I didn't take a single picture today, so I thought I'd put in something inspirational instead.
Today’s the first day that’s not picture perfect. Its cloudy and in the mid 50s. So rather than hiking near Mount Baker, where I wouldn’t see anything, I opt instead for just going to Seattle. Its one of those mornings where it’ll rain a bit, then stop, then rain, and stop. It won’t rain and it won’t not rain. What Willie Nelson would call a Bloody Mary Morning. Just a piece of luck that KIXI is having a Mel Torme birthday tribute, so I headed straight down I-5 in the fog, listening to the Velvet Fog. How did it ever come to this?
But like Providence, as soon as I get to Seattle its cleared up and sunny. I first headed over to the university ticket office and got my ticket for the upcoming Washington-Ohio State game. Then I headed over to the yuppie center for lunch. The sandwich place is an interesting mix of UW students, Sprockets rejects, trophy housewives, and businessmen. Funny how this place is less than two hours away physically, but worlds away socially from Concrete. For example, the cashier guy calling out names for finished orders called out the name “Aphrodite.” I bet if you roll up on someone in Concrete and introduce yourself as Aphrodite, I do believe you’re getting your ass kicked. Likewise, if you go to the Apple Market with bleached blonde hair cut in sidewall style, with a man purse and black ensemble, your butt has a date with someone’s foot.
After checking in at yet another highly over-priced hotel, I headed back to the University district and the Burke-Gilman trail for a five mile run. Even though it should have been a horrendous run (in the car all day, no real lunch), it turns out to be one of the best runs ever. Nothing hurt, I didn’t have any fatigue, and probably could have gone a lot longer. Three possibilities come to mind: (1) I’ve lost some weight; (2) the hiking has bolstered my stamina; or (3) Concrete is some sort of alien colony with a Cocoon-like reverse aging effect on anyone staying there. Although #3 sounds like the most likely explanation, I reluctantly have to dismiss it because even if I did experience some sort of reverse aging, I never enjoyed running even in my 20s so I still would have hated it.
I drove back over the Montlake Avenue bridge into the Capitol Hill area, cleverly avoiding the rush hour I-5 traffic. Capitol Hill reminds me a great deal of the Montrose, at least the Montrose in the 70s and 80s, before the chain stores and developers moved in. Plenty of local merchants, the Seattle Community College, and what appears to be a gay/lesbian community.
The local news reported that someone around here was diagnosed with the plague. That would be the bubonic plague, a/k/a the Black Death. Now I’m no scientist, but I thought the plague was pretty well eradicated, like smallpox or New Deal liberalism. Still, if I have to die of a deadly disease, I’d want it to be something cool like the plague. Anyone can have a heart attack or get run over by a bus—dying of plague is something people would talk about for years. I’m rusty on my Camus, but hopefully Seattle won’t be sealed off (until I can get out of here).
Inspired by my point in an earlier post about all the great ones suiting up, I did exactly that for dinner. I put on my best foreclose on the widows and orphans blue suit and headed to Campagne for a fine dinner for one. Campagne, although dedicated to the cuisine of those white flag-waving Frenchies, is regarded as one of the best restaurants in town and was close to the hotel. This allowed me to walk through the Murderville section of downtown, just north of the Pike Street Market, where there’s been a lot of gang activity. As usual when there’s people around, I try my best to be invisible and it works. Dinner was superb, especially compared to the swill I cooked for myself the last three nights—duck breast with ratatouille, sautéed spinach, and golden and cherry tomato and olive salad. All the dishes were outstanding. Also dining there tonight was the Ohio State offensive coordinator and his posse (which appeared to consist of Fred and Ethel Mertz and some other neighbors). I was a bit surprised, til I remembered this isn’t like the old days where college assistant coaches don’t make a lot of money. The top coordinators at the top schools make about what the head coaches do at the schools just outside the top 20 or so programs. Hopefully my cousin Darrell, their offensive coordinator, is getting a taste of that at Utah State (notwithstanding that OU just rolled them up). Walked home from the restaurant very full.
