself. thank God.

this morning we ate at a local breakfast place where I supped on country biscuits and gravy with bacon and eggs and now im prepared to snap some photos for you of this kickass village in the shadows of mt rainier and then speed through seattle on my way to vancity.

there were questions of a Buzznet meetup in Vancouver and last night I was up for it but I drank so much last night I might just soak in the hottub tonight and visit with one or two people and call it a night. I love the road but drinking without dinner is hard on a man who’s pushing 113.

but before I leave seattle I hope to take a peek at kurt kobain’s final home which I believe was in Lake Washington, and as soon as I get some free wi-fi I will see how many seconds the interweb delivers me the address.

although I love fish, I think I will pass on the famous fish market, and even though I love guitars and jimi Hendrix my inclination is to avoid the guitar statue and the rock museum. however if the real world house was open to the public I would definitely pass by the home where the black dude bitch slapped the chick with lyme disease.

that’s how sick I am.

I heart you all.