One year ago today I was saying my final goodbyes to all my friends. A bouquet of bright yellow flowers sat on the dining room table. Usually when someone left the restaurant, my co-workers would cover the person’s car in saran wrap or attack them with whipped cream at the end of their shift. For me, they all pitched in and got me flowers and a card.
“Good luck in Seattle,” Jeremy wrote. “Don’t kill yourself.” Jeremy and I had come a long way since our first shift together when we were yelling at each other.
“Have fun in Seattle,” wrote Evan, the sixteen-year-old busser who reminded me of Sam. “I’ll visit you in two weeks.”
“You, my dear, are one of a kind,” said Mel, my manager.
“I’m going to miss my Sunshine!” Kelly wrote.
I kept the card, of course, but I’m quoting these from memory. I read it over and over again my first week in Seattle.
In a way it felt crazy to walk away from such an awesome group of people. I was happy there, and I had no guarantee I’d be happy in Seattle. But I knew, deep down, that I needed to push myself beyond the boundaries of my hometown, and home state.
And I’m really, really glad I did.
Author's note: More to come on the big one-year anniversary...
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Saturday night at The Dub
It’s getting close to closing time at The Dubliner, a dark-wood panelled bar with emerald-green interior walls. A flock of animals enters the bar … well, 20-somethings dressed as a variety of creatures ranging from an eagle to a giraffe and/or cow.
My friend Matt chats up a girl in a penguin costume and finds out she and her friends are doing this as their own, unusual way to celebrate Mardi Gras.
“What would possess a girl to walk into a bar dressed as a penguin?” I ask.
“Well, she got my attention,” Matt says.
The bartender, a pretty girl with a booming, throaty voice saunters over and asks us what we think of the barnyard dance going on around us. (Two more penguins have started slow-dancing on the stage that is usually reserved for karaoke and open mic).
“I'm so bummed I forgot my alligator costume,” Matt says.
“Yeah, then maybe you could’ve gotten Zebra girl over there,” says our bartender, gesturing to the stripey girl who is shimmying to the beat of a nameless song.
“Only if she gets too close to the water,” Matt replies.
The eagle, who appears to be the leader of the pack, has just bought $80 worth of shots. The bartender pours a dark, purple liquid into ten, tiny gleaming glasses. Her friends help cart the shots over to their table because even a predator can’t carry ten glasses in two hands. They whoop and holler and I can’t understand what they’re toasting.
I take a gulp of my own beer. Here’s to Fat Tuesday.
“I'm so bummed I forgot my alligator costume."
My friend Matt chats up a girl in a penguin costume and finds out she and her friends are doing this as their own, unusual way to celebrate Mardi Gras.
“What would possess a girl to walk into a bar dressed as a penguin?” I ask.
“Well, she got my attention,” Matt says.
The bartender, a pretty girl with a booming, throaty voice saunters over and asks us what we think of the barnyard dance going on around us. (Two more penguins have started slow-dancing on the stage that is usually reserved for karaoke and open mic).
“I'm so bummed I forgot my alligator costume,” Matt says.
“Yeah, then maybe you could’ve gotten Zebra girl over there,” says our bartender, gesturing to the stripey girl who is shimmying to the beat of a nameless song.
“Only if she gets too close to the water,” Matt replies.
The eagle, who appears to be the leader of the pack, has just bought $80 worth of shots. The bartender pours a dark, purple liquid into ten, tiny gleaming glasses. Her friends help cart the shots over to their table because even a predator can’t carry ten glasses in two hands. They whoop and holler and I can’t understand what they’re toasting.
I take a gulp of my own beer. Here’s to Fat Tuesday.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Homesick
I know it's wishful thinking, but it seems like just 15 minutes in the hot, Arizona sun would beat all my worries out of my troubled head. We all know how brutal it can be, maybe I could put it to good use. My stomach is grumbling and Mexican food seems like the answer, although I didn't even eat much of it while I lived down there.
