Was a moment in college when I had friends who were reaching for sophistication, and I had it in my mind that I could be sophisticated too. Tea was a popular thing at the cafeteria table. So I went out and bought an electric tea kettle and a box of tea bags, just in case one of them wanted to hang out in my dorm lobby with me while we drank tea.
(Seriously, I have no idea where these ideas come from, other than brute naivete.)
Thing is, I never actually made tea in my own room. I never brewed a cup, never guessed at why we drink tea. I never learned how to do it right, how to make good tea, using up tea bags in the pursuit of excellence and sophistry. I didn’t want to waste rare money and use up supply in order to get better. I wanted it to be on the ready just in case. So it just sat in a box, waiting. Waiting for me to call someone over for tea. Tea that most certainly would have been less than passable.
But I never called anyone.
That bundle of facts still fucks me up.
We get better by using our tools in the pursuit of excellence. We learn nuance, choices, options, tweaks, effects. We come to understand the properties of our medium. Therein is the sophistication. It’s not the act of presenting and providing; it’s the process of learning preferences.
I was a bobblehead. I am a bobblehead still, and will continue to be a bobblehead. My sophistication comes now in the form of knowing my nature by divining what had been in front of me the whole time while I was trying too hard.
Part of a series from the travelog of my trip to Seattle in October 2022. This is a reflection written a few days after the trip.
A cool thing about Seattle is how they treat pedestrians. Just like Portland, drivers will slam their brakes and wait patiently for people to walk across. That’s not to say you should blaze across every intersection; even on the non-signalized intersections, it’s smart to look before crossing. I assume that drivers are also pedestrians when they’re not behind the wheel. So they know. That’s nice.
Not so many bikes, oddly. Too many hills and mountains. More electric scooters. I’d need one if I lived there. More people owning their own electric kick scooters. Nice. Even the rental Lime scooters are beefier than ours — bigger motors, removable battery packs. Smart. These are geofenced though, so you can’t ride them through parks. Found that out.
But walking without fear from drivers is nice. Super nice. Austin proves we are still in Texas. The driver culture here blames pedestrians for not walking correctly. It only takes the stroke of a legislator’s pen to fix this.
Until then, I long for the safety of the Pacific Northwest.
Despite being a bigger city than Austin, and significantly more diverse, from what I saw, the people are just as tired, but more hopeful, and definitely more willing to keep to themselves when out in public. I walked past heated arguments, shady deals, sketchy people just chillin’, people crying, lovers swooning, whatever, and the spirit there is, “eh, that’s not my problem.” And, to be honest, I kinda like that.
I came from small towns where anybody at any time could be the target of fuckwith for absolutely no reason other than just existing. Happened to me plenty. Big cities, everybody’s too busy getting there to bother. There’s a yarn about NYC being the city where you can go walk down a crowded street just to be alone. That’s a big-city adaptation, or else people will go insane.
People in Seattle are diverse, scattered, collected into buses, jostled together, and at the end of the day, they’re just trying to get to where they’re going. Once they get there, they’re chatty, friendly, and interesting. It’s a hard-soft balance.
He is no man who returns from a journey unchanged. I’m still overwhelmed. Still silent. Still processing. This is a good break from my habits. I need them to stay broken. Open up to other places to be, other modes, other thoughts. After a week of this fresh air, I need more freshness.
Part of a series from the travelog of my trip to Seattle in October 2022.
Up and packed. Checked out. Eating at Oddfellows again. Funny how quickly default places set in. The staff here is beautiful, and the food is good. So very good.
Off to waste time until 2pm, when I’ll board the #1 train to SEATAC for 6pm boarding. Gotta ship my new pocket knives by UPS. Thanks, TSA.
UPS guy doesn’t understand how UPS computers work. Monkey-fucked it enough to ship my stuff to my home by Friday [it arrived Monday, ed]. $19 to ship $35 of steel; kinda negates the discount I got at the sporting goods store. Oh well. Souvenirs.
That woman at Oddfellows. Majestic. Still sticks in my mind. Even in a service job, she had poise and class. Guess that’s what Oddfellows is about. She lit up when I thanked her and the staff for letting me hang out for a few mornings throughout the week, and that I’m flying back to Austin. People treat you different if you look homeless. They breathe a sigh of relief when they realize you’re traveling on vacation. No wonder men shave and wear bright colors in big cities — it’s to distance themselves from vagabonds. Maybe I should do the same — Austin doesn’t suffer from that so much; beards are fashion here.
Fuckin’ Austin. Fuckin’ Seattle.
Capital Hill Farmer’s Market“andimgonnamisseverybody” Christopher Paul Jordan (2021)
Bummed around the Cap Hill Farmer’s Market for a bit, scrolling until the call of nature started ringing. Doubled back to the Oddfellows building because I bothered to write down the day’s bathroom access code. Best dump of the weekend.
“Ribbon of Light, Reveries” Horatio Hung-Yan Law (2021)
Back to Farmer’s Market. Checked out Cal Anderson for a bit, saw some public art. Got to play a favorite game “Name That Log: Man or Dog”.
