The Official Guide To Seattle

2011-04-11

Gear.

There’s one thing and one thing only that is required to be a Seattle denizen: a single, life-consuming hobby. (Well, that and a Prius or early-model sedan, but I digress.) Everyone in Seattle has exactly one thing they do, and that is it, buddy. Every weekend they devote themselves to this higher calling with tremendous aplomb, refusing to interact with other humans, watch TV, drink, or engage in any activity other than evolving into the next form of hobbyist, presumably some sort of black hole from which leisure cannot escape.

And everyone knows you are not interested in your hobby unless you have Gear.

Every day on the Burke-Gilman Trail, two hundred identical middle-aged men strike forth to bike (excuse me, cycle) to work at their NGO/ecoterrorist cell/Amazon/avant-garde troupe. They are, without exception, wearing:

Helmets
Saddlebags. Excuse me, panniers
Yellow ponchos (all-weather). Sponsored bike jackets are also acceptable
Giant fenders audibly rubbing against the wheels
Four or more lights, flashing irrespective of sunlight
Rear-view mirrors affixed to helmet (worst of all these sins)
Top tube-mounted portable pump
Fanny pack (presumably full of spare tubes)
More than 30% of the time, a headlamp
Yelling at me for foregoing my helmet and riding without a headlight during the day (technically you cannot “wear” this attitude)

Their worst sin is cutting in line at stoplights, forcing me to re-pass them because they are laden with approximately 100 lbs of bullshit and consequently have a terminal velocity of 3 MPH. Presumably this is because I have a single small messenger bag and a hoodie on (and rust) and am therefore not seen as a “serious” biker.

Having hobbies is great. I myself pride myself on having, myself, a number of hobbies. For example, I enjoy riding my bike ($60), taking pictures with my camera ($100), and twiddling around on my guitar ($150). I aquired those three precious, slightly valuable posessions over a 5-year period. However, Seattle city ordinances insist that nothing constitutes a ‘hobby’ until you have spent at least $4,000 annually on it at REI.

The only thing that is not, in fact, acceptable to own in the hobbyist community is a TV (or, as it turns out, Netflix).

The other day a guy at work approached me and said “You’re into photography, right?” “Yeah!” I said. I have a couple photography blogs, like wandering around taking pictures, and own a camera. “I am into photography!”

“Come check this out,” he said, and proceeded to take me to his desk, where he had assembled a small shrine to the photography gods. A panoply of lenses, light meters, contrast filters, flash cubes, hoods, and digital backs surrounded me. I suddenly felt insecure about my net worth.

“Oh!” I said. “Uh, cool!” There were no photos in sight.

“Check this lens out,” he said, “it’s (incomprehensible serious-hobbyist words). What lenses do you have?”

Uh, the one that is welded to my camera? (And, I guess, the one in my cellphone?)

On the plus side, he did not then mount a kayak on his back and get on the bus. These things happen.

2011-02-10

http://theshittygardener.tumblr.com

If you want to read about my adventures in lawn death, please consider visiting my other Tumblr, The Shitty Gardener.

2011-02-09

The Neighbors Have A Castle.

Our little house is in a row of six identical houses built in the 1920s. Except our neighbor’s house.

The neighbor’s house has been expanded to take up three times the original footprint of our house, although they retain the old chimney and awning, presumably as a prank. In no other sense is it recognizable — for example, it is three stories instead of one-and-a-half. It extends back almost all the way to the alley. It has three different balconies.

The whole thing is surrounded by a 6 foot cedar fence, Seattle’s decor of choice for tacky hellholes. But we can still peer in from our raccoon-infested side yard and know the truth.

Here’s some more notes:

This summer, they had a no doubt incredibly expensive landscaping crew redo the whole lawn, complete with zen garden and water feature. However, they do not rake, so the beautiful zen garden has been covered in leaves for four months.

They have a Prius. And THREE TOYOTA HIGHLANDERS.

They have yet to say hello to me.

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I got a sixty-five dollar ticket yesterday for walking without a reflective vest on.