It's not just the weather and the food I'm missing ... it's the people. I think I need a coffee break with Eli more than ever right now. Sure, Seattle has the best coffee in the world but I'm getting tired of drinking it by myself. I'd happily take a Vanilla Bean Frappuccino over a Caffe Vita Americano if it meant I could sit and talk with my big brother again. He's not the only one ... I miss you all.
It's not just the weather and the food I'm missing ... it's the people. I think I need a coffee break with Eli more than ever right now. Sure, Seattle has the best coffee in the world but I'm getting tired of drinking it by myself. I'd happily take a Vanilla Bean Frappuccino over a Caffe Vita Americano if it meant I could sit and talk with my big brother again. He's not the only one ... I miss you all.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
I get these crazy ideas…
“Right now I just want to build a life for myself in Seattle.”
“I’ve done the Europe thing, I think it’s time for me to explore other parts of the world.”
“I think I want to focus on visiting places in this country.”
These are all statements I’ve made in the last year, and they were all true at one point. But the continent that was my home for under six months has been calling to me again, this time the sun-soaked shores of the Mediterranean.
I got an email from my friend Cassandra the other day with merely the word “Europe” in the subject line. It read, “Emilioso... I have been contemplating a trip to Spain, I think we should go and teach English … would be an adventure!” It was like she put ants in my shoes and now I’ve got itchy feet again.
In March 2007 I spent about 24 hours in Barcelona, and I’ve been wanting to go back ever since. I want to check out the Sagrada Familia, take a side trip to Valencia and relax on one of the country’s lush green hillsides with a bottle of red wine. When Cassandra and I first met, we figured out we had this shared interest in Barcelona and threw around some ideas for a possible visit.
Today I decided my ideal itinerary would be something like this:
Four to six weeks in Europe, escaping the gloomiest time of year in Seattle (some point between New Year’s and spring). Spend a decent chunk of time in Barcelona and/or the rest of Spain (Pamplona, Seville, etc.).
Then take a train up to Marseille and backpack through Provence and the Cote d’Azure, for a chance to use my French and see Van Gogh’s sunflowers. Then down to Naples (or Napoli, which I think is more fun to say) for the incredible, food, scenery and potential love affairs. Then I could take a ferry back across to Barcelona.
Now this is an idea I can get excited about. Suddenly the idea of working two jobs doesn’t seem so bad … not if a Mediterranean Odyssey is the payoff.
I’m not saying this will happen for sure. But I’ve learned that with all the dreams I’ve had, it’s important to pay attention to the ones that make your heart beat a little faster.
For additional reading, check out my blog post from my first trip to the Mediterranean.
“I’ve done the Europe thing, I think it’s time for me to explore other parts of the world.”
“I think I want to focus on visiting places in this country.”
These are all statements I’ve made in the last year, and they were all true at one point. But the continent that was my home for under six months has been calling to me again, this time the sun-soaked shores of the Mediterranean.
I got an email from my friend Cassandra the other day with merely the word “Europe” in the subject line. It read, “Emilioso... I have been contemplating a trip to Spain, I think we should go and teach English … would be an adventure!” It was like she put ants in my shoes and now I’ve got itchy feet again.
Suddenly the idea of working two jobs doesn’t seem so bad …
In March 2007 I spent about 24 hours in Barcelona, and I’ve been wanting to go back ever since. I want to check out the Sagrada Familia, take a side trip to Valencia and relax on one of the country’s lush green hillsides with a bottle of red wine. When Cassandra and I first met, we figured out we had this shared interest in Barcelona and threw around some ideas for a possible visit.
Today I decided my ideal itinerary would be something like this:
Four to six weeks in Europe, escaping the gloomiest time of year in Seattle (some point between New Year’s and spring). Spend a decent chunk of time in Barcelona and/or the rest of Spain (Pamplona, Seville, etc.).
