Bleeding Fiction

Went out to dinner with Jeni Garber last night, a good old friend of unusual circumstances who I haven't had cause to mention here before. Jeni is going to Seattle for a week to visit some friends and while there is going to visit the Experience Music Project. Named after Jimi Hendrix, and shame on you if you don't know who he is, and his breakthrough band the place is a self-described "interactive music museum celebrating creativity and innovation in popular music." It's got an ever-changing gallery of exhibits which currently feature the Beatles, Bruce Springsteen and Jimi himself as well as a wide host of other exhibits on the history of music as a whole and aspects of it in particular. Oh, and have I mentioned that there's an entire array of hands on exhibits?!

It kills me, absolutely kills me, that this place has been around for four years now. I've been to Seattle twice in that time, both playing tourist (after a fashion) and never even knew about this place to go and visit. This place is Goddamn leaps and bounds better than the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame; it's a museum! And I find out about it now, after I've lost most any other reason to go to Seattle. So, so jealous of Jeni; wish I had known about this years ago, to have taken advantage when I had the chance.

Oh, and just in case you thought I couldn't get any more grumbly: June 2004, the Experience Science Fiction Project. In the same fucking building! A museum of Science Fiction! Goddamn fuckin' hire me already!

Seattle is rapidly being kicked up several notches on my list of "favorite cities." I hope to high hell UW lets me in, just so that I can visit these museums while I'm there. Just the thought of it is driving me buggy.

As reported best in the Seattle Times, gay marriage is now somewhat legal in Washington State. I say "somewhat" because the decision is "stayed" - meaning "won't go into effect" - until the state Supreme Court reviews the case on appeal. Pretty cool stuff, if it goes through. I'm glad I'm moving to a state where this is the trend.

Let me be straight here, if you'll pardon the pun. I don't understand people who claim that gay marriage is an affront to the sanctity of marriage. Because a drive-through wedding in Vegas presided over by an Elvis impersonator is not a more holy and sacred thing than two people of the same gender having a wedding with all of the "traditional" trappings.

I put the word traditional in quotes because the traditional wedding we see in the United States today dates, as do so many of our customs, to the mid-1700's or so. Before then, they did it different. And that's without getting into the cultures that encouraged homosexual relationships. Like, say, ancient Greece, where homosexual love was the only form of love possible, what with women not having souls and all. Or medieval Arabia where young boys, the more feminine the better, had as much of a place in the harems as women.

If you're going to use history as your referent, you should try not to be ignorant of it.

Apartment hunting is neither the most exciting nor easiest activity at the best of times. Apartment hunting from across three-thousand miles of North American continent is exceedingly frustrating. Thus far, not including the various places that were already rented out by the time I called or that I eliminated on my own as soon as I found them online, I've spoken to people renting four different places. These are their stories:

1. "Yeah, Richard, the place sounds great - two blocks from campus, 600 square feet, carpeting throughout, broadband access, utilities included and parking for only $600 a month? What's not to love?" "Great, call Katie to see if she's willing to rent to you in mid-September." "Hi, Katie, this is Jason. I was speaking to Richard about... Rented two weeks ago? But I just spoke to Richard yester... Ok, thanks."

2. "Sure, just give me your address and I'll mail an application right out to you... Cottage Place, uh-huh... What do you mean Second Floor? You mean apartment number two? How the hell can I address something to the second floor? If you live in a house, why can't I just write the house number? 'Second floor' is just silly..."

3. "Sure, there's carpeting, free parking, two bedrooms, about 12 by 9 and 10.5 by 8.5 each, for $500 a month. Just one thing. How tall are you? Because the ceiling's only 6'3" tall."

4. "The place is cozy... Well, yes, small. But cozy. And it's well-maintained... Well, yes, old. But well-maintained. And we tend to rent to a pretty eclectic group of people... Well, no, graduate students mostly, and quiet. But eclectic."

So far number four seems like my best bet, but the pictures I've seen don't exactly make me jump for joy. For now, the search continues, and I really, really hope that I don't have to waste the time and money to go out there. I'm told, at least, that if all else fails there should still be plenty of places available when I arrive in September. I hope that all else doesn't fail; I don't need that sort of stress.

The past two days have been an... interesting pair. Note that "interesting" is here not code for "happy" or any of its synonyms. In fact, you would likely do better to read it as "unfortunate." I'll tell you about them, in brief, in the rest of this post, but let me first pause to note that I can see the space needle from where I now sit. From this distance, I'm not impressed.