2010-01-07

The Movies.

We went to the movies the other day and we were like “two tickets, please” and the lady was like “fifteen dollars, please” and Hope said “no, we want TWO!” because we’re from New York

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I CAME FROM NEW YORK YO

OK?

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Driving.

Look, I’m like most people. When people talk about “how badly people drive in city X hur hur hur” I think they’re stupid, generally. But I came from New York yo. So, in brief, here is what driving in Seattle is like:

“Oh hey! Welcome to Seattle! I’m the powder-blue 1991 Volvo driving in front of you! Yeah, isn’t it weird how the lanes are about 4 feet wide, unmarked, and in such bad shape that they would embarrass Mexico? Yeah. Anyway, I’m going to drive five below the speed limit. Forever.”

“Getting on the highway, huh? Well, don’t worry, even though it’s twelve lanes wide and not crowded, everyone is driving exactly 52 miles per hour in pincer formation, and you’ll never pass any of them.”

“Trying to drive down a main street at a reasonable speed? I’m just going to poke my head out of this alleyway and turn right. But not until you’re five feet away. I’m busy recycling, you know how it is!”

“CD hanging from the mirror by a hemp cord!”

End of driving post.

2009-11-11

City Planning.

I am a city planning student. People in Seattle are very hands-on conversationally, and sometimes they ask what I’m doing here, so I tell them. And they always say the same thing: “Oh, good! We really need some city planners around here!”

Needless to say, this is madness, but you can’t just go tell them that. “Oh, I know, I hate it here, the buses run in a super-fast magic tunnel and then go directly onto the interstate where they take about 30 seconds to bring you from one end of the city to the other. It’s the worst. And not having to sort your recycling — I hate it! My favorite activity is having thirty recycling bins in the kitchen. And how do you deal with all these trees and flowers everywhere and beautiful, quiet, traffic-free streets and stunning views on every fucking corner and never being more than 20 minutes from hiking/skiing/being on a boat/Canada and general climate of pleasant liberalism.

God, what a hellhole. A popular topic is the traffic, which is funny, because there isn’t any. I mean, sure, I came here from New York, but these people are idiots. The highways are practically empty and if they’re not, nobody drives on the street anyway. And even then people have the audacity to let me merge in front of them. The bastards.

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Breakin’ The Law.

Did you know that in Seattle, you can actually get a ticket for jaywalking? And it’s like $60? In New York that’s a $5 ticket (really), and if a cop tries to give it to you, you’re well within your rights to punch him in the face. Shocking, I know.

The reason that Seattle is so tough on jaywalking is that unlike New York, dealing drugs is apparently legal here, at least judging from practically every street corner between my house and Pioneer Square, leaving the police with absolutely nothing to do. And I mean, let’s face it, this makes sense. Unlike jaywalking, drug dealing provides troubled young people with jobs and income, which gives them a leg up that they can then use to buy more drugs. Seriously. The stimulus package ought to take notes from these guys.

Whereas jaywalking? Absolutely no social value. I mean, the two are definitely linked — for example, when I walk down Columbia on, say I, don’t know, the blocks between 23rd and 26th Aves, inclusive, and see the guys exchanging hand signals on the corner… I definitely do a little bit of jaywalking. Like, over to another street. Which means I’m getting more exercise! Thanks, Seattle! And not just at night — on 3rd & James sometimes I find myself going for a pleasant 9 AM jog!

2009-09-25

The Extended Stay America.

Don’t stay here. This isn’t Seattle-specific, but I’m just telling you now, don’t stay here. Ugh.

It’s not their fault. I couldn’t point to one thing they did wrong, although they didn’t do the greatest job cleaning… but the moment you enter you will just feel that you are not supposed to be here. When you enter your room, you’ll be overcome by the urge to take meth or shoot a porno, it’s almost impossible not to. Everything is weirdly dismal. They don’t give you shampoo in your room, you have to go ask for it, and then they give it to you. It’s still free.

What the hell are people doing with the shampoo? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PLACE.