January 2008 Archives

Last summer at the University Street Fair, there was a live big band playing and I watched two kids emerge from the audience and start dancing like their feet were on fire. They were having an absolute blast. I watched them for three full songs, until the boy picked up his saxophone case, the girl tossed her backpack over one shoulder and they dissolved into the crowd of people drifting down The Ave. I wanted to go with them, wherever they were headed, to keep that joy alive. Their faces were flushed as they laughed and talked excitedly about the band. As they disappeared around the corner, I knew I wanted what they had. I must learn to dance.

I had a bit of synchronicity this week. Since I live in an apartment building, a few days ago I was bemoaning my lack of grungy indoor workspace. I planned to get out the shop manuals and learn me some two-stroke fixin'. But I've got no place to pull parts off and get greasy, no cement floor on which to perform sanding and painting. No storage for tools, either. Unlike some of my friends in the Vespa Club, I can't carry my You Know What upstairs to my apartment, in pieces or in its entirety. Those crazy kids just throw down a tarp and have at it, right in front of the television. I have new hardwood floors. And I'm not strong enough to carry cargo up three flights of stairs. Plus I could think of a dozen more reasons why I shouldn't attempt tinkering with gasoline-fueled machinery indoors, white couch notwithstanding.

I'm suffering from Victrola withdrawal. Every morning for the past 15 years I've been going to my cafe of choice and writing a dozen longhand pages of what I officially call "braindump". It has become as necessary to my day as brushing my teeth, and when I miss a session or two I get cranky.

When I was living in Somerville, my mornings were spent at the now-defunct Someday Cafe. Four year's worth of notebooks were filled at my window table. I had a crush on the cute barista with the shaggy hair and bright eyes. He never charged me for coffee. I picked wildflowers from the library lawn and put them in his tip jar. The Rasta guy who worked alongside him told me that my smile lit the place up every morning and if I failed to come in, it was like the sun hadn't risen. When I'd slyly put a dollar in the tip jar, he'd return it to me with a reprimanding glance.

I'd like to rescind my previous statement about being slowed down but not stopped. Apparently there is a limit, and I've reached it.

To preserve my own sanity, I am abstaining from any further writing about the Frankenstella, or even mentioning her name. From now on she will be like one of those ex-boyfriends so cursed that no one dares utter his name, lest the devil appear. Should I mistakenly refer to her again, I shall spit upon the floor.

This means I won't try and figure out what karmic cloud has descended on me that someone would push my poor injured scooter over into the street while she was awaiting repair in Fremont, finishing off what was left of her cosmetic appeal. It means I have had enough. There is a point of no return and I have crossed it.

So instead of sniffling on about how unfair life is, I will post two pretty pictures I took today on the Bainbridge Ferry.

It was unbelievably bright and sunny today. When JJ called to talk me out of stabbing myself in the eyeball with a blunt household object, she decided to get us on a boat and get out of town. We ran around Paulsbo and ate at an overpriced Italian joint, visited the Nordic bakery and stared at the golden mountains at sunset. It's refreshing to get out of the city, even just for the afternoon. It puts things like voodoo scooters into perspective.

Now where'd I put that meat tenderizer...

My AAA membership is the best $60 I ever spent.
{ Broad & Denny, earlier today }

Dear Universe,

I know subtlety is not your strong suit. But I can take a hint.

I understand that you have much in common with my parents and do not want me in possession of a two-wheeled vehicle. Particularly a 2003 cream and seafoam green Genuine Stella scooter. I am here to say:

Too. Stinking. Bad.

Yes, Universe, you may slow me down. But I will NOT be stopped. I'm like one of those cockroaches that just get really pissed off when you hit them with the blow torch. I will ride again, oh yes. Frankenstella and I will persevere. My cry of victory over the mechanics of the two-stroke will echo through the mountains and reverberate into the sky, accompanied by the unholy grumble of my invincible scooter.

You may slow us down, but you won't stop us.

We WILL ride again.

Deal with it.

Sincerely,
Katt, Minister of Sparkles

Can I just rant for a minute?

Oh yeah -- this is my site. I can do whatever the sam hill I want.

Seattle claims to want to reduce car usage -- or at least single occupancy vehicles. Now I can't offer a rundown as to who is standing in as "Seattle" in this case -- I imagine it's a combination of law makers, developers, politicians and voters. I can include myself in that lump. In fact, I'd like to totally eliminate single occupancy vehicles -- at least the ones with four wheels. I think we should close off Broadway and Denny to cars and make it a pedestrian free-for-all, like Downtown Crossing in Boston. But I'd settle for a handful of improvements to the existing structures.

It snowed last night. Capitol Hill got roughly an inch or two, but it was mixed with rain. Then the temperature plummeted, leaving the whole area a penguin's dream-come-true. Were I able to flop on my belly and slide to work, my commute would have been fast and fun.

I have my second class tonight in the program I started last week at UW. My instructor looks like Elvis Costello and has an engaging, wry sense of humor. He gets as sparkly talking about Flash as I do about fonts and CSS. I knew we were likeminded creatures when he outlawed the use of Comic Sans.

It's a weird feeling to be in class for something I'm genuinely excited about. Seeking out education you desire engenders a different experience than, say, being forced into a Practical and Marketable University Program at age eighteen. I had different ideas about how I wanted to do things the first time around in college, but being eighteen, the freedom to decide my future was not mine.

I have a morbid fascination with the colors my body is capable of churning out recently. I want to do a time-lapse photography project of an injury soon. (It's probably not wise to wish that upon myself. ) I'm quite sad that I neglected to maintain consistent photo installments of this gorgeous piece of artwork on my left knee after Tuesday's crash -- who knew it would result in such fireworks? Yesterday it was bright green and today it's advanced into yellow with this beautiful royal blue. Frameworthy, don't you think?

Body by Stella®

I did a really cool time-lapse photo project of a rotting pumpkin a few years back that I turned into a flipbook. I took one photo each day for a month and a half until the jack o'lantern was transformed into an oozing puddle of green goo on my front porch. Nature is amazing.

Jasper now has access to a full-length mirror where he likes to sit for long stretches of time, gazing in adoration at his own reflection. I wish I possessed such feline confidence.

The day after Christmas my family and I went on a splendid tour through the Intracoastal Waterway in Ft. Lauderdale. The boat we took is actually a water taxi intended for mass transit. But like the WA State Ferries, $3.50 and a vibrant imagination makes it a damn good cruise.

In the spirit of DIY month, I repaired my camera this morning with an eyeglass screwdriver kit and some electrical tape. I had a whopping three photos on it from New Year's Day, and here they are.

Happy New Year, kids. Started mine off with a bang. Or a crunch, rather.

I discovered last night that my apartment boasts what we call here a "Seasonal View" (read as: winter-only). We watched the Seattle Center fireworks from my balcony as all the leaves on the trees have died and left me with a crystal clear vista of the Space Needle framed by brownstones. It was a pleasant surprise because I thought we were going to have to climb up the fire escape to the roof to watch the show.

Today was the Westenders Lost Ride, and Doc lead twenty of us into the wilds of Washington on his glossy pink Stella, dual flags flying behind him. I was already lost when we passed UW and kept going, so I'm easy to please. I think the idea was to just keep taking random roads until nobody knew where we were. It was a fabulous day for a ride; the mountains were out and heavily frosted -- even Rainier. We went down through the Arboretum and past Lake Washington and the views were gorgeous.