Then take a train up to Marseille and backpack through Provence and the Cote d’Azure, for a chance to use my French and see Van Gogh’s sunflowers. Then down to Naples (or Napoli, which I think is more fun to say) for the incredible, food, scenery and potential love affairs. Then I could take a ferry back across to Barcelona.
Now this is an idea I can get excited about. Suddenly the idea of working two jobs doesn’t seem so bad … not if a Mediterranean Odyssey is the payoff.
I’m not saying this will happen for sure. But I’ve learned that with all the dreams I’ve had, it’s important to pay attention to the ones that make your heart beat a little faster.
For additional reading, check out my blog post from my first trip to the Mediterranean.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
In good times and bad
Yesterday, while working a very slow lunch shift, I caught myself thinking that things have to get better soon. Well, the truth is they may not get better and they could get even worse. I’m referring of course to the economy and its impact on my income.
Times are tough, and not just for me. Everyone I know is feeling financially strained in some way. But I paid enough attention in history class to know that this is just a recession, and a full-on depression would be ... I don’t even know. I try to imagine what it would be like if I couldn’t find any job and ended up homeless and standing in a bread line. It’s a long way from my current situation, but I think it's foolish to think this is as bad as it can get.
But it seems to me that, even given the bleakest scenario, I would survive somehow. That’s what people did during the Great Depression, right? They got by, they survived.
Having dinner with my aunt last night, it was clear early on that neither of us had any exciting news regarding our professions, travel plans or future goals. But I thought to myself, that’s not a good enough reason to be depressed. In spite of all my worries, doubts and limitations, I just think there are other things in life to celebrate, enjoy and discuss.
Laura and I ended up talking about family history and our shared love of coffee. Best of all, she passed along to me a necklace that had belonged to my grandmother and a brooch that had been my great-grandmother’s.
I’m not trying to be pessimistic by saying things could get worse. I’m just trying to be realistic. And I think that cautious optimism should be part of a realistic approach.
In the meantime, I think I need a second job.
Times are tough, and not just for me. Everyone I know is feeling financially strained in some way. But I paid enough attention in history class to know that this is just a recession, and a full-on depression would be ... I don’t even know. I try to imagine what it would be like if I couldn’t find any job and ended up homeless and standing in a bread line. It’s a long way from my current situation, but I think it's foolish to think this is as bad as it can get.
But it seems to me that, even given the bleakest scenario, I would survive somehow. That’s what people did during the Great Depression, right? They got by, they survived.
Having dinner with my aunt last night, it was clear early on that neither of us had any exciting news regarding our professions, travel plans or future goals. But I thought to myself, that’s not a good enough reason to be depressed. In spite of all my worries, doubts and limitations, I just think there are other things in life to celebrate, enjoy and discuss.
Laura and I ended up talking about family history and our shared love of coffee. Best of all, she passed along to me a necklace that had belonged to my grandmother and a brooch that had been my great-grandmother’s.
I’m not trying to be pessimistic by saying things could get worse. I’m just trying to be realistic. And I think that cautious optimism should be part of a realistic approach.
In the meantime, I think I need a second job.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
So, what are you reading?
My new friend Tina uses this question to strike up conversations. So I was a little nervous when she sent it my way because a) I’m not reading anything at the moment and b) the last book I read was a silly bit of chick lit by British author Sophie Kinsella. But as I was explaining the book to her, I realized it’s not quite so silly.
The book is about a “high powered” corporate lawyer in London who, after making a mistake that effectively destroys her legal career, runs to the country and takes a job as a housekeeper. Free from her old workaholic lifestyle, she learns to relax, bake bread, make friends and fall in love.
It was crazy reading this book, because I basically went through the same transformation in 2007. I left journalism temporarily to go to France, and when I came back I couldn’t bring myself to go back to that stressful lifestyle. I started waiting tables and I learned to relax, make friends, date, etc. I did not learn how to bake bread, though.
Every now and then I feel pressure (from myself, mostly) to take up some professional path. I don’t know why. I genuinely enjoy waiting tables; it’s a good way to make a living.