On Wednesday, I waited patiently for the moving truck to arrive; the truck that would carry most of my worldly possessions across the length and breadth of this nation, acquiring what dust from the road they could, to Seattle where I would greet mine boxes with open arms. The day wore on and the truck did not arrive. I called the moving company, I called the driver's cellphone. Midnight came with lumbering tread and still the truck was not in sight. So I left my house (my now-former house, I should say) for my parents' and my things remained behind. As I have terminated my contract with this company and left for the Left Coast, I leave my affairs in my father's hands. He'll find me a moving company that will complete, on my behalf, the sole task to which their business is dedicated and my things will arrive post-haste. I hope.

Wednesday night I also bid a not-quite-tearful farewell to Erik. I've lived with him for the past eight years, in some form or another, and his presence has become a constant in my life. Even failing the occurance of actual communication betwixt we two - that is to say, even if I were in one room and he another and we didn't actually speak to each other - it was mostly nice to know a good friend lived under the same roof. Being alone is, perhaps, going to be my biggest adjustment. I'm looking forward to it, but in many ways I regret it as well.

Thursday morning came with too much haste - not surprising when I had set the alarum to ring at four. I showered, dressed and trundled off into the early morning night with my father. We crossed the George Washington Bridge and I took a last look at the New York City skyline as we talked over the final details of my move.

The sky was still dark as we pulled into JFK and I went through the airport check-in ritual with indifference. I was awake and aware - it's a small gift, to be awake when I'm awake, no matter the hour - but the airport officials had no interference to throw my way, for all that I was dirty and unshaven, with copious baggage and a one-way ticket.

I slept through the 5 hour flight and, a quick bus-ride later, was in the University District. The only hotel with space enough for me, the College Inn, is a self-described "European Style" hotel. This means that the furniture is small, uncomfortable and wooden and also that the residents of a floor share two bathrooms, occupacy of which is split along gender lines. I'd prefer a larger room with comfortable chairs and a TV and a larger bed, but the College Inn is a temporary thing and not an obstacle to my peace of mind.

After check-in, I went in search of an apartment. I did this mainly through the ingenious scheme of walking up and down the streets, dialing on my cell phone any phone number I saw advertising rooms for rent. Within half an hour, I'd found myself an apartment near and spacious enough for my needs. It's not an ideal place - the bathroom's only entrance, for example, is through the bedroom - but it's nice enough for that and also only temporary.

Here is where my tale disjoints. I wandered up and down the streets of the University district for more hours than I care to count and saw more than I can now remember. Asian restaurants abound, to the point where finding other food will be a challenge. There are bars and cafes a-plenty (including, of course, a Starbucks). But I'm too tired for these things. I've travelled too far today and eaten too little (which is to say, nothing at all). I wait now only for dinner and a relaxing perusal of the printed word before I drift off to slumber and mine orientation tomorrow.

Before I go, however, let me note for posterity that I am lonely now. In this late hour I miss the familiar comforts of the places I've been before, I miss the solid warmth of friend and love both near and far and I desperately long to come home. I know the feeling won't last, but in the meantime, send me some fucking email to keep me company.

I switched from the hotel to my apartment today and with that switch I wandered around town in an attempt to get accustomed to where I live and get the basics into my pantry. So, here's what I found, all within 3 blocks of my apartment:

Useful stores. Stores like Walgreens and Safeway. This is convenient, because it means I don't have to go far at all to get my food shopping done.

Jack-in-the-Box. Also known as "the worst fast-food restaurant in the world." I'm not a fan of fast-food in general, and certainly less so in recent years. I like Wendy's well enough, but wouldn't eat at a Burger King or (worse) McDonald's unless I had no choice. I would sooner starve to death than eat at Jack-in-the-Box again.

No fewer than 6 New Age shops. Some were book stores, some were massage/meditation centers, some sold crystals, tarot cards and other parephenalia. Have I mentioned lately how entirely uncomfortable I am with New Age/Pagan religion? Maybe it's just the way (and forgive the expression) the followers tend to wear their religion as a cross. Best guess, since I'm ok with the folks that treat it as, you know, a religion.

More tattoo parlors than I can count. The U. District is apparently the place to go to get inked, though I don't know how many people around here actually wear tattoos; people are already too covered up to tell.

Enough barber shops to host a battle-of-the-bands-style competition for quartets of men who sing through waxed mustaches while wearing red and white. Unfortunately, since the barbers are even more punked out than the tattoo artists, I'm unlikely to ever see this dream realized.