Leaned on a wall and scrolled until 2pm, then downstairs to the #1 platform — took the back way this time, no escalators – ugh. More walking. Hips & knees & ankles & heels hurt. Got on the train and dropped my baggage in the seat. Ahh.
South Seattle is a dragged-down dump. Obviously some policy decisions were made here. Nuggets of pyrite scattered amongst burnt trash piles, empty lots, closed shops, tagged warehouses. Damp valley streets. Clapboard box houses. Felt like Arkansas. Othello was the worst of it. Gets even more industrial south of there. The two consecutive airport stops — Tukwilla and SEATAC — were confusing. Went by the signs, my memory of the stop, and the fact that so many people were getting off the train.
Slogged solo across the skybridges this time. Found the ticket kiosk. Printed ticket, Gate D4. TSA lines were fucked. Line 5, closest to Concourse D, was sending everyone to Line 2, way up by Concourse A. So much walking. Gave me time to reapportion my bag contents. 12 minute line became 24 just after I queued. Buh. And some Typhoid Matt was croup coughing open-mouthed a few people ahead of me in line while his girlfriend looked on in sympathy. Double-mask time. Ugh. TSA selected my carry-on for secondary screening. Another Ugh. Talk about scared. Some dude nearby was getting publicly groped because he apparently had a weapon in his bag. Damn, dude. Damn.
Walked all the way back to Concourse D. Found my gate, found food, ate, and waited.
Flight back, the milkfed farmboy next to me in seat E had no knowledge of how much space he occupied, kept bumping and nudging me. Left-handed. Dominated the armrest. Some people. Was doing his calculus homework — smart people are just physically dumb sometimes.
Hard landing. Down safe. Quick taxi to skybridge, hurriedly did my day’s Duolingo lesson before midnight while waiting to deplane (phone jumped ahead 2 timezones when I turned off airplane mode), long walk from gate 2 to exit at 22. Back to parking bus, D-4-25. Car undisturbed and still functional. Started, paid $90 to exit parking, then toll road.
I’m home.
Unpacked, put house together, had a drink, and chilled.
Part of a series from the travelog of my trip to Seattle in October 2022.
Got up after good sleep, cleaned up, headed out to do my own things for the day until evening plans could be made.
Mailed off postcards. Took the train down to Pioneer Square to do the Seattle Underground Tour. Got in 3 minutes late, joined the tour. The tour guide asked where I’m from, I said Austin, he heard Boston, and started spouting Boston facts. Ah, good times. I corrected him later and tipped him for the trouble.
Learned facts: The term “skid row” was invented here, in Seattle. The United Parcel Service also started here (shipping laudanum, alcohol, and opium, ssshh). And Seattle is the only capital city in the US named after a native chief. Chief Seattle also had an apparent symbiosis with the white man, because they had a ship with cannons, and he warned us when warring tribes were about to attack (or so says the writers of white history). Truth is more complicated.
The city’s merchants made so much money by selling equipment to prospectors during the gold rush — Canada had a “one ton rule” where prospectors had to prove they had a year of supplies before crossing the border. Guess where the last outpost to buy goods was?
Sidewalk above, street on top of infill behind retaining wall
The underground floors were made after the great Seattle fire, but were built with brick before the city could raise the town high enough above sea level. Tides and sewage were problems. The infill under the streets is mud from uphill, plus burned buildings, ship ballast, and other stuff.
Just like Jane said, Pioneer Square is sketchy. Old town center. So the courthouse and all the civil services are there. Denny Avenue was originally Skid Road, where logs were slid down from First Hill on oil and whale fat to settle at the shoreline, waiting for high tide to float them away for sale. But with all the underground stores losing their classiness and darkly turning into brothels, bars, opium dens, casinos, the down-and-out who hung out here were named after the street, which became known as “skid row”. The more you know.
Anyway, Pioneer. It’s hard to tell the difference between a man shouting, voice echoing off the buildings, and an actual threat. But it’s a learnable skill. Just keep your distance and be aware.
Fuckin’ Seattle.
After the tour, I walked down to the waterfront and took in the tourism, sights, sounds, The Sound, the wharves, birds, gulls, Ferris wheel, boats, walking. So much walking. South to North, ended at the Olympic Sculpture Garden, at a pocket beach. Enjoyed some silence while sitting on a log. Finally at sea level.
I left Willie’s marble in the crook of a builder, plain view. Maybe someone will find it. Maybe the tide will knock it off into the space between boulders. Leave it to chance. Better than chucking it into the sound — it’s inanimate glass, but I picture suffocation. Chance is better. I’m weird.
Dog tired, I scooted back south and grabbed some fish and chips at Iver’s. Seagulls are loud when they know you have food.
Enjoyed my lunch, then walked back inland and uphill. Took transit back to 15th and John. Met up with Joe.
We walked to coffee, then to drinks and dinner back at Thai Bites, talked with Ian the Bartender, who made us an experimental Halloween-themed drink. Watched baseball. Walked down to Broadway and around the hood to gaggle at the wildlife. Halloween weekend in the gayborhood and college district. So wild. Saw some crazy shit.