It’s really scary to be 18, 19 and 20 and making decisions that you think will affect the rest of your life. What school am I going to, what am I going to study, how am I going to support myself after? I see my younger brother Sam going through the same things in the near future.
If someone had told me I’d go to college, earn a degree and then go back to waiting tables I would’ve laughed at them. But it turned out to be a viable alternative to my own workaholic lifestyle. And I can honestly say I’m happier because of it.
The book is about a “high powered” corporate lawyer in London who, after making a mistake that effectively destroys her legal career, runs to the country and takes a job as a housekeeper. Free from her old workaholic lifestyle, she learns to relax, bake bread, make friends and fall in love.
It was crazy reading this book, because I basically went through the same transformation in 2007. I left journalism temporarily to go to France, and when I came back I couldn’t bring myself to go back to that stressful lifestyle. I started waiting tables and I learned to relax, make friends, date, etc. I did not learn how to bake bread, though.
Every now and then I feel pressure (from myself, mostly) to take up some professional path. I don’t know why. I genuinely enjoy waiting tables; it’s a good way to make a living.
It’s really scary to be 18, 19 and 20 and making decisions that you think will affect the rest of your life. What school am I going to, what am I going to study, how am I going to support myself after? I see my younger brother Sam going through the same things in the near future.
If someone had told me I’d go to college, earn a degree and then go back to waiting tables I would’ve laughed at them. But it turned out to be a viable alternative to my own workaholic lifestyle. And I can honestly say I’m happier because of it.
Trouble in blog paradise
I haven’t been holding up my end of the blogging bargain.
I received an email this morning from a regular reader who was angry there’d been no update. (Since the “anger” came from my older brother Eli I know it was mostly a joke.) But when I started this blog I made a commitment to update it at least twice a week, a goal at which I’ve failed miserably.
Lately I seem to be struggling with what to write about. I have plenty of ideas … that all have me and the great city of Seattle front-and-center. I guess I’m curious what you all want to read. I can’t promise I’ll always be able to deliver, but at least that might help point me in the right direction.
I received an email this morning from a regular reader who was angry there’d been no update. (Since the “anger” came from my older brother Eli I know it was mostly a joke.) But when I started this blog I made a commitment to update it at least twice a week, a goal at which I’ve failed miserably.
Lately I seem to be struggling with what to write about. I have plenty of ideas … that all have me and the great city of Seattle front-and-center. I guess I’m curious what you all want to read. I can’t promise I’ll always be able to deliver, but at least that might help point me in the right direction.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Am I a changed woman, or is this just a phase?
When I was 14 I wanted to be President of the United States. At 16 I thought I’d die if I didn’t get into Yale, and two years ago my greatest dream was to be a White House correspondent for the Washington Post.
For a long time, ambition was a way of life for me. I constantly aimed for the highest rung of whatever ladder I happened to be on.
Although my wildest dreams didn’t always come true, my determination definitely led me to be successful in other ways; perfect grades in high school and an impressive resume right out of college. But I had another goal that came not so much from my ambitious side, but from my adventurous side. I wanted to live in Europe, even if only for a short time.
The gods smiled on me, and with a lot of support from my family, I packed up and moved to France for my last semester of college. There I had the opportunity to slow down and enjoy life a little more. Their culture is filled with simple joys (like spending Sunday afternoons at the open-air market) and incredible beauty (enormous, green urban parks peppered with bright flowers and couples in love).
When I returned to the U.S., I knew something in me had changed. But I didn’t know what it was, and had no idea which direction I should be moving in. But it was obvious that I was no longer on a ladder, going up. Instead I seemed to be staring down the entrance to a maze.
In the absence of any professional goals, I still needed to move forward with my life somehow. I remember very clearly having lunch with my dad at The Raven and he made a brilliant suggestion. Move to a place where I really wanted to be, and figure the rest out later. That’s how I ended up in Seattle.