A Russian bookstore. It sells books. All of which are in Russian and imported from Russia (presumably - I imagine some may be from the Ukraine or Latvia or something). It's run by a little old man. Who's Russian. I think. To be fair, he may be Georgian or Belarussian. I'm not very good at picking that out. It's sort of a cute store, and the fact that I stood in the store for about fifteen minutes trying to remember how to read cyrllic should tell you where my mind is.

A car that rounded the corner much too fast and squealed to a halt a foot away from me. That's something to get the heart pumping.

A never-ending stream of used CD and book shops. Nothing to say there but "cool." Except possibly "fuck, I'm doomed."

Speaking of doom, there's also a comic/games store less than a block from where I live. A well-stocked and friendly-staffed comic/games store. And a separate "store" next door that rents out space in which people game.

For the record, I've typed all of this on my laptop while sitting at a table overlooking the street in a little coffee shop. I was drinking hot chocolate, rather than coffee, but it amounts to the same image. If I also had a camera-phone, a giant beard and a lot of alcohol in my system, I would be Warren Fucking Ellis.

It's not a very entertaining article, but I love the headline: "Models May Underestimate Climate Swings". Of course the article's talking about how current statistical analysis may have sold short the wide range of climactic conditions that our planet may have experienced before we were around to record such things and the wide range of climactic conditions we may yet encounter ("'Things can get pretty incendiary,' says Thomas Crowley"), but I've got the image of a bunch of Victoria's Secret models, complete with push-up bras and feathered wings, frowning thoughtfully in front of a weather map stuck in my head now.

In other news, my local volcano may erupt soon. I've never had a local volcano before. It's been pleasant, so far. There have apparently been three to four earthquakes every minute around the volcano, but I haven't felt a one. I hope it remains that way. I'm about a two hour drive away, which I'm guessing means about one hundred miles. The parks people have only evacuated a twelve mile radius, so I'm most likely safe. I guess we'll see.

If you want to watch a picture feed from the Mount St. Helen's VolcanoCam, you can do that here, but I warn you: like most things of its type, it's extraordinarily boring. Especially at night.

Lastly, school. I wasn't kicked out today. I'm dropping down to a first-year Japanese course, and probably start in winter quarter. My advisor stressed how difficult it'll be for me to complete the program in only two years by starting at first year Japanese, but said that if it was really necessary, we wouldn't have a choice. I wonder, but only vaguely, if maybe I wouldn't've done better to be kicked out.

(Russian class, by the way, continues to be fun. We had to pick Russian names for ourselves for class discussion; I picked Kostya, for obvious reasons. The name of the girl in today's example dialogue was Lena, which just made the exercise odd.)

So, Mt. St. Helen's erupted today, sometime around noon. I didn't notice. My grandmother called me about an hour later to ask how far away I was, but she didn't mention that the volcano had actually erupted. My father called a bit after, but I was in class. These two calls could've tipped me off to something being up, but I figured it was just my family being typically themselves and therefore a little behind the times. Ah well. No lava bubbling down the street, no foul.

Speaking of my family, my dad saw my stuff packed onto a truck and leave my former apartment today. In theory this means it's on its way to me, though for all I know it may be headed to a garbage heap, since my dad saw fit to get into an argument with the driver over $49. I'll find out in a week, I guess.

Oh, and it's unrelated but I don't want to forget: I was approached by a girl today while I was wandering around campus with a map, looking confused. She said "are you lost?" Obvious, really. I said "yes." She asked where I was going and I named the place. She frowned for a second and then said "I don't know where that is, but I do know that Wells Fargo is right there!" She pointed. "Who do you bank with?"

I was, to put it mildly, cross. I don't like people trying to sell me things at the best of times. I like it even less when it's under false pretenses, and I like it least of all when I clearly have more important things to be worried about. My response was short. "Fuck off, I need to get to class."

And that's it. I promise, next time I'll post something that requires some thought to write.

Like many cities, the one I now live in has a nickname. Seattle's nickname is The Emerald City. This is supposed to evoke the lush greenery which surrounds the city in abundance due to the likewise abundant rain. While accurate, it strikes me as an extraordinarily "glass-half-full" statement. "Sure it rains all the time, but hey, it's green!"

Whatever. These days, when people say Emerald, I'm thinking about something a little different.

Although most of my worldly possessions are still missing somewhere between New Jersey and here, I do have my car and, now, the insurance to legally drive it. So drive it I did.