Tomorrow-Mariners vs. Devil Rays
Today’s the first day that’s not picture perfect. Its cloudy and in the mid 50s. So rather than hiking near Mount Baker, where I wouldn’t see anything, I opt instead for just going to Seattle. Its one of those mornings where it’ll rain a bit, then stop, then rain, and stop. It won’t rain and it won’t not rain. What Willie Nelson would call a Bloody Mary Morning. Just a piece of luck that KIXI is having a Mel Torme birthday tribute, so I headed straight down I-5 in the fog, listening to the Velvet Fog. How did it ever come to this?
But like Providence, as soon as I get to Seattle its cleared up and sunny. I first headed over to the university ticket office and got my ticket for the upcoming Washington-Ohio State game. Then I headed over to the yuppie center for lunch. The sandwich place is an interesting mix of UW students, Sprockets rejects, trophy housewives, and businessmen. Funny how this place is less than two hours away physically, but worlds away socially from Concrete. For example, the cashier guy calling out names for finished orders called out the name “Aphrodite.” I bet if you roll up on someone in Concrete and introduce yourself as Aphrodite, I do believe you’re getting your ass kicked. Likewise, if you go to the Apple Market with bleached blonde hair cut in sidewall style, with a man purse and black ensemble, your butt has a date with someone’s foot.
After checking in at yet another highly over-priced hotel, I headed back to the University district and the Burke-Gilman trail for a five mile run. Even though it should have been a horrendous run (in the car all day, no real lunch), it turns out to be one of the best runs ever. Nothing hurt, I didn’t have any fatigue, and probably could have gone a lot longer. Three possibilities come to mind: (1) I’ve lost some weight; (2) the hiking has bolstered my stamina; or (3) Concrete is some sort of alien colony with a Cocoon-like reverse aging effect on anyone staying there. Although #3 sounds like the most likely explanation, I reluctantly have to dismiss it because even if I did experience some sort of reverse aging, I never enjoyed running even in my 20s so I still would have hated it.
I drove back over the Montlake Avenue bridge into the Capitol Hill area, cleverly avoiding the rush hour I-5 traffic. Capitol Hill reminds me a great deal of the Montrose, at least the Montrose in the 70s and 80s, before the chain stores and developers moved in. Plenty of local merchants, the Seattle Community College, and what appears to be a gay/lesbian community.
The local news reported that someone around here was diagnosed with the plague. That would be the bubonic plague, a/k/a the Black Death. Now I’m no scientist, but I thought the plague was pretty well eradicated, like smallpox or New Deal liberalism. Still, if I have to die of a deadly disease, I’d want it to be something cool like the plague. Anyone can have a heart attack or get run over by a bus—dying of plague is something people would talk about for years. I’m rusty on my Camus, but hopefully Seattle won’t be sealed off (until I can get out of here).
Inspired by my point in an earlier post about all the great ones suiting up, I did exactly that for dinner. I put on my best foreclose on the widows and orphans blue suit and headed to Campagne for a fine dinner for one. Campagne, although dedicated to the cuisine of those white flag-waving Frenchies, is regarded as one of the best restaurants in town and was close to the hotel. This allowed me to walk through the Murderville section of downtown, just north of the Pike Street Market, where there’s been a lot of gang activity. As usual when there’s people around, I try my best to be invisible and it works. Dinner was superb, especially compared to the swill I cooked for myself the last three nights—duck breast with ratatouille, sautéed spinach, and golden and cherry tomato and olive salad. All the dishes were outstanding. Also dining there tonight was the Ohio State offensive coordinator and his posse (which appeared to consist of Fred and Ethel Mertz and some other neighbors). I was a bit surprised, til I remembered this isn’t like the old days where college assistant coaches don’t make a lot of money. The top coordinators at the top schools make about what the head coaches do at the schools just outside the top 20 or so programs. Hopefully my cousin Darrell, their offensive coordinator, is getting a taste of that at Utah State (notwithstanding that OU just rolled them up). Walked home from the restaurant very full.
Tomorrow-Mariners vs. Devil Rays
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