I suppose my ambition has surfaced in other ways. I spent six months saving enough money to move here. Then I set out to find a job, an apartment and new friends. It’s taken a lot of work to build the life that I have here, but it’s been fun and I’m very proud of what I’ve accomplished.
So far, anyway … there’s still more to be done. Dating, pull-ups and more work are all on my agenda.
When I began this post, I was trying to figure out if my ambitious side had gone away forever, or if this is just a phase. But as I write I see that it’s alive and well inside of me. I’m just channeling it in different ways. Instead of aspiring to be something great, I’m aspiring to enjoy my life in my own way.
And right now that means working nights, waiting tables, drinking wine, chatting up strangers and finding the people who are going to become my family in Seattle.
I think I am a changed woman, but my very core is still made up of the same stuff. I haven’t changed instruments, I’m just playing a different song.
For a long time, ambition was a way of life for me. I constantly aimed for the highest rung of whatever ladder I happened to be on.
Although my wildest dreams didn’t always come true, my determination definitely led me to be successful in other ways; perfect grades in high school and an impressive resume right out of college. But I had another goal that came not so much from my ambitious side, but from my adventurous side. I wanted to live in Europe, even if only for a short time.
The gods smiled on me, and with a lot of support from my family, I packed up and moved to France for my last semester of college. There I had the opportunity to slow down and enjoy life a little more. Their culture is filled with simple joys (like spending Sunday afternoons at the open-air market) and incredible beauty (enormous, green urban parks peppered with bright flowers and couples in love).
When I returned to the U.S., I knew something in me had changed. But I didn’t know what it was, and had no idea which direction I should be moving in. But it was obvious that I was no longer on a ladder, going up. Instead I seemed to be staring down the entrance to a maze.
In the absence of any professional goals, I still needed to move forward with my life somehow. I remember very clearly having lunch with my dad at The Raven and he made a brilliant suggestion. Move to a place where I really wanted to be, and figure the rest out later. That’s how I ended up in Seattle.
I suppose my ambition has surfaced in other ways. I spent six months saving enough money to move here. Then I set out to find a job, an apartment and new friends. It’s taken a lot of work to build the life that I have here, but it’s been fun and I’m very proud of what I’ve accomplished.
So far, anyway … there’s still more to be done. Dating, pull-ups and more work are all on my agenda.
When I began this post, I was trying to figure out if my ambitious side had gone away forever, or if this is just a phase. But as I write I see that it’s alive and well inside of me. I’m just channeling it in different ways. Instead of aspiring to be something great, I’m aspiring to enjoy my life in my own way.
And right now that means working nights, waiting tables, drinking wine, chatting up strangers and finding the people who are going to become my family in Seattle.
I think I am a changed woman, but my very core is still made up of the same stuff. I haven’t changed instruments, I’m just playing a different song.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Happening in Arizona: something big
A few months ago, when the Cardinals beat the Seahawks here in Seattle, I received a few hate texts from local football fanatics. I just shrugged and said, "I was never a Cardinals fan when I lived in Arizona, why should I start now?"
Well, those guys have given me, and everyone else in the Zone, a reason to wear red.
While perusing facebook last night almost all my friends from Arizona had changed their status updates to reflect excitement or disbelief at the Cardinals' victory. Several people made comments along the lines that they didn't like that suddenly people were interested in football. The term "fair weather fans" was used.
I say, who cares? As a true underdog team, their winning is luring new fans. That's good for the sport, and good for the camaraderie of all Arizonans.
When I was in second grade, I had a crush on a boy in my class. One day at lunch he had a football with the Cardinals' emblem on it and I tried to talk to him about it. He brushed me off. "The Cardinals suck," he said. "No offense." They pretty much continued to suck for years after that exchange.
My knowledge of football could fit in a single short latte cup, so I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, here. But I think this is about more than football as a game. It's about an Arizona team giving us something to be proud of. (I use the term "us" loosely as I am no longer an Arizona resident. But I was born and raised there and I lived there for a total of 23 years. So you bet your ass I'm going to be cheering for the Cards on Feb. 1.)