It was an errand day today, but I took the long way around everywhere I went, to try to get a feel of the place I now live. The streets are laid out in numerical order, but they don't necessarily parallel each other. In fact, I suspect that the lines of the streets cross each other at various points in space and, as most of us will know from our youths, crossing lines like that is bad.

Even still, I managed to discover that the thing that passes for a local shopping mall is a ten minute drive from my house if I take the direct route. They call it a shopping mall, but outside of the department stores, it only has one floor! And the food court is located at one end, rather than in the center. Who built this mall? Hitler? I saw malls in Romania that were larger than this.

And, to be honest, size is the primary appeal of a mall for me these days. I do most of my serious shopping online, so I do a mall visit really more for the atmosphere and the impulse-buy than anything else. As far as atmosphere goes, the larger and more complex the place is, the easier it is to lose yourself in and the closer I can come to living the mallrat life. Impulse shopping, well, size counts there, too; the larger the mall, the more likely it is to have stores that compete with each other for a better stock and the more likely it is to have something strange.

(Of course, there are three used bookstores within spitting distance of where I live and the local comic shop is effectively my back-yard neighbor. If I had X-Ray vision, I'd be looking at their racks right now. Oh! A pun! Fuckin' shoot me.)

That said, I did get a lot done today. The regular old Athlete's Foot carried my shoes, so that's a serious plus, I got a much-needed umbrella and I single-handedly kept the Best Buy running for another day. I wouldn't say that I went crazy per se. I only bought the things I needed to buy; a VCR, a microwave, a telephone and a stereo that would put polyphonic Tibetan monks to shame. It's been more than half a decade since I had even a semi-decent stereo system, so I thought I'd splurge a little.

I felt like a bomb technician when I got home and assembled this stuff, stringing wires from one device to another and from there to a third. It's the blue wire! No, the green! Watch it... watch it... DON'T DROP THE RED!!! But in the end nothing exploded and all is now ready for my viewing or listening pleasure. If only I had something to watch or listen to...

So I did, in fact, go to the Burke Museum today, as I'd said I was going to. Not the most exciting place I've ever been. To be fair, it's a small University-based museum, so it's not like I should have expected a lot.

There were three exhibits. Headlining the place was a travelling exhibit from the Smithsonian on the Burgess Shale. Nice and all, but the Cambrian Period isn't really my cup of tea. Something about the lack of people, I guess.

Second was the fairly de rigueur paleontology exhibit. Still no people, but dinosaurs are cool. The exhibit was well-designed, too. I mean, spatially speaking. Good foot-flow and good use of area to give you a real sense of size of the fossils. Not extensive, of course, but well done.

Last was the "People's of the Pacific" which was a short sketch on each of the (you guessed it) Peoples of the Pacific. The floor design here didn't have as good a flow as the paleontology exhibit, but that's ok. It was a pretty rought sketch, a good general introduction and I learned some really cool stuff about the islanders of the South Pacific, and that in turn gave me general story fodder (though I've nowhere to use it yet, I don't think), so cool!

Unfortunately, I think a lot of the exhibit was a little too preachy. You know the sort. "Unfortunately much of the rich language and traditions of these people was destroyed by the evil white man who came in and spread Christianity and plague everywhere." Yes, I get it. My pigmentary forebears were a bunch of awful fucks. Not that I don't think it's worthwhile to acknowledge the places where explorers, colonists and imperialists wreaked wholesale destruction upon a culture. It absolutely is. Learning from history and all. But when you're dealing with such a finite amount of space and there is so much about these peoples that you can say, I'd rather you save the space for the fun stuff instead of harping on the evil white man three or four times.

It was a worthwhile trip (especially because I got in for free!), but not a place that you can really spend more than an hour or two in. Not so much a place to bring a date or really go back to, though.

It's more than faintly ridiculous to me that a trip I can drive in about twenty minutes will take me an hour and fifteen minutes by either bus or shuttle. However since all of my local friends with cars (or who I would trust to drive my car) are already gone or otherwise occupied, I board the bus tomorrow at quarter past ten in the morning in order to catch a one in the afternoon flight. It borders on the obscene.

Anyway, that bit of melodrama nicely dealt with, I'll be effectively off-line for the next two weeks. If anyone needs me, give me a call on my cell or at my folks' house; neither of those numbers have changed.

All you folks who I'm about to see again: I'm looking forward to it.

All you folks who I won't talk to for a bit: see you when I get back.

In the shower this morning it occurred to me that the water here in Seattle doesn't seem as wet as the water in New Jersey. I've got a harder time rinsing shampoo and conditioner out of my hair here than I do in the East Coast.

