...of living in the great Pacific Northwest: we got to see Dan Bejar actually perform with New Pornographers. I've been happy to watch Kurt Dahle sing the Dan songs while he wails away on his drum set, in fact, he's pretty amazing. But I always wanted to hear Bejar sing his own songs, and he's never toured with the group (or at least he never played at the Austin shows, and we saw all of them, because I am a dork devoted fan). So. They did old and new songs of his, maybe five or six? He kind of flitted onto the stage every so often, sang, and then disappeared backstage to have another drink or something. Very divalike. And so now I feel inspired to pursue my dream of driving up to Vancouver to see a Destroyer show. Who wants to come along?
The show was fun, they're good live, and it was better than when we saw them last summer. But once again, the Seattle show crowd is simply foreign to me. They're so restrained! Even when people were really excited about a song (like, you know, something great off the very first album played as an encore), the most frenetic it got was a little hopping in place. Still it was a nice time, and the company couldn't have been better.
Across the street from our house there's a big, square reservoir encircled by a fence. Last week we noticed that the water level was dropping: it seems it's time for its annual cleaning. So today, finally, men with trucks are pottering around in the cold damp, attaching hoses to compressors, I presume to get ready to pressure blast the walls. I have a feeling it's going to be a noisy few weeks while they get this taken care of.
And an ugly few weeks, too. With no water in it, the reservoir looks sort of like a low football stadium draped in plastic, and it's the same grey color as the sky today. When it's sunny, it's really nice to have the water across the street, all sparkly and constantly moving. But when it's grey like this it just looks like a big murky mess. I suppose that's how it'll be all winter long, so I'd better get used to a somewhat dreary view from this window. It'll help me get more work done, right? Plus, most of the time it'll be dark, anyway. Sigh.
It finally rained today, only a little bit, but possibly enough that the scorched earth that is our yard might be able to relax a little. When I went out to see if anything still needed to be watered, I found a whole army of snails all over the front flower bed, including a bunch of wee baby snails with their wee baby houses. I played snail harvest and ended up with about twenty of the buggers in my watering cup. And then, because I have this thing about killing stuff that's any bigger than a gnat, I walked the snails down to the park and dumped them under some bushes.
This is the second time this summer I've done this, and I'm starting to wonder how many more of them are hiding under that layer of pine needles and rose petals. I guess I'll find out the next time it rains.
Other people conduct extensive research on local food culture for a living.
(Well, at least this makes me glad to be in a 'real' city, even if I'm currently living pretty darn far away from the strip in question.)
EDIT: Having reread this, I'm not sure if I was clear. It's not all about unlimited grazing, obviously; it's making quality judgments, writing for a deadline, and braving criticism. Hard work, and in this case it's work that might help out some small businesses. Still, I'm totally envious of the eating part.
From this week's Weekly:
[W]hen I look at the Pride marchers today, if I see anything more than a sort of multicolored St. Patrick's Day celebration, I see people celebrating being, on average, the most privileged people on planet Earth, free to do exactly as they please, absolved even of the implied injunction on heterosexuals to reproduce, to foster their offspring, to devote the best years of their lives and much of their income to providing for the next generation. I'm not saying that's not cause for celebration. I enjoy the same privileges as they. What I don't understand is why we call it "Pride," and why the hets are willing to let us disrupt traffic with our boasting.
(Emphasis mine, because I liked that last line.) While this passage is a little, well, rhetorically indulgent, the overall message sticks: The End of Pride
I don’t know who’s still reading this, but if it’s you, here’s a brief update. We moved to Seattle, where the Other got a job. It’s nice here. For the past month (two for Andrew), we’ve been living in Belltown. That’s the urban heart of the city, more or less. You know, lofts, restaurants and bars that change hands every month or so but no place to do grocery shopping. We’re going crazy because of the noise, but the apartment is neat: we can see Elliott Bay from the balcony, and there’s a roof deck from which you can watch the Olympics. Does one “watch” mountains? Whatever. Anyway it’s very nice. Just loud. Trucks and breaks and screaming drunk people, like living on Sixth Street, and did I mention the freight and commuter trains?
Next weekend we’re moving into the house we’re renting, which is far up north, still in Seattle but way out of town. It’s a lot quieter there, I get a yard and plants and a porch, and on clear days we can see the Olympics from the front steps. That’s cool.
In spite of the noise and the scary business of the night that happens on my street, everything else around here has been lovely. Especially the weather: it rains in the morning, sort of until lunchtime, and then it gets beautifully sunny in the afternoon and evening. My run is mostly through a park right next to the Bay, and there are dogroses (Hagebutten) all along the way. When you inhale it smells like fish and roses, just like an der Jade.* This morning the sky was black with rain, but didn’t really let go until I was on my way home. The climate, the light, and the plants remind me so much of Wilhelmshaven I find I’m almost eager for the dark, wet winter to get here. No I’m not, that was a lie. But not entirely: after ten years of Texas I’m ready for real seasons and what they bring with them. Even if it doesn’t really snow here, either.
*In Wilhelmshaven, on the northwest coast of Germany, where I lived in high school.