a little bit like home

So, it snowed in Seattle last night. And the Packers were in town and played a decent game in the snow against the Squawks. I made minestrone and pork chops for the Liberty House crowd, and we drank a lot of beer and wine. It might have been a scene from 209 House circa 2001, except the food wouldn't have been as good, the wine would have been boxed, and the beer would have been Leinenkugel's. Takes a bit of the sting out of Seattle breaking the single month precipitation record last week.

In other good news, I got a job in beautiful downtown Seattle.

two bells

The two cooks are speaking only Spanish, and laughing with each other quite a bit. I catch a few words here and there, some English, some Spanish, but still don't know what's so funny. I haven't heard the words "pinche," "pendejo," or "gringo," so I assume they aren't laughing at me, though I might be wrong. I take a drink of my beer and look over the cook standing nearest to me.

He's a rotund man of about forty wearing a pair of denim Carhart overalls and a salt and pepper fu-manchu beard. His eyes smile when he laughs, and even though I have no idea what he's laughing about, I can't help but laugh along with him. Some folks are just infectious by nature. I think he knows I don't know what he's saying, but I think he enjoys my reactions.

A tall, skinny woman with mousy brown hair and waxy skin walks into the bar and hangs her camelhair coat on a hook by the door. The bartender mutters something to her that I don't quite catch, and she immediately begins talking about the coat. Loudly and incessantly. Louder and more incessantly than is necessary for a boring, brown coat I'd already seen on ten women on my walk from Pike back to Bell. And I'm not even sure that's what the bartender asked her about.

After the momentary and annoying distraction, I turn my attention back to my delicious, medium rare burger, but catch the eye of the rotund cook before I do.

"No body, No brains," is all he says to me.

That's right, I'm no gringo.

ten observations on the city of seattle (in relation to the hamlet of minneapolis)

Because when you can't write, make lists!

1) It's very pretty.

2) Lots of people are committing crimes, dying, or on fire, because the first responders in this city drive around with their sirens on constantly. Though I admittedly live right by the firehouse in Belltown, this applies to every part of the city I've been in. I lived on the busiest part of Lyndale in Minneapolis for almost two years and I've heard more sirens in only a month here in Seattle. Seriously.

3) I'm rarely more than walking distance from a beer (though I might walk farther for a beer than most).

4) There is a beautiful woman at every bus stop.*

5) The busses are weird. Try riding in the joint between the front and rear sections and you'll know what I mean.

6) For every Northeast in Minneapolis, there are something like 9 Northeasts in Seattle. I think there might be two or three Uptowns, as well. There's also one Loring Park. It's called the City of Seattle.

7) Dan Savage lives here. That's cool.

8) John Hinderaker doesn't. That's cooler.

9) I'm still largely unemployed.

10) I'm growing quite fond of this place.

*There is some disagreement as to the cause of this phenomenon. John says it's because the women are prettier. The Kaiser says it's because there aren't as many of the crispy-fried fake blondes with big Lut'eran tits around here. I have to disagree with both (Minneapolis is a very pretty city, and I never spent much time around the cripsy-fried Lut'eran broads). It's simply because the women here dress better. Discretion is the better part of fashion, after all.

from the list of things i wish i'd written

"Fisherman's Blues"
by The Waterboys

I wish I was a fisherman
Tumbling on the seas
Far away from dry land
And its bitter memories
Casting out my sweet line
With abandonment and love
No ceiling bearing down on me
Except the starry sky above
With light in my head
You in my arms

I wish I was the brakeman
On a hurtling fevered train
Crashing a-headlong into the heartland
Like a cannon in the rain
With the beating of the sleepers
And the burning of the coal
Counting the towns flashing by
In a night that's full of soul
With light in my head
You in my arms

Well I know I will be loosened
From bonds that hold me fast
That the chains all hung around me
Will fall away at last
And on that fine and fateful day
I will take me in my hands
I will ride on the train
I will be the fisherman
With light in my head
You in my arms