Of course as I thought about that I also thought about the way my mail, which had been outside for two weeks with only the mailbox for protection while I was away, was soaked when I picked it up. So maybe it's just the water coming out of the shower. I can't remember if I've had similar reaction to any of the other showers I've used in the area.

Maybe I should just shower in the rain from now on.

Today was a beautiful sunny day here in Seattle and the high temperature was a balmy 62� (16.7�, for those of you operating on the Celcius scale).

62�!

In January!

I know I wished I had some snow around me a month or so ago, and I still do, but 62� and walking around without a jacket on, well, that's damn hard to argue with.

I think I'll go and get a tan...

I wish I could remember where I found this thing. If I could, I'd give attribution. But, you know, it's very cool. I mean, I really can see my house. Well, my apartment, anyway.

Some new neighbors moved into the apartment downstairs from mine a few days ago. I haven't seen much of them, but I can tell you that I've heard them. How best to put it? Well, the phrase "their lust is insatiable" is accurate, but it doesn't do the experience of living above them justice unless I explain that their lust is also noisy.

There are easier things to go to sleep to than the exceedingly loud sounds of other people having sex. Three times. There are better noises to wake up to. And, dear God, there are many, many things that I would rather be hearing at 7 o'clock on a Sunday evening.

I'm glad that these two people have a healthy, active relationship. I just wish they wouldn't feel the need to share it with their neighbors...

(and other places)

I've been pretty busy this week, which isn't much surprising. Japanese class continues to kick my ass. As of mid-day on Wednesday I passed the half-way point for the class, which means it's pretty much all downhill from here. I'm getting a C right now and my hope is that I can keep that grade from dropping further. We'll see.

I've also given up on this whole "working in museums" idea I had. I can't get a museum job I'd want without spending another 4 years in school and the museum jobs I can get I really don't want. Plus, I miss the sort of work I was doing at InterSlice all to hell. With that decision behind me, I thought I'd try to switch programs - maybe into the general International Studies Masters or into the Masters in Public Affairs program. At the very least, I figured I could do the International Development and Relief Graduate Certification.

None of that's happening. My odds of getting into those programs aren't bad, but I'd still have to apply. Which I couldn't do until next year. So I'd be finishing out the Japan Studies Masters before moving on to another Masters, anyway. That's just dumb. So, I'm going to just take it a little easy next year and finish out this Masters and see if I can get myself a job that way. It should work.

Yesterday, I went on a four year overdue tour of the Seattle Underground. It was visually cool as hell; century-old brick vaulting and anchoring masonry accessable through a series of innocuous doors in building faces. I was disappointed only in the limited scope of the tour and in the way the underground came about. The underground itself actually covers an area about 25 blocks on a side, running under pretty much the entire downtown section of the city, but the tour itself only covers about one square block, and you file through it in a line. So I lost a lot of the impact of how massive this area could be. Also, the underground was deliberately created by the city as a way of avoiding tidal floods back in the late 19th century. A lot of the mystery and magic of having an underground city (of sorts) is lost when you realize it didn't come around by accident.

I also bought two albums yesterday. The first was The Shins' Chutes Too Narrow and the second was They Might Be Giants' Flood. I haven't listened to Chutes Too Narrow yet; I've been too amused by listening to Istanbul (Not Constantinople) over and over and over again.

I think that about covers it.

Or Is It Washingtonite?

I went and changed the last remaining details of my life - those related to driving and from where I choose my elected officials - to reflect that fact that I've moved to the other side of the country. Not bad, right? It only took me a year...

You would imagine, or at least I did, that DMVs are basically DMVs, no matter where you go. They're dingy, they're staffed by surly old women, their lines are longer than the distance from the earth to the moon. Normally (and I steal liberally from Dane Cook as I say this), I'd gladly take a punch in the face as soon as I walk through the door, because it would make the rest of the horrible experience of being there not as bad by comparrison.

Not so, here in Seattle. It's not like an amusement park or anything, but it does break the stereotype. No lines to speak of, bright lighting, staffed by cute girls who are actually friendly... I just don't get it.

There are actually two seperate DMVs in Washington - there's the one you go to for license-related things and the one you go to for car-related things. I don't get that, either.

Despite my confusion I now have a Washington State driving lisence (Lukas told me that he's seen some that are vertical rather than horizontal - I asked if I could get one of those, but the girl had no clue what the hell I was talking about, so mine is just regular) and Washington State plates on my car. I finally belong!