Since moving to Seattle, I've been impressed with how fiercely proud the locals are of their city and its modern history. From music, to coffee to basketball Seattleites like to stand behind their city and its champions. The same is not true for Phoenix.
But maybe ... just maybe ... the Cardinals are going to turn that around.
PS The Cardinals were awesome yesterday, and so was the photo desk at The Arizona Republic. Check out these photos of the game: http://www.azcentral.com/closeup/articles/0119spt-closeupcardswinnfc.html
Well, those guys have given me, and everyone else in the Zone, a reason to wear red.
While perusing facebook last night almost all my friends from Arizona had changed their status updates to reflect excitement or disbelief at the Cardinals' victory. Several people made comments along the lines that they didn't like that suddenly people were interested in football. The term "fair weather fans" was used.
I say, who cares? As a true underdog team, their winning is luring new fans. That's good for the sport, and good for the camaraderie of all Arizonans.
When I was in second grade, I had a crush on a boy in my class. One day at lunch he had a football with the Cardinals' emblem on it and I tried to talk to him about it. He brushed me off. "The Cardinals suck," he said. "No offense." They pretty much continued to suck for years after that exchange.
My knowledge of football could fit in a single short latte cup, so I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, here. But I think this is about more than football as a game. It's about an Arizona team giving us something to be proud of. (I use the term "us" loosely as I am no longer an Arizona resident. But I was born and raised there and I lived there for a total of 23 years. So you bet your ass I'm going to be cheering for the Cards on Feb. 1.)
Since moving to Seattle, I've been impressed with how fiercely proud the locals are of their city and its modern history. From music, to coffee to basketball Seattleites like to stand behind their city and its champions. The same is not true for Phoenix.
But maybe ... just maybe ... the Cardinals are going to turn that around.
PS The Cardinals were awesome yesterday, and so was the photo desk at The Arizona Republic. Check out these photos of the game: http://www.azcentral.com/closeup/articles/0119spt-closeupcardswinnfc.html
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
The truth about Seattle
I love Seattle. But it is really hard to meet people here.
Stand-offish, passive-aggressive, reserved, shy and introverted are the words I hear most when describing Seattleites. There's definitely some truth to that ... I've had a harder time meeting people here than any other place I've lived (Northern Arizona, Phoenix, France).
But despite the sometimes up-hill battle to make friends, after nine months I feel like I've met some great people. I was out socializing every night last week, except Thursday when I chose to stay in with Liz Lemon and Earl Hickey.
Sunday night I had a date with another outsider who described Seattle as "cliquey." I've decided I need to find a guy who is as pro-Seattle as myself. And pro-coffee. That night I had drinks with Danelle, Jinny and Rick. Danelle has become my workout buddy, skin care consultant and a great confidant. We love to girl it up every once in a while and it's great to have such a cheerful, level-headed person in my life.
Monday was the annual holiday party for work that involved way too much alcohol. Lesson learned: Don't drink on an empty stomach. My new gal pal Cassandra helped me get through the night. She's a riot and - like me, I think - a woman in transition.
Tuesday night it was dead at work so Libby kicked Matt and I off the clock pretty early. We ended up visiting Ted on Capitol Hill, wasting time in the greeting card aisle at QFC and finishing the night at the Ballroom where Matt graciously let me drag him into the photo booth.
Hanging out with Matt reminded me of being with my two best guy friends from the old days. (I'm referring, of course to the venerable Michael Famiglietti and the controversial Macy Hanson.) I love Ted for his enthusiasm (for food, Vegas, travel) and because he's a great person to have on your side. He helped me get to the airport when Seattle was covered in snow and ice right before Christmas.
Wednesday Cassandra and I planned a night of drinking wine at my place and ended up meeting Steve and Rick at the cool, divey bar near my apartment. We played pool, boys against girls (we lost, three times.) Steve (whom I affectionately refer to as Stevie) has a big-brotherly appeal and is a good guy. Rick is my go-to guy for all things Seattle. We also like the same kinds of music, his knowledge of which seems encyclopedic to me. He's gotten me into a ton of new bands since I moved here.