It's snowing here in Seattle, right at the opening of December. It's still a bit warm out, though, so the snowing turning straight to water on the roads and to slush on the sidewalks. Everything else, though, like lawns and rooftops, is getting a nice dusting of white. Very nice looking. I imagine that this bodes well for the rest of the winter.

I felt better yesterday than I did on Tuesday, but felt a bit cruddy again today - enough so that I slept in and skipped Japanese class. I'm feeling generally okay now, though; I'll have some tea in a bit and hope for the best. I think skipping class today is the death knell for Japanese, though; I was pretty pissed, being there yesterday, all for stupid reasons, and I was happy not to go today. I'm pretty much done with that class, now.

Yesterday, I spoke with the Admissions guy for the Evans School and how I want into their Public Affairs program (and out of the Japan Studies program I'm currently in. I mentioned this idea at the beginning of the month. The outlook is optimistic, to say the least. They don't guarantee my admission, but my odds are beyond good. Further, I'll get credit for basically every class I've taken so far that's relevant to Public Affairs. Since part of the program is an area focus... yeah. They'll honor most of my credits, in other words. Now I just need to figure out which classes to take. This is unabashedly good.

Though I didn't mention it before-hand, Jon came to visit for a few days; he touched down Saturday evening and took off again this morning. The last time I'd actually seen Jon in the flesh was close to four years ago, and that was only for maybe an hour as he breezed through town on his way back to Illinois from some gathering or other on Long Island. That made it doubly cool to see him.

But I'm still not used to the idea of having friends I never see. Even though it's ten months since I've seen any of you Right Coasters, and there are other folk that it's been even longer, it feels to me like it was just the other day I saw you all. Being reminded of how it works, that it actually has been a long time, makes me a bit said.

Anyway, I took Jon sight-seeing around Seattle. We hit Pike Place (twice, actually), the Fremont Troll, UW and the Arboretum. I always feel a bit bad about doing that; I'm not so good at guided tours. And lets be honest: most folk aren't much into taking them. But it feels sort of like an obligation; espescially since it's a bit boring for a vacationeer to walk with a person through their daily life for a week - work, classes, sitting on the couch watching tv... Not exactly what a tourist showed up for, is it? Still, I think jon enjoyed himself.

Bit more to talk about, unrelated stuff that happened this week, but I'm a little tired, so I hope no one minds if I don't get to it until the weekend. Cheers.

There's something a little funny going on here in the Pacific Northwest:

It's cold and it's snowing. In November.

Snow started Sunday night and continued sporadically until this morning. I'm not talking a lot of snow, mind you. It's more than we might consider "a dusting," but not by much. I mean, you could still see the grass beneath, in parts. But for Seattle, that's pretty impressive.

Temperatures got below freezing during the day, though they didn't always stay there, which made for a bit of ice on the ground. Funny thing about Seattle, we have a little bit of weather and every jackass in the city forgets how to drive. I walked home from school yesterday - and this is a walk of ten blocks, mind you - and I saw cars that had skidded off into the curb, cars that had rear-ended other cars, cars whose drivers couldn't buy them traction against the ground... It was ridiculous.

Today, a bunch of cars have snow chains on, and by "cars" I mean both privately owned vehicles and the city buses. Since one of the cars I saw in distress last night was actually a near-jack-knifed transit bus, I guess this might make sense, but... snow chains?

I won't say there's no ice on the road. There's some. Not enough to slow down a driver who's used to it (and certainly not enough to make that driver even consider snow chains), but for these Seattle folk? Sure. They don't expect snow here. There are no legions of snow-plows waiting in the wings, no flatbeds full of salt for the roads. And that shouldn't come as a surprise, really. It's Seattle.

In November.

What the fuck is wrong with nature right now?

I've been back in Seattle for the past two weeks, looking for a job, settling in to a new apartment, getting back to living my life.

With a furious vengeance.

Things had been so tame for so long that I'd almost forgotten how strange my life can actually be. No details here, but feel free to use your imaginations.

The Dalai Lama's been hanging out in Seattle all weekend, for a series of lectures and events and things. His English is a little shaky, his answers to questions are a little rambling, but he's funny and he keeps saying something profound. I mean, just one refrain, repeated a few times over:

"I don't know."

It's sort of rare in a world leader, I think; to just be able to admit, without shame or dissembling, that there are some things outside his area of experience and better left to experts. It's refreshing to hear.

Plus, he made some jokes about safe sex.