On Saturday my wonderful Uncle Gavin took me to "breakfast" at 3 p.m. since I'd just woken up and that's all I wanted to eat. I've met a whole host of interesting, cool and creative people through him ... namely the divine Fravel and Sniffy (real names, Lisa and Stephany) and Tina M., who has brains, attitude and style.
My older brother says I have a talent for finding good people when I go someplace new. I don't know. Sometimes I think they find me.
Stand-offish, passive-aggressive, reserved, shy and introverted are the words I hear most when describing Seattleites. There's definitely some truth to that ... I've had a harder time meeting people here than any other place I've lived (Northern Arizona, Phoenix, France).
But despite the sometimes up-hill battle to make friends, after nine months I feel like I've met some great people. I was out socializing every night last week, except Thursday when I chose to stay in with Liz Lemon and Earl Hickey.
Sunday night I had a date with another outsider who described Seattle as "cliquey." I've decided I need to find a guy who is as pro-Seattle as myself. And pro-coffee. That night I had drinks with Danelle, Jinny and Rick. Danelle has become my workout buddy, skin care consultant and a great confidant. We love to girl it up every once in a while and it's great to have such a cheerful, level-headed person in my life.
Monday was the annual holiday party for work that involved way too much alcohol. Lesson learned: Don't drink on an empty stomach. My new gal pal Cassandra helped me get through the night. She's a riot and - like me, I think - a woman in transition.
Tuesday night it was dead at work so Libby kicked Matt and I off the clock pretty early. We ended up visiting Ted on Capitol Hill, wasting time in the greeting card aisle at QFC and finishing the night at the Ballroom where Matt graciously let me drag him into the photo booth.
Hanging out with Matt reminded me of being with my two best guy friends from the old days. (I'm referring, of course to the venerable Michael Famiglietti and the controversial Macy Hanson.) I love Ted for his enthusiasm (for food, Vegas, travel) and because he's a great person to have on your side. He helped me get to the airport when Seattle was covered in snow and ice right before Christmas.
Wednesday Cassandra and I planned a night of drinking wine at my place and ended up meeting Steve and Rick at the cool, divey bar near my apartment. We played pool, boys against girls (we lost, three times.) Steve (whom I affectionately refer to as Stevie) has a big-brotherly appeal and is a good guy. Rick is my go-to guy for all things Seattle. We also like the same kinds of music, his knowledge of which seems encyclopedic to me. He's gotten me into a ton of new bands since I moved here.
On Saturday my wonderful Uncle Gavin took me to "breakfast" at 3 p.m. since I'd just woken up and that's all I wanted to eat. I've met a whole host of interesting, cool and creative people through him ... namely the divine Fravel and Sniffy (real names, Lisa and Stephany) and Tina M., who has brains, attitude and style.
My older brother says I have a talent for finding good people when I go someplace new. I don't know. Sometimes I think they find me.
An experiment in creative non-fiction
It came to me as I was lying awake the other night. I suck at writing fiction. I've tried so many times to create characters, develop plots and master the art of rising tension. I've started hundreds of short stories and novels, but have never finished anything I could say I was proud of.
But I've always had a knack for recording and sharing what's happening - in my life or the world at large. I started keeping a journal about the time I was able to write my first complete sentence. I'm a trained journalist and I worked in newspaper reporting, where accuracy is more important than baby blood.
So I'm giving up on fiction for a while, I'll leave it to the people who are actually good at it. For now, I'm just going to tell it like it is.
But I've always had a knack for recording and sharing what's happening - in my life or the world at large. I started keeping a journal about the time I was able to write my first complete sentence. I'm a trained journalist and I worked in newspaper reporting, where accuracy is more important than baby blood.
So I'm giving up on fiction for a while, I'll leave it to the people who are actually good at it. For now, I'm just going to tell it like it is.
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